Hamesha

Hamesha is a sequel of sorts to my previous One Shot : One Day

[Italics denote the past]

In the serenity of the night; Arnav sighed deeply in content as her long fingers absently caressed the overgrown strands of his hair. Smiling softly against her silken skin; his lips repeatedly met in a conversation of kisses with the growing swell of her stomach cocooning their little child.

“Who do you think he will be like Arnav-ji?”

“Like you, I hope.”

Her lips slowly bloomed into a shy but loving smile as the combination of her Arnav-ji’s softly uttered words and the tightening of his arms around her and their unborn Son caused her heart to leap in that funny little way it was often prone to in her husband’s loving presence.

“I hope he is like the both of us Arnav-ji. A little bit of you and a little bit of me.”

Pulling back slightly to reach up and gently kiss his sweetly smiling wife’s rosy lips, Arnav neither agreed nor disagreed with a very pregnant Khushi’s wishes.

But secretly, he hoped his Son would be just like his Mother.

Innocent, loving and full of unbridled mischief…

***

“Looking for me sweetheart?”

Sneaking a flustered Sanvi into the warmth of his arms; Aarav smiled innocently into Sanvi’s exasperated eyes whilst his distracted bronze fingers lifted to tenderly caress his fiancé’s wildly being pulse-point at the base of her now arched neck.

Devilishly exulting in the shiver visibly racing through her spine, he drew her closer into himself for what he hoped would be a series of stolen kisses.

But when had Sanvi Segal ever indulged his fanciful wishes?

“Aarav Singh Raizada! Please may I remind you that this is our sangeet and that both of our families are literally at the other side of this pillar? Have you absolutely no shame at all?!”

Her wide eyes and flailing arms elicited a slow smirk from his playful lips as he rakishly shook his head and brought her closer still.

Not that he would ever tell her this [for Aarav Singh Raizada, did actually value his life] but seeing his usually cool-as-a-cucumber and immaculately composed fiancé rattled beyond belief, filled his innately mischievous soul with a unique brand of warmth he had long ago become potently addicted to.

“You’re a complete rogue Aarav.”

As Aarav nod his head in absolute agreement; his smiling lips met Saanvi’s thoroughly irritated ones to silence her in the only way he knew how…

***

“Aarav!”

Khushi grumbled in irritation as she earnestly chased her roguish little five year old Son, with his tie and blazer in hand, around the laughing halls of Shantivan.

“You need to get ready for school Baacha, come back here!”

Aarav’s answering squeal caused a small smile to finally find Khushi’s lips as Arnav swept their little child into his arms and made his way towards her.

“Are you troubling your Mummy little man?”

“No Daddy!”

The little boy’s prompt reply, sparkling eyes and wide grin unfailingly filled Arnav’s once stone-cold heart with an inexplicable warmth as he nuzzled his Son’s chubby cheeks with the length of his aquiline nose.

At his Son’s giggle filled response, he carefully whispered into his attentive little ears;

“Will you promise me something Aarav?”

At Arnav’s patient but intent tone; Aarav’s wide eyes carefully trained themselves on his soft-eyed Father as he attentively listened to his every word;

“Don’t ever pester your Mummy like I do Son. Promise me that you will always listen to the women you love Aarav. And never, ever disappoint them. Okay?”

With all the understanding his five year old heart could muster, Aarav nodded his head eagerly in understanding as he clutched these softly uttered words close to his little heart. Earnestly treasuring them for a lifetime ahead…

***

“I love you Maa.”

With the chaos of the wedding shrouding them with its vivacious colour; Khushi smiled deeply at her Son’s heart-born words as he gently enveloped her into his hold.

If her Arnav-ji struggled to piece those three words together even after thirty-five years of marriage, then her Aarav more than made up for it by reminding her several times a day just how much he treasured his mother.

When she chased after him every morning to forcibly feed him his breakfast.

When she nursed him through the nights as he battled with fever after childishly playing in the rain.

And when she made him his favourite sugar-free jalebi’s when he needed cheering up.

Her Aarav was always ready with his words of love.

And today at his Sangeet, as she hugged her child close she could not help but wonder just where all those years had gone. It felt like just yesterday when he had been playing in her lap. And now her little boy was getting married…

“Why is your Maa crying now Aarav?”

Arnav’s agitated tone and deep scowl was met with a genuinely clueless shrug from Aarav as he enveloped his beloved Maa just that little bit tighter in his love.

“I’m crying because I’m happy Arnav-ji.”

Arnav’s scowl simply deepened in bewilderment at her muffled reply as he carefully extracted his slightly red faced wife from his Son’s knowing arms to fit her perfectly against his form.

All these years later, and he still did not quite understand this whole crying-while-being-happy-thing that his pagal wife liked to indulge in from time to time.

“Har baat par rohna zaroori hai Khushi?”

Childishly pouting at her dear husband, she promptly looked towards her indulgently smiling Son for support against her ever grumpy Laad Governor.

“Tell your Papa that I will cry at my Son’s wedding if I want to.”

Arnav’s lips found that amused but loving smirk it often did in his Khushi’s presence as he tightened his arms around her defiant shoulders to bring her deeper into his hold. Kissing the parting which unfailingly supported the red of her sindoor, he carefully wiped away the lingering tears from her long lashes. His silence telling her yet again, just how he hated to see those precious pearls of salt lining the eyes which should forever be as happy as their namesake.

“I think Maa forgot that I’m not the one leaving tomorrow Papa.”

Aarav’s teasing tone had the desired effect as Khushi smiled affectionately at her Son’s teasing whilst burrowing herself deeper into her husband’s hold and inviting her Son into their paternal warmth.

Ignoring the rumbling chaos around him; Arnav held his family close and shutting his eyes on a deep sigh, secretly he too struggled to realise just when his little boy had become a man…

***

“I’m wobbling again Daddy.”

“I’ve got you Son.”

His little arms and legs struggled to co-ordinate themselves as a young Aarav, guided by his patient Father; learnt how to ride his first bike in the gardens of Shantivan.

“I’m going to fall!”

“I won’t let you Aarav.”

“Promise Papa?”

“Always Son.”

Aarav scrunched his brow in deep concentration as his legs slowly but surely found a stable rhythm, his confidence gaining a steady momentum alongside the speed of his bike, as unknowingly he independently began riding his bright blue bicycle.

Khushi softly sniffed back her tears as she hugged her beaming husband. His hands reassuringly rubbing up and down her arms as he reflexively sought to bring her deep into his hold.

“He’s riding a bike!”

“Then why are you crying jaan?”

“What if he falls and hurts himself?”

Arnav struggled to contain both his chuckle and his grin as he kissed the top of his wife’s pagal little head before meeting her glistening eyes.

“You’ve physically wrapped our little boy in bubble wrap Khushi. Even if he does fall, he will be okay.”

“Promise?”

His heart tugged sharply at the vulnerability of her tone as he fully turned his wife’s face up to meet his. Wiping away the lingering tears, he softly kissed Khushi’s questioning lips with what he hoped was a firm sense of reassurance.

When Aarav had come into their lives eight years ago, Arnav had read every book on parenthood he could find. His own sorry excuse of a Father had filled him with the burning need to ensure that he himself would be all his Son would ever need him to be.

But never had he prepared himself for that constant realisation that came with being a parent, of the wordless desire to be the child’s everything.

Moments like this re-ignited the acute realisation in his heart of what it truly meant to be a parent, and as his firm kiss morphed into one of gratitude, he could not help but wordlessly thank the woman who had trusted him with this uniquely beautiful gift and supported him every step of the way simply by being his Khushi.

Long ago he had become her Arnav-ji from the heartless ASR.

But Aarav and Khushi had collectively made him into the family man he never knew, let alone hoped he could be.

Breaking away from the kiss, they both turned to proudly watch their giggling Son as Arnav once again found himself reflecting on that precious little boy’s happiness.

His Khushi was slightly sanki and incredibly childish to his naturally brooding ways.

But Aarav loved the fact that he had an indulgent partner-in-crime when it came to pulling pranks with his mother yet he also had the level-headed indulgence of his ever-pragmatic Father.

Khushi was the effervescent liveliness to his watchful silence.

And Aarav seemed to thrive beautifully between the two; filling in the crevices between their ever-burgeoning love as a family with his innocent humour and cheeky charm.

Between his seriousness and her pagalpan, their Son was flourishing into a promising young child who would do them proud. Of this and their love they were both extremely sure…

***

Aarav tied the mangalsutra around Sanvi’s neck with utter pride in knowing that this wonderfully cynical, but incredibly loving woman was his to cherish for a lifetime ahead.

Their courtship had certainly been a unique experience for a man who had never before been denied anything in life.

Sanvi was an events co-ordinator, manipulating things five years ago to ensure that after organising his parents wedding anniversary she organised every AR Event thereafter; he had tried every trick he knew to woo the woman whose steel grey eyes and equally cool demeanour had enchanted him beyond words.

If you asked him today Aarav would not be able to tell you just why Sanvi had enraptured his senses. He just knew that he wanted to meet her coldness with his warmth, her aloofness with his charm and her weary heart with his love.

She had resisted him in every which way she could, but something somewhere had made her relent.

Not knowing what that was suddenly troubled Aarav as he and Sanvi took his Parents blessings with a confused frown firmly at home on his brow.

“What’s wrong baacha?”

Not hearing his Mother’s worried whisper, Aarav turned towards his new wife who met his perplexed eyes with expectant and loving warmth in her own coal grey ones.

“Why did you marry me Sanvi?”

If Sanvi was surprised by either the timing of the question, or the nature of it then she certainly did not show it. Instead she turned to view her parents-in-law knowing exactly what she would see;

Arnav was [as always] holding onto his Khushi, and he met his new daughter’s eyes with that slightly amused glint she was now so familiar with. Whilst matching Aarav’s curiosity, Khushi’s hazel eyes were wide in silent expectation of her answer.

Smiling at her new parents, she happily dismissed the gathered families here to celebrate their day and instead focussed on her husband.

Husband.

She had never believed that she would trust the honest essence of that relationship and yet here she was.

Sanvi Raizada was still the pessimist she had always been, but now she was willing to see the hope amongst the despair, and it was all thanks to the two people she could now proudly call her parents.

It had never been Aarav’s persistence that had worn her down.

It had been one simple conversation with his doting parents that had convinced her to embrace their Son’s love.

***

Khushi’s hands carefully held onto Sanvi’s trembling ones as she and her Arnav-ji sat in the thoroughly startled woman’s cabin.

Their Son was hopelessly infatuated with this beautiful young woman, and Khushi being her typically fiery and compassionate self, had decided to address the very reason she was seeing that hopeless sense of despair and sadness in her beloved Son’s eyes, by charging into Sanvi’s office and practically demanding to know why her Aarav’s love was going unreturned.

Whilst Arnav being his typically stoic self, had accompanied his wife simply to ensure that she didn’t overwhelm the poor child with her love.

Unlike Khushi, he had been fortunate enough to extract multiple opportunities to interact with Sanvi on a professional level. But unlike his Son and Wife, he was infinitely more patient and knew that time would allow her to recognise what he himself had once spent months denying.

Love.

It took one natural pessimist to understand another.

And he understood the seemingly aloof Sanvi Segal perfectly…

“Please open your heart to my Son Sanvi; he could love you so incredibly well if you could just give him a chance… please.”

Sanvi looked into Arnav and Khushi’s quietly expectant eyes and felt her poor little heart constrict with something it had never before had the pleasure of experiencing;

Parental love.

And it was those steadfast eyes and elusive determined aura surrounding them that had changed the course of Sanvi’s life irrevocably for the better…

***

“I married you simply because I want what your parents have Aarav. Love, understanding and contentment. I want what you grew up with; the stability of a family. I want what Maa promised me all those years ago. I wish to be loved well by a man I hopelessly love too.”

“As simple as that?”

Meeting her husband’s loving gaze; Sanvi smiled shyly as Aarav protectively folded her into the warmth of his arms.

Yes, it really was as beautifully simple as that…

***

“Do you think we will be good parents Arnav-ji? Do you think our Son will always be happy?”

Arnav kissed his wife’s bump one last time before rising to envelop her safely into his hold. Rubbing her aching back with his gentle hands he carefully thought about his next words…

“I hope we will be better than just good Khushi. I want our Son to have everything we didn’t. A happy childhood, I wish for him a content and loving existence.”

Pulling back slightly to cup his Khushi’s face, he softly brought their foreheads together even as their heartbeats unfailingly aligned as one.

“We won’t be perfect jaan. We’ll make mistakes, but we will learn and we will do everything in our power to always make our Son happy. But promise me Khushi; that everything we do, we do it together.”

“Hamesha Arnav-ji.”

Her teary whisper was captured by his tender lips in a kiss of absolute promise, as he wordlessly vowed his heart and soul to the woman and unborn child he so ardently loved for a happiness filled Hamesha…


A/N

First of all – thank you so much for reading. I really hope that you liked this One Shot – I’ve gone through many drafts of many different stories for this blog, and I hope this one measures up!

I also wish to thank all the wonderful contributors to this blog. From both the generous readers to the amazing writers. This blog is an amazing success thanks to your sincere input and that makes it a true Jashn in memory of a show which has captivated us all at some point in time.

Also a huge thanks to K – my partner in crime in maintaining this blog

And Ridz – For everything you have done and continue to do for this blog – I’m simply in awe! Thank you xx

Salvation

 

 

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Banner Credit: BlueMystique

 

Anniversary, 2013

Raizada Mansion

It had been a year since he had so ruthlessly dragged her into his life.

He shrugged carefully out of his jacket as his eyes took in the sight of his beautiful wife, sleeping soundly in what seemed to be a tantalizing confection of French lace and silk sheets.

He didn’t need to look around the room to know, that he had walked into the scene of a surprise gone awry. He’d known her intentions for days, the scented candles, and clichéd smattering of rose petals, merely a reminder of why he’d suddenly been ‘caught up’ in a late night meeting tonight.

Snapping the buttons of his shirt open, as he slid silently into bed with the visage of such sweet perfection that he was married to – Arnav Singh Raizada, the man without a soul, felt a painful tug in the long lost corners of his heart as he allowed himself to bask in the glory that was Khushi.

She had been his benediction.

He stroked one hand, rough, and callused from years of gardening, down the delicate curve of her spine, only to watch, his eyes dark with primitive approval, as she arched up to him, fitting her body into the curve of his own.

By God, she was glorious.

Arnav groaned, the need, his tiny wife ignited in him gnawing away at his self-control.

As if, his previous lapses hadn’t already given him enough to answer for.

Hell – his previous lapses, were exactly why he had just spent his ‘anniversary’ holed up at his office, waiting for his wife to fall asleep, hoping desperately that if he returned home late enough, he wouldn’t have to deal with the ‘celebrations’ she had planned for a day he deserved to be skinned alive for.

Not that he regretted the day itself. No matter what the circumstances, it was still the day he had pilfered the lost part of his soul he’d never hoped to reclaim.

No – he didn’t regret the day – everything that had lead up to it though, that was a different story altogether.

It was also why he sat, propped on his elbow, his callused fingers carefully smoothing away a stray lock of hair, as he watched the shadows cast by her impossibly long lashes dance across the porcelain perfection of her cheeks. Unlike most couples, his anniversary didn’t deserve to be celebrated – it deserved to be condemned – the way he had condemned her with visceral contempt, on that day and for months after.

A better man, a more honorable man would have had the decency to at least explain to her why he’d just spent the better part of his day, fleeing from the aching sweetness of her ‘surprise’.

A better man, perhaps, would have been able to tell her, to explain to her – how that day haunted him.

After all, she had been his benediction – in a time when he hadn’t known he’d needed one. How could he not answer the unspoken questions he knew would crowd her mind?

But then a better man would not have needed to. A better man would never have shroud his wife in accusation after accusation of piecing scorn and then fled like the coward he was when she attempted to scrub clean the stench of his impossible transgressions with candlelight and forgiveness.

A forgiveness that he did not deserve.

Arnav Singh Raizada, had taken enough from her – he would be damned if he took anything else he didn’t deserve, not even if she offered.

He owed her at least that much.

He owed her everything.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Arnav Singh Raizada had finally begun to look for viable alternatives to cloak his aversion to that one particularly damning day.

The practical business man in him had finally come to terms with the fact that the memories marring that particular day, the one’s that still haunted him, would not be going away anytime soon – and like any good businessman worth his salt – he’d decided that instead of allowing the darkness to eat at him, like a bad wager in a dimly lit gambling den, it was time that he cut his losses and found an adequate substitute.

In another life, he would have allowed it to do just that.

But in another life, the circumstances surrounding his fall from grace would not be accompanied by an angel of redemption, complete with tinkling anklets and an infinite supply of jalebi’s.

And so he fought.

He fought years of indoctrinated distaste for papier-mâché hearts on the Fourteenth of February, or cakes and candles on Birthdays. He fought by yielding with a grace that robbed his young wife of words when he ‘made up’ for his late night meeting weeks later, telling her he would rather celebrate the first time she’d fallen into his arms.

She hadn’t really understood – but then again, he hadn’t really explained.

In the end it didn’t matter, all that had mattered was that he had been able to make her laugh with joy and moan with ecstasy that night – in exactly that order. The year after, he had been away on a business conference, London – too far away for her to plan another celebration – that year, he’d claimed he forgot – at one point he even convinced himself he had, until that fateful day came rolling back yet again.

* * *

 The Night before their Anniversary, 2015

As the soft beams of iridescent moonlight filtering through the tinted glass windows of his bedroom, Arnav Singh Raizada, watched in mute wonder as the shadows danced majestically across the achingly delicate curve of his wife’s back.

The light breeze, played teasingly with her long black tresses and the matching silk sheets that were barely draped around her – so much so that they reminded Arnav of another night not unlike this – when his achingly beautiful wife, had melted oh so sweetly in his arms for the very first time.

Or, of last night – when she’d melted into the cradle of his arms, eager, desperate and wet with need, like the thick ‘chashni’ that coated her tongue with every bite of her favorite sweet.

He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. But, as caught up as he had been, first in the hilariously bizarre conversation his wife had begun when he had come home, followed by the hours of soul-shattering love making – he couldn’t for the life of himself remember why.

* * *

A little known truth, was that for all her saari’s and aarti’s – Khushi Kumari Gupta – first thing in the morning, was the farthest thing from saanskaari – Languidly, crossing her arms across her husband’s bare chest, only to unfold one hand and with aching deliberation, mere seconds later, drag it down the length of his torso, to awaken him, with a well-placed caress and a fleeting kiss – She was anything but.

And that was how Arnav Singh Raizada, awoke, that particular morning, his arms instinctively going around the soft curve of her waist as he dragged her closer, so that he could kiss her deeper.

“Morning.” He murmured, his voice heavy with sleep, as he nibbled wickedly at the curve of her neck, his hand dipping lower as he maneuvered himself above her in one swift move, before he continued to soothe the now red circle his ministrations had left behind.

Not that the now gasping woman in his arms seemed to be capable of a response – her mouth rounded in a perfect ‘O’, she arched against him, her eyes crashing shut as his hands went lower still.

It was the next sharp stab of ecstasy that shot through her that finally made her open her honey-toned eyes, eyes dark with the pleasure coursing through her, and whisper on a breathless moan, “Happy Anniversary to you too.”

Arnav froze.

Pure undiluted ice rushed through his veins, as all at once, visions of the bruises he’d left on her both physical and mental tore through him. His jaw clenching, as if dealt a merciless blow – Arnav Singh Raizada remembered exactly why, on this particular day, he was supposed to be anywhere but here.

* * *

“Khushi – can we please just not do this now?” snapped Arnav, his voice harsh with self-recrimination, as he fixed the buttons on his cuff, on his way out of their bedroom.

In hindsight, that probably hadn’t been the most intelligent thing to say. Not when he’d practically leapt out of bed less than twenty odd minutes ago. Especially, not when he’d spent those twenty minutes, simultaneously getting dressed and watching his wife go from baffled to enraged.

“Excuse Me? ‘Not do this now?’ When would you like to do it pray tell – “ snapped Khushi, as she followed him down to the bannister, her muffled footsteps in the plush brown carpeting irritating her even more for reasons she could not explain.

“Arnav, please?” she asked plaintively, her hand shooting out to catch the corner of his coat as she tried desperately to understand what just happened, “What are you running away from?”

For the second time that morning, Arnav stilled. What was he supposed to say – that he was running away from her? That her excitement for this particular day, confounded him when all he could think of was everything he’d put her through – and it had all started on this ‘momentous’ occasion.

That the memories of every painful, degrading incident that had now been seared into his memory came flashing back with that one little word?

Would she understand?

Could he really ask her to?

Bhai…” interrupted a cautious voice, forcing Arnav’s attention away from the delicate hand that clutched so dearly on to the end of his jacket. He hesitated, for the briefest second – only to tenderly dislodge her hand from his self.

“I have an empire to run, Khushi – this can wait.”

* * *

“Khushi! I mean seriously, you don’t think you’re over-reacting just a little bit?” teased Lavanya, as she watched a decidedly aggravated Khushi snag yet another jalebi off her mini-mountain of fresh fried delicacies.

Not that it seemed to help – Khushi Kumari Gupta or rather Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada was a force of nature unto herself. She always was, and in her own way always would be. Smiling, as she propped herself up on her kitchen stool, the very pregnant Mrs. Nadkishore continued to try futilely to calm her best friend down only to be subjected to yet another long winded rant.

“…He left our bed.  As in he practically jumped out of it. I mean, you’d think that after three years I’d be able to understand the man – he acted like I threw hot tea on him – actually no – I’ve done that before, and he still hasn’t reacted like this. The first year I thought it was just him being him, the second year – I rationalized that he wasn’t here – what was today? I still can’t understand it…..why must he be such – ”

“A guy?” Lavanya quipped lightheartedly, as she watched Khushi finally set down her bag full of jalebi dough, only to feel a guilty tug at her heartstrings as she saw the tinge of genuine disappointment that dulled her friend’s usually bright smile.

“I’m not complaining, you know,” she clarified softly, her kohl rimmed doe-eyes fixed carefully on a spot above Lavanya’s shoulder, “I know exactly how lucky I am. He’s changed in so many ways, for me. It’s not like I don’t see everything he’s done, or the things he does.” Her voice cracking ever so gently, she continued, almost shyly, “He’s gone from being my personal ‘Laad Governor’, to the man who always has time to take me out to the latest Salman Khan movie, who makes a point to drive me to Buaji’s himself, no matter how busy he is, makes sure he takes me with him on almost every business trip, being the man who only complains bi-weekly about being dragged to Puja’s, and hardly ever when subjected to …well, me. I know how much he’s changed– I really do. And you have no idea how amazing he makes me feel, with just one look in the middle of dinner party, or one whispered word on his way out in the morning -”

Lavanya Kashyap, had been an honorary Raizada family member for much longer than she had been a Raizada family member. As current best friend and former fiancé to her two favorite Raizada’s, she was also uniquely placed to note that both of them were absolutely insane.

On one hand there was Arnav – a man, who found time, while managing a multi-million dollar International Fashion House, to make sure that his wife didn’t go visit her parents alone, and yet stubbornly refused to buy her a damn rose on their anniversary.

And on the other there was Khushi, ever understanding Khushi, whose wide-eyed innocence and impossibly forgiving nature threatened the sanity of almost anyone around her  – stubbornly refusing to let her cynical bastard of a husband not celebrate what he saw as ‘a marketing campaign’, and yet feeling guilty for not letting him the entire time.

If anything, insane was probably an understatement.

“But?” she prompted tenderly leaning over to cover her friend’s hand with her own as she watched her blink back tears of guilt and recrimination.

“ – But Lavanyaji…sometimes… just sometimes, as perfect as things may be, you want to be able to look forward to something, anything really to remind you of all the things you are grateful for – is it really so wrong to want to ask for that?”

* * *

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember the date.

That’s not to say he did remember the date, he didn’t remember the date – obviously – but that wasn’t the issue.  Not really.

The issue was that for the life of him he couldn’t see the point of remembering dates. And it wasn’t just him, Anyone who’d sat through six credits worth of Professor Koehler’s Marketing class, knew exactly how shallow the notion of Anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, Birthday’s or, any other ‘day’ was.

He should know, it was a marketing ploy he used to make millions of dollars in base revenue every year – Hell, most of his employee bonuses came out of commercialized holiday campaigns.

And yet, he’d given in on all of them – except that one – or at least that was the explanation he gave Aakash, when he’d pointed out that he could save himself a wealth of marital unrest by simply acknowledging the date.

Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be sitting here, hoping against hope that his wife would pick up his call, and let him explain.

Not that there was much he could explain, he admitted as he grabbed his keys and on that note dragged a frustrated hand through his already tousled hair. It was thus, as Arnav Singh Raizada, former tycoon and currently tormented husband – started to make his way out of his office, that his phone finally connected.

“Dick move ASR.”

The words were a statement – not a question. They were also most definitely not what he’d expected to hear when he picked up his phone to call his wife for the millionth time since that morning.

“Is she there?”

“What do you think, smartass?”

Common men did not consider, Arnav Singh Raizada –to be a man one trifled with.

Unfortunately for him, the caller on the other end of the phone was neither common, nor a man.

She, happened to be an ex-fiancé, a best-friend and a very pregnant sister-in-law all in one – which unfortunately for him meant he’d have to keep his ire in check.

Her husband, who decided it was an opportune moment to ‘talk’ to his cousin, however, was an entirely different issue.

“It’s idiotic and I’m not having this conversation with you. Now tell me where she is, Dammit!” Snapped Arnav, his already frayed nerves finally having reached their breaking point, as he listened to his cousin tell him yet again, how the way to a woman’s heart was through sparkly baubles and cakes too dense to be able to easily cut – it was, basically, an Australian accented lecture on everything that meant nothing to any woman of substance – and yet there he was, in a dimple-filled little bubble with his annoyingly, happy wife and here he was trying to figure out a way to explain to his usually amazingly considerate wife why the word anniversary in particular made him want to cringe more than nails on a chalkboard.

Or more appropriately why it made him flinch as it had this morning.

“Nannav, you really need to pull you head out of your nether regions. She’s not asking you to give her a Chip n’ Dale’s demo, she’s just asking for you to do something, anything to commemorate what must be a beautiful memory for her.”

Far from being the soothing balm it was meant to be, however, NK’s well meant lecture began to inadvertently touch on the very thing Arnav Singh Raizada had been refusing to admit for over two years now  – even to himself.

A realization that in itself was alarming, because, if there was one thing Arnav Singh Raizada was known for it was his ability to put mind over matter – or at least he was.

Until now.

The mind was funny that way – it made you believe, that if you could even just narrowly avoid thinking about it, if you didn’t come out right and acknowledge it, if you did all of that just right  – then, maybe, just maybe the guilt wouldn’t be able to catch up, and eat at him the way it threatened to – at least not yet.

“Nannav mere bhai, seriously – are you even listening to me?”

* * *

There were many things people expected the wife of a fashion mogul to excel at.

Running away, unfortunately, was not generally on that list. It was none-the-less, an act the wife of one particular Fashion mogul excelled in.

The thing was, as fate would have it, from the minute she’d fallen into his arms three years ago – all roads, from that day forward, led back to him.

From darga’s to Delhi – from hospitals to home – it was always him.

In the beginning she’d fought it, been frustrated by it or worse been frightened by it.

But that was three years ago.

Today, she sat nimbly at the edge of the pool-side she’d once slept beside for months, her head tilted back, as she simply allowed herself to take in everything around her. The stars high in the night sky, their constant presence a balm to her soul in ways she would never be able to truly explain, the cold water, weighing down on her anklets, making them infinitesimally heavier as they clung to the raised arches of her feet.

Everything.

Which was why – Khushi Kumari Gupta, was not surprised in the least when the thunderous crash of her bedroom door, signaled the arrival of her harried husband.

Which was why she was able to hear beyond the harshness of his tone to the sharply laced fear of his curt– “You’re here.”

* * *

“Where else would I be?”

She’d said it so simplistically. So matter-a-factly.

As if the icy fear that had pooled in him for hours as he’d gone from her office, to Buaji’s , and then Lavanya’s and again to Aakash’s, and even Di’s – was beyond asinine, was beyond anything.

Part of him, wanted to rage at her for putting him through the past few hours, for not picking up her phone, for not being where he’d thought she would be, for making his family fall so in love with her, that they remained damningly silent on her whereabouts, even as they watched him slowly drown in quicksand-like fear.

For making him love her so absolutely, that even the irrational fear of her temporary absence threatened to ravage his very soul.

Three years ago that would have been exactly what he’d done.

But this was now.

And the Arnav Singh Raizada of today was different.

He wasn’t better, not yet.

He wasn’t even calmer.

He was simply different.

She slid her feet out of the pool, raising herself up off the side like a mermaid turned human, her feet leaving a trail of wet footsteps as she made her way to where he stood rigid, at the door, her head tilted ever so slightly – almost in wonder, as she asked –

“Why did you think I left?”

Because you should.

Because I don’t deserve you.

Because this day of all days should remind you of all the ways in which I am unworthy.

All, answers which sprang to mind. None of which, would ever pass his lips.

He wished he understood this woman.

But even today, he knew that he perhaps never would.

She was glorious – calm, sweet, concerned even – and glorious.

He had expected umbrage, rage, disappointment even for what she should see as his stubborn refusal to bend to quaint little customs.

Instead he stood there, his entire being on edge from the mental torment he’d put himself through for the past three hours, quite simply unable to process anything beyond the fact that she was standing there.

She was still there.

* * *

In any number of infinite ways, Khushi remained the same headstrong young woman who had come to Delhi in a cloud of scandal that had threatened to swallow her whole.

It was in that moment of utter ruination, however that she had discovered the one thing that allowed her to stand, unchanged, where she stood, toe to toe with a man that had the power to crush her soul, or worse, break her heart – that she had discovered that she was not afraid.

For if the darkest moments of scandal could not lay her low, if the year of mental warfare following it could not – then nothing could. Not even this man who stood mutely before her, drenched in fear, desolation and more fear.

Her feet still wet from their pool-side rendezvous, she stepped closer still.

So close that she now had to look up to actually see him.

So close, that his arms came around her instinctively, to hold her against him.

So close, that her wet feet now stood on soft handcrafted Italian leather, instead of plush carpets.

Pressing her forehead against the still uneven beat of his heart, Khushi, allow her hand to slide up the lapel of his jacket, her face upturned as she forced him to look at her.

So close.

And yet, the second she’d stepped into his arms, she’d felt the walls rise high yet again.

* * *

His arms wrapped around her like steel bands, Arnav Singh Raizada, for one brief second allowed himself to the silken head of hair tucked preciously under his chin.

In the next second however, he hardened his supposedly incapacitated heart, along with his grip forcing her to turn her face up to his, only to have her lips captured by his own.

Desperately – needing to touch her, to feel her, to simply hold her.

Ravenously – like a man starved of human contact for centuries, instead of mere hours.

Punishingly – as if to ensure whatever else, the last three hours would never happen again.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of losing her. For in truth there was nowhere she could hide that he would not find her – simply because he would never stop looking.

His hands molding the devastating curves of her body to his own frame, as he carried her yielding self to their bed – the one place he knew, beyond a doubt that he was in control of what she felt, what she thought – what she remembered.

So engrossed was he, in the utter perfection of his wife’s body, that he almost did not hear the words she whispered in his ear as he dragged the thin strap of silk from her shoulders with his teeth.

“It doesn’t matter.”

One knee balanced precariously on the cavernous bed, he shifted, ever so slightly, her words washed over his entire being, soft enough to cling to him, and yet infused with enough conviction to make his eyes close involuntarily in temptation.

She knew.

She understood.

His voice hoarse with feelings he dared not show in the light of day, he asked almost childishly, “How?”

He could feel the smile flit across her lips, as she pressed her face to his chest, only to have her pull back and silently begin to unbutton, the wells starched garment, as if her methodical movements were answer enough. And then, just when he thought she wasn’t going to answer at all, she answered him with a kiss.

A soft delicate kiss. Pressed to his chest, where her hand rested, just above his beating heart.

And then she looked up at him, her hands sliding to cup his face, cradle it as one would a child – “I stopped thinking like me – and asked myself what horrible delusion you could possibly be punishing yourself for this time.”

His gaze riveted by the aching sweetness of the words falling off her lips, he pointed out, almost reluctantly – “It’s far from a delusion. I..”

“Love me?” she prompted, the lightness in her tone in direct contrast with the despair in his.

“Always.” He breathed, the word almost a whisper against her skin, as he buried his face in the curved sanctuary of her neck.

“Tell me why it hurts –”  she whispered back, pulling herself back ever so softly, her arms wrapped around his arms, as he bent, tenderly, pushing back a loose tendril of hair, to bare her to him – her silk, red negligee now pooled effortlessly at her waist, and then lower still as he guided the cloth off her, as if even thin barrier was too much for him.

“Because you want to commemorate a day I deserve to be castrated for.”

Her soft tinkling laugh only making it worse – every fiber of his being wanting desperately to reach out and destroy him from the inside out.

“And if I assured you I am very thankful that you weren’t divested of specific parts, would it help?”

“Khushi – it’s not funny-”

“I want to celebrate my anniversary Arnav.” She said simply, as if it wasn’t all intricately wrapped up in memories so vicious they threatened to strip bare all that they had built since.

Desperation shooting through him, as he joined her under the soft silk sheets, Arnav Singh Raizada, began to do what he did best – Negotiate.

“Anything else. Let’s celebrate anything else – the first time I kissed you, the first time I saw you work yourself into a panic over me, hell darling, wait five months and I’ll celebrate the first time you fell into my arms –  “ he promised bleakly, each promise interposed, by rough-tender kisses, meant to make her amenable to anything he said.

And just in case that didn’t work, he offered more, his forehead sealed against hers as he fit himself against her, in an age-old rhythm, Arnav Singh Raizada begged, his voice cracking ever so softly on the words, “Anything. Dammit, Darling anything – just don’t make me ‘celebrate’ the day I tore apart your world, your family – I can’t, hell, I won’t.”

Her voice breathless, as this strong imperfect man loved her, in the only way he knew how she answered with devastating simplicity– “You are my family. You are everything.”

His eyes slamming shut at the tenderness of her answer, he moved with aching deliberation one last time inside her – willing her to feel every ounce of the soul-shattering ecstasy her words had just given him.

And with one last gasp, of sheer wonder, as the stars shattered into a million pieces around her – she did.

Author’s Note:

Hello Everyone!

 It has been a very long time since I was last here – and I am truly humbled to be back, in the company of such illustrious talents. The initiative to bring back so many of us for once final celebration of our favorite, ‘jodi’ has allowed many authors, myself included, a chance to relive, and give back to all the love our readers (Yes, that means YOU!) have showered us with in our years as writers on the forum and the many years since.

For those of you who have been requesting blog links and access to my personal blogs – I am very sorry for not being able to have replied earlier –

India Forum’s Link for ‘Salvation’ – HERE

My Personal Blog Link – HERE

My India Forum’s Index Link – HERE

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

For those of you who are following the blog for Expressions of Love aka  the OS collaboration of the ages, the blog link is HERE.

And finally, once again – ‘Read and Review, my Loves’! ❤