Chapter 18: Conversation
Khushi
Something had changed.
Khushi lay in bed, listening to the faint hiss of the shower as she replayed last night's odd conversation. While Arnav-ji had understandably been angry at Shyam-ji, he hadn't — so far — expressed any such emotion towards her. In fact, he'd been ... nice ... and she didn't know what to make of it.
Days of entirely avoidable misunderstandings — if only he'd just listen, Devi Maiyya! — had led to the sobering notion that he would always jump to the wrong conclusion about her intentions. Her attempts to avoid a fight had been misread as a defence of Shyam-ji. Her discomfort with the way he accused Amma and Bua-ji of wrong-doing had been interpreted as a facade.
But he'd acted differently last night by choosing to overlook what he'd seen. For surely, having come upon a scene where Shyam-ji was clearly showing off his intimate knowledge of her habits, likes, and dislikes, he could have jumped to the conclusion that they were tormenting Di, right there in the open. And yet, though he'd growled at Shyam-ji, Arnav-ji had only asked her to talk about herself, to tell him all that he didn't know.
The shrill ring of the phone interrupted her thoughts. Launching herself out of the bed, Khushi snatched it from the sofa and glanced towards the bathroom door as she answered.
"H-hello?"
"May I speak to ASR-Sir?" a gruff sounding man spoke.
"I'm sorry, he's busy right now. I can ... I can take a message," Khushi rushed to her basta and fished out a small yellow notebook, "Okay, I'm ready."
"Please let Sir know that Mr Oberoi from London has landed. He's accompanied by a lawyer and wishes to sign the papers today. Mr Roy is preparing the final documents and the meeting is scheduled for 11 am."
Khushi wedged the phone between the ear and shoulder as she transcribed the message diligently.
"Your name and number?" she prompted, reminded strongly of her short-lived days as a personal assistant at AR.
The man supplied the required details before asking a question of his own, "Are you the new assistant?"
"Huh?" Khushi frowned, "Oh no! I'm not Arnav-ji's assistant. I mean, I was, a long time ago, and only very briefly, but now I'm his wife."
Silence met her statement.
She took a deep breath, "Namaste, I'm Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada."
"My apologies for the confusion, Mrs Raizada."
"No harm done," she said brightly, "I'll let him know that you called."
She ended the call after exchanging polite goodbyes. Ripping the page from her book, she arranged the note and phone on the table before turning. Arnav-ji leaned against the frame of the bathroom door with his arms crossed, already dressed in a white shirt and grey slacks.
"Thank you, Mrs Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada."
His mouth tilted into a smile as he added his name to hers. Her pulse skittered.
"Y-y-ou?"
"Yes, m-m-me," he grinned.
She blushed at the memory of their clandestine meeting during Jiji's Sangeet, her skin warming as he pushed away from the frame to stand at the wardrobe.
"I forced Aman to take a few days off," he spoke with his back still turned, "Seems the office can't run without him."
"Is he ... ok-okay?"
Arnav-ji turned, his hands knotting a tie with practised efficiency, "He needed a holiday. He'll return a week after Holi."
She watched him, heart hammering and mouth suddenly dry because there was something so normal, so domestic, about his behaviour. Unwilling to break whatever spell he was under, she stood still and silent as he gathered his things from the sofa and table. The message she'd taken disappeared into his pocket with his phone. Then he paused in front of her, his eyes narrowing at something at the poolside before settling on her again.
She trembled as he tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. "Wh-What are y-you ..."
"Ssshhhh."
Maybe someone is watching us again. Mami-ji. With binoculars.
"I have an idea," her husband smiled at her, taking half a step closer, "Aakash is signing a big deal today on behalf of AR. We should go out to celebrate, all four of us. Tell Payal and meet us at the Lotus Cafe at noon."
He smelled of his soap and aftershave. The light from the poolside doors caught the molten caramel in his eyes.
"Sound good?" he prompted.
She blinked, "Y-yes."
"I'll see you then."
Arnav-ji stepped away. The memory of the way Shyam-ji had cornered her in the kitchen rose to the forefront of her mind.
"Wait!"
He froze in the doorway and turned, eyebrow quirked in that way of his.
"I have to tell you something," she took two tentative steps forward.
"Can it wait until lunch?" he asked.
"It's import—"
"—I'm running late."
Arnav-ji looked down and away.
He doesn't want to talk.
Disappointment swept through her. Khushi nodded and watched him disappear through the doors before retrieving her basta from the corner. She was rummaging through it when her phone rang. It was Arnav-ji.
"Wardrobe. Yellow package on the shelf to the right," he said without preamble.
He ended the call without waiting for a reply. Frowning, she slid open the wardrobe door and fished out the package. There was a note on top, written in his familiar near-indecipherable scrawl.
You no longer have to borrow from Di.
Inside the box was a three-toned sari; teal and emerald green and royal blue blended seamlessly, with bright pink pleats that contrasted beautifully with the rest.
"It's so pretty!" Khushi grinned, hugging the soft material to her chest.
She paired the sari with a brilliant green blouse that Bua-ji had dropped off with all her other things and was ready in record time, brushed, washed, and her hair falling neatly down her back. Then she went downstairs to help with the puja preparations, trying her best to stay out of everyone's way. The glares and mutterings of the first day had lessened, though anger and disappointment still wafted in the air. Jiji still handed out the prasad every morning.
"Payal-ji, Khushi-ji," Anjali-ji turned to them after the prayer was over, "Will you come to the storeroom with me after breakfast? I have something to show you both."
Khushi nodded before making her way to the kitchen, exchanging a perplexed look with her sister. Jiji shrugged as she readied the tea and lead the way to the dining area, where they both helped serve the breakfast things before sitting down to eat.
"Khushi-ji you look very pretty today," Nanhe-ji grinned at her from his seat across the table.
"That sari," Aakash-ji frowned, "That's part of the new collection."
She blushed as everyone turned to stare, "I ... that is ... Arnav-ji gave it to me ..."
Mami-ji sniffed in annoyance, "Now you're stealing from the company, is there no end to your greed?"
Her smile faded away, "I ... I didn't ... I didn't know ..."
"Maybe Saale-Sahib fought with her," Shyam-ji turned his attention in her direction, "and is now trying to make up for his mistake."
Devi Maiyya, give me strength.
"No, Jija-ji, he did not. As you know, a husband doesn't need an occasion to gift his wife a sari. It is his haq," she turned to her sister and brother-in-law, "Arnav-ji mentioned you are signing a deal today. Good luck."
"Thank you, Khushi-ji," Aakash-ji ducked his head.
The conversation soon shifted to other things, but Khushi found that her appetite had flown away. Sourness churned in her tummy as she felt Shyam-ji's slimy stare on her. Taking a deep breath, Khushi ran a hand over the seat of her husband's empty chair as her mind drifted. She imagined a morning where another Khushi and another Arnav-ji enjoyed breakfast at this table. She imagined that he would watch as she poured his orange juice and buttered his toast, a small smile on his lips, and would take her hand under the table when no one was watching.
Maybe she would pout when he fiddled with his phone until he tucked it away with a groan, and maybe Nani-ji and Anjali-ji would chuckle as they watched. Maybe she would walk him to the door, where she would embrace him before handing over his laptop bag. Maybe he would tug on her arm until she stood outside, where he would cage her against the door and lean in ...
Khushi shook herself out of her reverie, sighing deeply.
Why aren't you here? With me?