Arnav opened her eyes when the sun rays hit his face and unknowingly a smile crept up on his face. Stretching his arms a bit and sitting up on the bed, he thought about the only person who had clouded all his thoughts ever since he met her. He was glad that she was opening up. Only he knew how much he loved when she talked. Last night was unquestionably one of the many best nights of his life. They had gone from one topic to another. She had told him how she loved painting and mystery novels were her favourite because they made her curious and she wanted to keep on reading till it finished. She was surely different from other girls. Whereas girls of her age had mills and boons under their covers, Khushi was the one who loved thrillers. Her eyes sparkled when she talked about things she loved but soon the same sadness he had seen was replaced when he asked her to paint for him someday. She had chuckled humorlessly and said: "I'm not sure if I can even hold a brush properly now. It was a very long time ago."
"We'll see to that." He had said and jumped to another topic. Also the strangest thing he had noticed was that Khushi didn't have any friends. While he had a whole gang of about 10 people, she didn't even have a single friend, besides her sister. Though Arnav found it really weird, he didn't show it. He had talked about his college experiences, his trips with friends, his work and what not. All the while, Khushi had listened genuinely interested.
Khushi was a different story altogether. She still couldn't believe that she had opened up to him like this. She has always been a friendly person but with that, she was forced to be reserved too. She hadn't ever talked to a guy like this before. Her interactions with men was limited to salam to her elder cousins, her uncles who only asked how she was doing or when her father talked to her. This was totally new and strangely, it felt good. She knew he was now her husband and as much as it was right for them to meet up like this, she wasn't sure how her mother or father, for that matter, would take it. Thankfully no one had even noticed Khushi entering her room after their long night chat. He was caring, compassionate, outgoing and everything a girl could ever wish for in her husband. Khushi did feel lucky but with that came a sense of fear within her. Would she be able to make Arnav happy? Would he like a reserved, nervous and shy girl? Not mulling over these thoughts, she decided to only relish in the moments she had spent in talking with him. She had told him her likes, once again shocking herself. Never had she discussed that she liked painting except her family. Then why him? May be because it felt right. When he had talked about his work, she had seen passion in his eyes. He was doing his dream job, he had told her. He had told her that he and his friends always planned a trip once in six months to a different place every time and she was forced to wonder how different they were.
She was brought out of her reverie by her mother, ordering her to lay the breakfast table. At the dining table, Afreen popped up the idea of shopping. Apparently, there was a village nearby which held an exhibition every year. Traders from different states or even cities came and presented their works be it jewelry, clothes or utensils. Excitedly, everyone gobbled down their breakfast quickly and went off to get ready. Khushi had come out only to find the house empty. Did she take too long that they left her? She wondered and heard someone clearing his throat. Arnav watched as she, fidgeting with her dupatta, asked:
"Wo sab..."
"Abu ne kaha ke hum donon akele ayen."And there goes her heart overdrive. Nodding her head, she followed him out and smiled when he opened the passenger door for her. The ride was quite a silent one, but comfortable. Finally breaking the silence, he asked:
"Do you like old Hindi music?" She looked at him surprised and nodded. Clicking on the CD player, he played one of her favourite songs too. Khushi and Aaliya had a thing for old collections and whenever they got time, they used to listen to them but once when their father had come to know, and had objected to it, their mother had banned every kind of music from their house. But unknown to both of them, Aaliya had a small radio hidden in her cupboard and though Khushi was scared, the puppy eyes of her little sister melted her heart and she obliged to her demands.
"I love these kind of songs as compared to the ones being made today."
"I love their poetry. They held a meaning which actually made them soulful."
"I agree. Chalo, there's at least something we have in common here."
And it was quiet again. But both of them didn't mind. The song abhi na jao chor ke' reverberated in the car. Soon they reached their destination and started to find the others who come half an hour back, credits to Arnav's slow driving. One thing Khushi despised was the crowds and rush places. It suffocated her and she felt like she was the center of everyone's attention. Anxiety coursed through her veins when she felt a hand engulf her own into a very gentle grasp. She looked at their hands shocked and then dared to look up at the assuring eyes of Arnav. Every time, he knew how to make her feel better. His eyes held a promise and surprisingly, Khushi could read it.
When Arnav saw Khushi's face, he instantly knew her discomfort. Her eyes were the most expressive and he couldn't help but hold her hand and through his eyes, ensured her that there was no need to be scared as her was there for her and he will always protect her. Soon they were joined by the others, and if Khushi thought he will leave her hand once with their families, she was utterly wrong. Arnav purposely walked slow and was behind everyone lest Khushi feels awkward with holding hands in front of their parents. Though, she was at first but only after seeing his firm grip she had let the matter go and relaxed.
Aaliya saw the two love birds and sent a thankful prayer to Allah. Her aapi deserved every ounce of happiness and now she was sure that Arnav will give her everything she had missed out in life.
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