Chapter 17: Cherished

Khushi

"Khushi?"

Her heart skipped several beats - fear or something else, she didn't dare to examine - as he sat up. Arnav-ji blinked at her, his gaze turning cold as he seemed to remember.

"Not now," he stood.

Khushi followed him to the poolside after snatching the bowl of kheer.

"I ... we ... Jiji and I made kheer. Without sugar."

Arnav-ji took up a pair of shears and spoke without turning, "What will Payal say if I ask her about Shyam?"

"The same thing Amma and Bua-ji told you."

"The same lie? Your entire family rehearsed this story?" he snapped the shears in frustration.

Sadness pulsed in her chest, "Or it's the truth."

"The truth," Arnav-ji scoffed.

"How can I prove anything to you if you're not willing to listen?" Khushi asked desperately.

"Listen?" he finally turned, his voice rising with every word, "I don't need to listen to anything!"

He held her wrist, pulling her closer, "I saw you on the terrace. I saw you ... in ... in each other's arms ... I heard what he ... what he said to you! What you said to him!"

"I've tried to explain—"

"— You have no idea do you?" Arnav-ji's grip loosened slightly as he interrupted her.

She watched as anger leeched out of his expression and stuttered a response, "Wh-what?"

"How pretty you look when you're angry."

She blinked at him, completely flummoxed by the sudden change in him, and his mouth tilted into a smile.

"What!?" she managed.

"But that doesn't mean that you should always be angry with me," he said reasonably, "Come."

Khushi didn't resist as her husband gently guided her to the outdoor setting, where he sat her on a seat before settling opposite her. He silenced her with a shake of his head when she tried to speak.

"I was saying," she tried again, "How can I prove that I'm inn—"

Unnoticed, Arnav-ji had reached for the kheer and was now spooning some into her mouth. She swallowed instinctively, blinking in shock. His smile widened. Then he reached towards her, his eyes seeming to sparkle with mirth, and she watched his fingers warily as he wiped a grain of rice from the corner of her mouth. Her pulse stalled, electricity flooding her at the simple touch.

He caressed her cheek before guiding her hand to the spoon and using it to feed himself. There was something in the way he looked at her, his eyes refusing to leave hers as his mouth closed around the spoon, that caused heat to rush through her veins. Khushi struggled to draw breath.

"With you feeding me," he smiled, "even this sugar-free kheer tastes sweet."

Oh, Devi Maiyya.

Had it been only this morning that she'd asked herself whether he'd ever touch her again? Whether he'd ever look at her way he was doing now — as if she was the answer to every question he'd ever had. So great was her relief that she almost sobbed, suddenly wanting this moment to never end. When Arnav-ji fed her again, gently spooning the kheer into her mouth, her only thought was that the spoon had been in his mouth mere seconds ago.

She imagined that she could taste him.

Hai Devi Maiyya, what shameless thoughts!

She inhaled some rice and doubled over, coughing violently.

"Khushi!" Arnav-ji took the spoon from her trembling hands, "Khushi, are you okay!?"

She pressed a hand to her chest, still coughing, and felt him move away. Seconds later, a glass of water flooded her vision.

"Khushi, are you alright? Here, take this water."

He gently patted her back as she sipped. His fingers continued to caress the fabric of her blouse once the coughing had subsided.

"Are you okay?" his voice was soft.

She nodded.

"Di was watching from the terrace," he explained, "so ..."

Everything, all the tentative happiness, relief and gladness inside her turned to ash, leaving her feeling suddenly hollow. Her tummy churned, the kheer sitting heavily inside her. Khushi stood on unsteady legs and brushed him away.

"Wait," he tugged at her arm, a calculated gesture that had her crushed against him in the next instant. Her pulse reacted to his nearness.

"Is Anjali-ji still watching?" she breathed, her eyes pressed tightly shut.

Arnav-ji inhaled deeply instead of answering, his chest rising and falling against hers, and weakness flooded her once more. Khushi trembled as he dipped his head, his breath warm on her skin.

"Will you answer a question?" he asked softly.

"Only ... only if y-you answer one t-too."

"You didn't like the clothes?" he ran a hand over the back of her blouse.

Her breath came in erratic gasps as she recalled the clothes he'd gifted this morning, "Anj ... Anjali-ji gave me this sari to wear, and it ... it felt wrong not to accept her gift. Th-thank you."

He made a small noise of acknowledgement.

"Did you really ... really like the kheer?" she whispered her question.

"It was delicious," he murmured, "You should make it again."

Khushi nodded against his shoulder. Her fingers curled into his waistcoat as she breathed him in. The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with the want that pulsed through her veins. It would take just a small shift of her head, almost nothing, for her to press her lips to his skin. But then Arnav-ji released her slowly, seeming reluctant to break contact, and left the poolside without a word.

Alone, she breathed deeply, her mind awhirl. Her fingers still trembled, her cheeks and neck felt hot. The terrace was empty when she thought to look, leaving her momentarily nonplussed.

Had Anjali-ji been there at all?

Oh Devi Maiyya, it's impossible to know what he's doing. How much of it is a farce? How much of it is real?

It all felt real, which of course was more than half the trouble.

Khushi made her way downstairs without taking note of her surroundings and was half way through mixing the batter for jalebi before she realised what she was doing. The familiarity of frying the batter and dipping it into syrup gradually calmed her. She ate absently as her thoughts chased one another in her mind.

Perhaps if he talked to the neighbours, and to Happy-ji.

He didn't believe Amma and Bua-ji, why would he believe strangers? she argued with herself.

Why would strangers lie?

What would strangers know of the truth?

They know Shyam-ji lied about being unmarried.

But that doesn't prove that I didn't know. Only that they didn't.

Maybe if he asked at Shyam-ji's office about all the days he wasn't at work.

But he already knows Shyam-ji was in Laxmi Nagar.

What if he had Shyam-ji followed?

What use is it now, Khushi? What will that prove?

"There is no proof," she murmured, "that will convince him of my innocence. All I can do is prove that Shyam-ji wanted to marry me, which he already knows. I have nothing to prove that I didn't know he was married."

A flurry of footsteps distracted her from the wave of despair in her heart.

"Khushi-ji, are you okay? I heard your Bua-ji—"

She turned off the gas and faced Shyam-ji, "—Everything is fine, Jija-ji. My husband made sure of it."

She counted a small victory in the way he grimaced as he looked around, "There is no one else here, Khushi-ji, you don't need to lie. Has he hurt you ... what did he do—"

"—Nothing" Khushi interrupted him, "He did nothing."

"And yet, you made jalebi. You only make them when you are upset."

Nausea roiled inside her as he recited the personal - intimate - knowledge he'd gained under false pretences.

Shyam-ji reached for her hand, "Khushi-ji ..."

"Don't touch me!" she backed away, "Your marriage may not hold any significance for you, but mine means a great deal to me."

She stepped around him and fled, leaving him standing in the middle of the kitchen.

. * . * . * .

Arnav-ji had not returned for dinner.

Worry clawed at her heart as she paced the length of the bedroom, stopping every few minutes to glance at the clock.

Oh Devi Maiyya, please keep him safe.

Her phone was a heavy weight in her hand. Unable to take it anymore, Khushi hurried across the corridor and knocked on Anjali-ji's open door.

"Anjali-ji ..."

Her sister-in-law looked up from the magazine she was flipping through. "Khushi-ji, are you alright?"

"I, you see ..." Khushi clasped and unclasped her hands around her phone, "Ar-Arnav-ji isn't back yet and I ..."

Understanding flared in the other woman's eyes, "Something must have come up at the office. Don't worry, Khushi-ji."

"His dinner ... and his medication. What if ..."

"He'll call if he needs anything," Anjali-ji reassured her, "I'm sure he'll be back soon."

Nodding, Khushi turned away, only to find Shyam-ji behind her. He held the plate of jalebis she had abandoned in the kitchen.

"Khushi-ji, I was just about to show Rani Sahiba this plate of jalebi I found in the kitchen. But since you are here, I can ask you directly. Are you upset? Is that why you made jalebi? Tell us, maybe we can help. It can ... it can be difficult for a woman to adjust to a new household."

There was a glint in Shyam-ji's eyes, something that suggested calculation and malice.

"Wait," Anjali-ji joined them at the door, frowning at the plate, "I know that Khushi-ji makes jalebis when she's upset, but I don't think I've ever mentioned it to you."

Horror uncurled within Khushi as she watched Shyam-ji pale. "I ... uhh ..."

"I told him. After all, Khushi is my wife. I know everything about her."

Arnav-ji stood at the end of the corridor. He held her gaze as he approached, and only looked away when he stood beside her.

"Isn't that right, Jija-ji?" his tone was saturated with menace.

Shyam-ji licked his lips nervously before nodding. Arnav-ji turned his heel, leaving Khushi to stare after him as he disappeared into his bedroom.

"See," Anjali-ji said brightly, "What did I tell you?"

Smiling wanly, Khushi bid her goodnight before following her husband. He sat on the sofa, taking off his shoes.

"What else don't I know?" he spoke as she shut the door.

"What do you mean?"

"He knew that you make jalebis when upset, but I didn't. What else don't I know?"

Khushi blinked at him.

He sighed. "The more I know, the easier it will be to convince others that our marriage is real."

She sat across from him, on the edge of the bed, "Well ..."

Arnav-ji waited with uncharacteristic patience.

"I believe in horoscopes, I read them in the newspaper or watch them on TV."

Encouraged by his small nod, she continued, "My favourite colours are yellow and green. You know about the ... the jalebi now. I also like channa, and ber."

"Like the ones on my car?"

"Y-yes," she said, surprised that he'd remembered their meeting in his office carpark.

"Okay, so you eat when you're stressed. What else?"

"I tell Devi Maiyya everything, she's my—"

"—Best friend, I know."

He held her gaze when she met his eyes, and her pulse stalled at what she saw there. There was warmth, and .. something ... something else.

"Keep going," he invited, his voice soft.

Khushi shifted, warming up to their game, and tucked her leg under herself.

"Babu-ji taught me how to make sweets. Our house in Lucknow is called Gomti Sadan. I shared the bedroom with Jiji, and we used to tell scary stories in the dark ..."

And he listened.