Chapter 16: Confection

Khushi

"I hate him. I hate him as I've never hated anyone in my life. I hate him so much that it makes me sick to look at him. I hate him so much that I would rather die than have his name and mine be taken in the same breath."

For a moment, it seemed that Arnav-ji had softened, that he was finally listening to what she was saying. But then ...

"I can't do this with you," he strode to the door, "I can't."

Khushi sank back onto the bed, trying to stop her tears in vain. Eventually, when she had composed herself, she returned to the main room and found Arnav-ji standing near the front door.

"We're leaving," he announced when he saw her.

"You won't stay for lunch?" Bua-ji flapped her hands in his direction, "But ... I thought ..."

Arnav-ji didn't respond. Khushi felt the weight of his gaze as she knelt in front of her father's wheelchair.

"Bye Babu-ji," she held her father's hand, "I'll visit you again soon."

She said her farewells to her mother and aunt before joining Arnav-ji at the door.

"Visit soon, babua," Bua-ji spoke softly, "and ... and take care of our daughter."

Arnav-ji gave a small nod.

"And ... babua ..." Bua-ji examined her hands before meeting his eyes, "Payaliya ... she lives in your ... your house now ... and ... she meant ... we all meant well ... you see ..."

Khushi noted an unexpected warmth flare in his eyes as he responded, "I won't turn her out of her home. I'll take care of both your daughters, don't worry. Tell Payal nothing. I will handle it when it's time."

Though clearly surprised, Bua-ji nodded her agreement.

"Khushi," Amma hurried over, a small bag clutched in her hands, "Take this."

Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile as she recognised the bag as the same one that had come with Arnav-ji's bangles a few nights ago. A quick glance told her that he'd recognised it too.

"Thank you," she smiled at her mother, "I'll call you later."

They drove to Shantivan in silence, a chasm of misunderstandings between them, and though she tried to think of something to say, they reached their destination before Khushi had uttered a sound. She followed Arnav-ji out of the car and to the entrance of the house, where he held out his hand.

"I don't want to worry Di. She has to believe that your pagphere went well."

Nodding, she slid her palm against his. He held tightly as he pressed the doorbell.

"Hello, hi, Arnav-bitwa," Mami-ji answered, "And the esstra bahu. Welcomes back."

"Chhote? Khushi-ji? How did it go?" Anjali-ji arrived in the entryway.

"Fine, Di," Arnav-ji said brusquely, "Everything is fine."

He shouldered past his sister. When Anjali-ji narrowed her eyes at her, clearly mistrustful, Khushi mustered up a smile, "It went well, Anjali-ji. Did Jiji and Jija-ji return safely?"

"They returned some time ago," Anjali-ji nodded, "Payal-ji is in the kitchen. They wouldn't answer our questions."

Khushi's eyes followed her husband as he disappeared up the stairs, "I'll see if she needs any help."

She found her sister pacing the length of the kitchen, fidgeting with the pallu of her sari. Jiji quickly turned away, but not before Khushi saw the glisten of tears.

"Jiji! Are you crying?"

"N-no. It's nothing. Where ... where you and Arnav-ji?"

"Tell Payal nothing. I will handle it when it's time."

"We just went to eat," she spoke over the rumble of her tummy, stepping closer, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Jiji!"

Her sister took a deep breath that turned into a sob, "Maa-ji shouted at me. She accused me of trying to ruin her diet. All I did was bring her lunch."

Khushi eagerly turned her mind to this new problem, glad for the distraction.

"We just need to figure out what she likes!" she paced the kitchen, "Think, Jiji, think. What does she want? What does she like? What will make her happy?"

"Send me out of this house," Jiji said tearfully, "Then she'll be happy."

"Jiji! I'm trying to find a solution to our problem, and you're spouting lines like the heroines of old films!"

She paced some more, biting her nails. Then her eyes found a small platter with the beginnings of a salad.

"Jiji!" Khushi bounced eagerly, "We'll make something she likes to eat!"

"No, no, she's on a diet. She loves kheer and she's not even eating that."

"Not a problem, Jiji!" she hurried to grab what she needed.

A little while later, she sat on the countertop, watching as her sister stirred the contents of the pot.

"What do you think, Khushi, will everything be okay now?"

"Yes Jiji!" she said confidently.

Her sister remained unconvinced, "This kheer. What if she doesn't like it ... and her dieting ..."

"It's been made with her diet in mind!" she reminded her sister, "There's no sugar but it's still tasty!"

Thank you, Devi Maiyya, for helping me learn to make all those sugar free desserts.

"Where did you learn this?" Jiji asked.

Khushi shifted so her blush was hidden behind her hair, "Uhh, I taught myself these last few months."

"For Arnav-ji?" her sister asked astutely, "Like the sugar-free things on Diwali?"

Hopping down, she took the spoon from Jiji and stirred the kheer, "It doesn't matter. What matters is that we have something to appease Mami-ji!"

"Here, khas-khas," Jiji reached for a small container, "Bua-ji says that it—"

"—Changes the kheer entirely," Khushi finished, stepping away from the pot.

"Payal-ji? So it's you making the kheer?" Anjali-ji approached them, smiling, "Mami-ji just sent me downstairs to find out who is making such delicious smelling kheer."

Khushi bounced as she watched her sister smile.

"And for Chhote ..." Anjali-ji began.

"There's no sugar at all," Jiji explained, "So he can eat it."

Anjali-ji nodded, "Khushi-ji can you take some out for him?"

"Yes."

When Anjali-ji was gone, Khushi filled a small bowl and set it on a small tray.

She turned the stove off, "Jiji, I'll just go and ..."

"Yes go," her sister spoke distractedly, "I'll be fine here."

She hurried up the stairs with the tray balanced in her hands and tried to ignore the slight tremble that went through her body when she reached the doors of his bedroom.

Khushi, just go in there and put the kheer on the table. You don't even have to talk to him. He won't fight with you if you don't give him the chance.

A deep breath, and then she shouldered her way into the room. To her surprise, Arnav-ji was asleep on the sofa, one hand behind his head and the other slung across his middle.

Last night was his first on the sofa. He must not have slept well.

Approaching as silently as she could, she placed the tray on the small table before kneeling in front of him. Her eyes found the tear that still clung to his eyelashes, the near-invisible trail of moisture from the corner of his eye to his hair.

Oh Devi Maiyya, he's so hurt.

It was evident in the way he wouldn't meet her eyes, in the way he couldn't repeat Shyam-ji's words, in the way he could barely recount what he'd seen on the terrace. His pain seemed to make her heart ache because she knew that she would be hurt too if their positions had been somehow reversed. But she often lay awake at night contemplating the reason for his hurt, wondering if he felt his love had been betrayed as well as his trust.

But I would ask him for the truth and I would believe what he told me. I would listen.

The memory of the way she'd denied him a chance to explain the mixup at the guesthouse did not inspire confidence, however, though her mind shied away from the thought that she wouldn't listen to him at all.

I would trust him.

I would.

Khushi reached out to wipe away his tears. He looked peaceful, though up close she could see the unhealthy parlour of his skin and lines of weariness etched into his features.

Why don't you trust me? she asked him silently, I'm trying my best.

I love you so much.

His eyes blinked open unexpectedly, "Khushi?"