Chapter 29: Compromise

Khushi

Arnav-ji had not returned for dinner.

"Khushi, I brought something to snack on."

The international call he'd postponed the day before had taken so long that he'd ordered dinner at the office.

Khushi glanced at her phone before taking the bowl of channa her sister offered. They were in the study, and the latest episode of Rabba Ve was about to start.

"Do you think she'll confront him?" Jiji asked, referring to the heroine.

"She asked for one chance and she got it. She has to give him a piece of her mind."

"Sagar won't know what's coming!"

"He's so mean," Khushi giggled. "He deserves it. But I don't think the actor is very good. Maybe this show won't be very interesting."

Jiji shoved her gently, "It's only the first week, give it a chance."

"I am!"

They quieted as the disclaimer appeared on the screen. The scene picked up exactly where it had left off, with the two protagonists facing off in the middle of the bazaar.

"I like his voice," Khushi conceded as the hero baited the heroine.

"At least it's shot in Lucknow," Jiji sighed, "I miss our home."

The ad break came right after the heroine's big speech, and Khushi glanced at her phone again.

"Call him," Jiji had noticed, "I'll tell you when it starts again."

Stepping into the corridor, she found Arnav-ji's name and hovered her thumb over the call button, pressing it after a brief hesitation. He answered on the third ring.

"Yeah, Khushi?"

"A-Arnav-ji? I ... uhh ... "

"Are you alright? Did something happen?"

"Oh ... oh no. I just ... I mean ..."

He spoke after a few beats of silence, "Are you being a wife right now, Khushi?"

"Y-yes."

"I'll be home in an hour."

"Have ... have you had your medicine?"

"Yes."

Another short silence, in which Khushi wondered what other wives said to their husbands. And whether those husbands were as romantic as the heroes she'd seen in films.

"Is he ... who else is home?" Arnav-ji interrupted her thoughts.

"It's just us," she assured him, hearing the concern in his voice, "Jiji and I are watching a new serial and everyone else is downstairs. It feels very quiet without Nanhe-ji."

"Alright, enjoy yourself. I have to get back but I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay," she breathed, "Take care of yourself."

"You too," he ended the call.

Khushi stared at the phone for a few seconds before rejoining her sister, who smiled up at her.

"You haven't missed anything except the dramatic music and lots of reaction shots. Sagar didn't like being lectured."

"He wouldn't," she flopped onto the sofa.

"Khoon Bhari—" Mami-ji came up the stairs, "Oh, what are you watching?"

"Maa-ji!" Jiji stood, adjusting her pallu as she spoke, "Is everything okay?"

"I ..." Mami-ji tilted her head to see around Jiji, "I came to see ... but ... but what are you watching?"

"It's a new serial, Mami-ji!" Khushi grinned, "Rabba Ve."

"Rabba ... Ve ...?"

"Do you want to watch with us?" Jiji offered, "Look, the hero is making a speech."

"Well ... maybe for five minutes," Mami-ji sat, "Just this once."

#####

Almost two hours later, Khushi paced the length of the bedroom, furiously biting her nails as she considered.

No, Khushi, it's crazy.

What would Bua-ji say if she knew?

Hai Devi Maiyya, how would Bua-ji find out?

Arnav-ji was in the bathroom, preparing for bed, and she — teeth brushed, hair plaited and changed into a pale pink night-suit — was making a decision.

Or rather, she was agonising over a decision long made.

Please help me, Devi Maiyya.

Scurrying to the sofa, Khushi gathered Arnav-ji's blanket and pillow in her arms and hauled them over to the bed, where she hurriedly arranged them. Stepping back, she considered her handiwork with a critical eye before straightening the pillow.

The tap in the bathroom shut off.

Her heart-rate skyrocketed.

She leapt onto the bed and hid under her blanket, closing her eyes and mouthing a silent prayer as the bathroom door opened. Arnav-ji's footsteps padded on the carpet as he approached the sofa.

He stopped.

Her breath stalled in her lungs. Their silence stretched, becoming heavy with regret as every passing moment heightened her distress.

He spoke at length, his voice soft, "Are you sure?"

The tremble in his voice made her brave enough to peek her head out.

"Yes," she avoided his eyes.

He stayed where he was, considering her in silence, and she assumed he was trying to read her. And then, finally, he slid in beside her with a sigh. Khushi closed her eyes as relief flooded her.

He wants it to be real, just like I do.

They both lay frozen, staring at the ceiling. The only sounds in the room were the dim hum on the air conditioner and Arnav-ji's shallow breaths. She was aware of him, all six feet of him, as if the darkness had somehow magnified his already overwhelming presence.

It should be simple, normal, to share a bed with my husband.

But it wasn't.

Resigning herself to a sleepless, awkward night, Khushi began to replay Salman-ji's latest movie trailer in her mind. Her husband's voice interrupted her happy recollection.

"Khushi?"

"Hmm?" she turned to him.

He was mostly a dim outline, but his eyes glittered with reflected moonlight from the poolside.

"Come here."

Though his words were a command, his tone was not.

She scooted over without protest, sure the sudden pounding of her heart would bruise her ribs, and allowed him to wrap his arms around her. She listened to the rhythm of his heart.

"Should I sleep on the sofa?" his voice was a rumble in his chest.

"No," her reply was firm.

"Then why are you so tense?"

Khushi curled her fingers into his white night-shirt as she put together her response. It was easier to tell the truth when she couldn't see him.

"I'm not tense," she said, "I'm nervous. It's new."

"It's not," his objection was good-natured, "we've done this before."

"That was an accident," she countered, "and this ..."

Is not.

To her surprise, Arnav-ji gave a small laugh, "Would you prefer if we pretended it was an accident?"

"No more pretending," she said sharply, remembering her thoughts on that other morning, "I thought ... That morning I thought ..."

Arnav-ji stiffened, "You thought?"

"You called me babe. I thought you were dreaming of another woman," she confessed in a rush.

Silence.

Arnav-ji breathed deeply, his chest expanding smoothly against hers as he shifted. She released him, half fearful of his response.

"There's only you," he said, "Don't you know that?"

Khushi raised herself on an elbow to look at him.

"You're the only thing that's right in my life," he said simply.

Tangling his fingers into her hair, Arnav-ji gently guided her down until they were breathing the same air. Her hair fell in a curtain around them.

"Is this okay?" he whispered.

She nodded. He traced a finger from her temple to her cheek. Heat coiled in her tummy as he pressed his thumb against her lip.

"I'm going to finish what you started in the kitchen yesterday."

"Okay," Khushi shuddered.

She melted into him with a sigh when he pressed his lips to hers and curled her fingers into his shirt as he kissed her. He was gentle and slow, sure in every action. The feel of his tongue against hers inspired a whimper. He tasted of mint.

Seeming to know when she was out of breath, he moved to her neck and gently sucked on the delicate skin there. She couldn't stop a moan.

"Ssshhhh," he kissed her jaw with a chuckle.

He tutored her patiently, whispering encouragements as she gathered her courage and kissed him. His cheek, his jaw, his neck. Sitting up, he whipped his shirt over his head before joining her under the covers, guiding her trembling fingers to his skin and urging her to explore as she wished. She marvelled at the way his body seemed both familiar and unfamiliar. He groaned as her fingers traced around his torso and across his back.

He didn't seem to need her to do the same; though he kissed along her collarbone and traced his hands on her sides, he didn't attempt to remove her kurta. And though she felt achy and heavy with need, she couldn't find the courage to ask him to.

A long, long time later, he slowed their kisses and enveloped her in his arms, her head again on his shoulder.

"You're in ... you're in my every breath, Khushi."

His truth could only be met with another truth.

"It was always you," Khushi spoke quietly. "Always."

His only response was to glide his hands down to her hips and then lower to her bottom. He squeezed. She made a sound that began as a gasp and ended in a giggle.

"Sleep," he ordered, a smile in his voice.

"How can I?" she asked, wiggling in his grip, "when you're ..."

"Get used to it."

But he slid his hands up to rest on her back. Her breathing evened out to match his as the warmth and comfort of his embrace lulled her into a dreamless sleep.

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