Interlude: Avalanche

Arnav

"Thank you, Sir. We're ... we're in your debt."

Mohan's brother — Ravi — shook Arnav's hand for the sixth time since they'd arrived.

"Arnav," he corrected, "and Mohan is a part of our household. I'll take care of everything."

Ravi nodded and turned towards the room Mohan was resting in. Di, Khushi and Payal had exhausted the man with their basket of home-made foodstuffs and collection of sundry items for "comfort". The women now sat next to the sickbed, conversing in hushed whispers as Mohan slept. Perhaps Khushi noticed his stare because she chose that moment to look up. She smiled serenely, blushing a little, before replying to whatever her sister asked her.

Arnav studied his driver from the doorway. Mohan was pale. His left leg was in a cast, as was his left wrist. There was a bandage around his head, and another hidden under his shirt. He had suffered a mild concussion, three fractures, a few broken ribs and a collapsed lung.

"These eight days would've been so much harder if you hadn't called the hospital," Ravi admitted.

Has it only been eight days?

Arnav thought back to their long conversation with Mohan's doctors, "He's recovering well. The doctors are optimistic."

"They mentioned post-traumatic stress," the other man said uncertainly.

"I said I would support your family through everything. I meant it. He saved my sister's life."

"How is Anjali-ji?"

"Recovering."

"The police don't think it was an accident."

Arnav exhaled slowly, "They're still investigating."

In fact, the police investigation was proceeding so slowly that what little faith he had in the public justice system was waning away to nothing. And to add to the stress, Aman had requested an extension of leave to attend the hastily-organised engagement of a younger sister.

Unbelievable.

Not only that Aman had asked, but that he'd agreed.

Arnav was distracted from his thoughts as Khushi withdrew from the women and approached. She wore the sari he'd helped her pick out, pink with green velvet accents.

That was also eight days ago.

She came to a standstill a short distance away, fiddling with her bangles. Just like her sindoor and mangalsutra, she never failed to wear Mamma's bangles.

"My wife, Khushi," Arnav introduced her, "and Khushi, this is Mohan's brother, Ravi."

"Namaste," Khushi brought her hands together, "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you for visiting my brother and cheering him up."

"He's like family, Ravi-ji, no need to thank us. It made Di feel a lot better to visit him and see how he's doing. Arnav-ji, I think we're finished. Mohan-ji is sleeping."

Arnav, distracted from his study of the way the sari accentuated the flare of her hips, cleared his throat before he attempted speech, "I'm ready to leave when you are."

"Okay."

She left after flashing him a final smile. He watched the sway of her hips as she walked away.

He'd been momentarily robbed of speech when she'd stepped out of the bathroom wearing that sari this morning. She'd paired it with a gold blouse with puffed sleeves and pompoms, and wore a simple gold necklace that Di had gifted her. Her hair fell in a sleek ebony waterfall down her back, begging his hands to tangle in it as they had yesterday.

His attraction to her was taking over, his mind almost continually played out one impossible (and sensual) fantasy after another. The latest had involved her against the wall, twisting her hands in his hair as he'd kissed and sucked and bitten his way down her body. Her short, gasping breaths had done wonderful things for the bounty hidden under her blouse. She'd moaned when he'd traced her collarbone with his tongue. His hand had wandered down, pushing aside her sari and circling her navel before delighting in the way her muscles had tensed and jumped as he ventured lower to chart new territory. She'd bucked desperately, needing more, and he'd been more than happy to give it to her.

His recollection of the delicious fantasy was broken abruptly as the women exited the room. When Khushi looked at him quizzically, having apparently picked up on his distraction, he shook his head before extending a hand to Ravi.

"I'll stay in touch and keep you informed if there's any new information."

The other man shook his hand vigorously, "Thank you, Sir, uh ... A-Arnav. I'll do the same."

Outside, he helped Di into the car, watching out of the corner of his eye as Khushi hauled herself into the front. For once, she buckled the belt without a reminder. The drive to Shantivan passed without incident, though he noted that Khushi glanced in his direction often. She remained seated after Payal had helped Di out of the car, so he waited with her.

"Is there something you need?" he asked when the other women had disappeared inside.

She looked out the window, nervously twisting her sari in her hands, and spoke softly, "Can you ... can you stay?"

He was confused, "Why?"

"N-n-nothing, forget it."

Khushi reached for the door handle. He stopped her with a hand to her shoulder and offered a compromise.

"I'll come home early, after the meeting."

Love makes us do strange things.

"Okay," Khushi offered him a strained smile as she alighted from the car, "Take care."

#####

He was late.

Despite his best efforts, he was late, and the mid-afternoon Delhi traffic was doing its best to exacerbate his distress. He battered the horn in frustration.

A small part of him argued that it was unreasonable of Khushi to expect that he abandon his obligations towards the company he'd build up from the ground at a moment's notice, but the rest of him hated that he'd broken a promise.

When he was finally in Shantivan, Arnav waved away a passing servant and jogged up the stairs, intending to change before searching for his wife. But what he saw from the doorway froze him in his tracks. The room was dark. Khushi sat on the bed, knees curled against her chest, oblivious to his presence.

"Why me?" she snatched at something next to her and hugged it to her chest with a sob, "Why did Shyam-ji choose me to run his scheme on?"

Any response he could've made was forestalled when he recognised what she held - his blue shirt. Bands tightened across his chest as guilt roiled in his gut. She looked small and frail and utterly vulnerable. She spoke again before he managed to gather his thoughts.

"And why ... why doesn't Arnav-ji believe me?" Khushi sobbed into the shirt.

She didn't cry delicately. She cried as if her heart was breaking, as if her very soul was wounded, and some part of him realised that it likely was. Arnav's heart filled with sorrow and dread and half a dozen other things he had no names for.

He stepped into the room as Khushi howled into the shirt again, her shoulders shaking violently. "What else ... what else can I do? I t-tried everything. And ..."

Unsurprisingly, she didn't notice him until he was standing beside the bed. Her tear-stained features caused his breath to stall. She was strong, but not strong enough for this, not alone. The realisation brought tears to his eyes as he climbed into the bed to gather her in his arms.

Khushi struggled, pushing on his shoulders and kicking a little, but he ignored the voice of warning in his mind and held tighter. She needed this as much as he did.

"Sssshhhh."

She calmed, the hands that had been pushing him away pulling him closer. Her tears returned, thick and fast as she sobbed into his shoulder.

"Why don't you trust me?" she asked, her voice watery and broken.

And when she said that, he heard the question she did not give voice to.

Why don't you love me?

The full extent of the damage his brother-in-law had caused was suddenly made clear. It was not only the deception of the family and the betrayal of his wedding vows, it was not only the treacherous engagement and subsequent threats, it was not only his abominable lust and avarice.

It was this; the marring of every good memory and the annihilation of every hope.

"What did you think, Arnav? That she wanted you? The dancing, the earring, that kiss by the poolside? Did you think it was real?"

Arnav's tears disappeared into his wife's hair as he took a deep breath. Shyam had extinguished a flame in its infancy, but perhaps he and Khushi still held the tools to rekindle it.

"He ... he told me it was all a lie."

Her sobs quieted, and Arnav took it as a sign to continue.

"He told me you never wanted me. That all of it — the kiss, the dance, the earring — it was all a lie. A deception."

She twisted so they could see each other.

"A distraction," he finished in a whisper, "so I wouldn't notice ..."

"Never!" Khushi's denial was vehement.

"I can't tell anymore," he confessed, "It never goes away, his voice."

There was a brief silence, in which her bottom lip trembled as she placed her hand, palm flat, over his heart. After a few moments, he covered her hand with his to hold it here. She blinked back fresh tears with a sniffle.

"Khushi," he said softly, "Is it necessary to cry over every little thing?"

She gave a watery giggle, clearly remembering the other time he'd asked that — on the day he'd first kissed her by the poolside. She smiled as she shifted her weight to lean against the headboard.

He shifted too and, feeling something sharp underneath him, rescued a small gold star from under his knee. Now that he thought to look, he saw gold and silver stars scattered all over the bed.

"What's this?"

Khushi looked around, "My stars. I wanted to put them above the bed but you ... you don't have anything like that here."

A memory rose to the surface of his mind.

"I was eight years old when my parents died in an accident. I believe my parents have become stars, so I sleep with stars hung over my bed."

"Ahh."

She was speaking to her parents.

He watched the nervous motion of her hands as she spoke, "I ... I mean ... Is it ok-okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I can help you if you want."

He called down for HP after urging Khushi to clean herself up in the bathroom and asked the head-servant to bring up a drill and some hooks. When she was done, he took a quick shower before joining her at the foot of the bed. She'd collected all the stars into a pile.

"I'll drill the holes," he offered, "while you tie the stars to the hooks. Then I'll put the hooks into the ceiling."

They worked in companionable silence for a while, but she eventually spoke when he paused in his drilling, "Arnav-ji ... Di thinks I should get a sari for the reception."

"Hmm?"

"It's black and has a pink border. I took a photo of it for you to see."

Arnav lowered the drill, "Why didn't you just buy it?"

"Uhh," she blushed, avoiding his eyes, "It's your money, I thought I would show you first."

"Just buy it next time."

They both froze, watching each other warily as the words seemed to echo between them.

Next time.

He wondered if she knew how much he wanted to step down from the bed, if she knew how much he wanted to kiss her, if she knew how much he wanted to promise there would be a next time, and many more after that.

Forever.

He turned back to his task, now hyper-aware of her stare as he worked. Glancing down, he saw that she focussed not on his hands, but on his midriff, where his shirt had ridden up.

He cleared his throat and watched as she jumped a little before meeting his eyes. He grinned. She blushed.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt that they were going to be okay.