Arnav
Arnav drove home in a daze, ignoring Khushi's enquiring glances from the passenger seat. She bolted as soon as he parked the car, helping Aakash and Di with the costumes before disappearing.
He followed slowly, his heart and his mind engaged in yet another battle in the war that had become his life.
"You take such good care of me."
He looked up. Di stood at the front door, her hand under Khushi's chin as she praised her.
"I only have one sister-in-law," Khushi smiled, "If I won't take care of you, then who will I take care of?"
"Okay, okay" Di giggled, "I'm going."
Arnav spoke the instant his sister disappeared through the doors.
"Where did you go?"
His wife jumped before turning, her eyes shadowed, a jewellery box in her hands. He grimaced, hating her faux-innocence, and despising his vulnerability to it even more. He took the steps with determined strides until he was standing in front of her.
A red rose, concealing the thorns within.
"I ... That ..."
Once, he'd found her stammering replies endearing. Now, he found them contemptible.
"Where were you?" he repeated through gritted teeth, "Don't you dare lie to me. You weren't with Di. And you weren't in the auditorium. Where the hell were you?"
Her eyes focussed on some point above his shoulder as her breath came in short gasps.
Fear.
"Where?" his voice trembled.
Khushi's eyes flew to his, as if she'd noticed.
Tell me. Just be true, for once.
He swallowed as she gathered herself up. "Wherever I went, why is it your concern?"
She started to turn away, but he stopped her with a hand to her arm.
"It's my concern. Where you are, when, and with whom, is my concern. Because you're my wife."
She seemed to soften – or did he imagine it? – but her grip was firm when she took his hand off her arm.
"Your wife? It's strange, I haven't felt like your wife in all these days. This bond is fine whenever you want it, and it has no meaning when you don't want it? You've made a mockery of the sanctity of marriage."
Her every word cut through him, leaving wounds that stung. And like a wounded animal, he fought with a primal urge that obliterated all good sense.
"Just answer my question ... or else ..."
"Or else, what? I'm sick of your threats. Forgive me. I'd forgotten, you never say what's in your heart. Your pride doesn't permit you to say it, right?"
Every muscle in his body tensed as memories attacked him.
"What you feel is what I feel" ... "Our heartbeats become one" ... "Do you remember anything?" "No."
"Your anger has made my life into a farce," Khushi concluded.
Does she remember?
"Khushi, stop your nonsense. I want an answer to what I'm asking."
No, she cannot remember.
"Let me leave," defiance flashed in her eyes, "I have to give Di almond milk."
His hand found her arm again, holding tightly to prevent her escape. The notion that had been tumbling in his mind found its way to his lips.
"Oh! Now I get it. You're trying to make everyone in this household happy. You want to show how much you care for everyone. First you convinced the judges to deny you the prize, then you made sure everyone knew about it so everyone thinks that Khushi is great. What a nice girl, she takes care of everyone, the great Khushi Kumari Gupta, right?"
Singh Raizada.
He inhaled sharply, trying to quash the guilt gnawing at him.
"Think whatever you want to think," Khushi invited, anguish in her eyes, "I'm not concerned about your meaningless words. And yes, now I don't want to talk to you, or listen to you."
Rage, white-hot and blinding, overpowered him. A bag of costumes thudded to the ground before he realized that he'd flung it there. Throwing a horrified glance his way, Khushi made to collect it.
"I can't let you go, Khushi."
The truth tore out of him, his voice almost pained with the weight of it, as he clamped a hand around her arm yet again.
"You'll have to tell me what your plan is. You want to make everyone happy so you can get more jewellery?"
His tone gentled unexpectedly as an ache rose within him. Her eyes dropped to the jewellery box still clutched in her hands.
I'm giving you a chance, Khushi. Tell me everything.
Choose me.
"And then a little more?" he taunted.
Her eyes flooded with tears, damnable drops of salt and water that held him captive.
"Nani-ji gifted this with a lot of love, don't disrespect her feelings."
Arnav snatched the box out of her hands, flinging it against the wall behind him.
"I don't care. I don't have your skill in acting nice."
Her chest rose and fell as she tried to contain a sob. She walked past him, intent on the jewellery, confirming his suspicions.
The jewels mean more to her than her husband.
His jaw tightened. He turned to find her kneeling, gathering gold and garnet into her hands.
"Khushi, I'm asking you something."
She didn't acknowledge him. He strode to her, forcibly pulling her upright. "I said answer me damn it."
Tell me, Khushi. Be honest for once. Be true.
She flung his arms away, rejecting his touch.
"No. Our conversation is over! I don't know what answer you want from me, when I don't even understand your questions. And how will you let me answer? Even if I wanted to say something, you won't understand anyway."
It was so brief, so fleeting, that he almost missed it, but her eyes briefly shone with something. A few weeks ago he'd have called it love.
His control snapped.
"Our conversation is not over! You still haven't answered my question. Where. Were. You?"
Khushi knelt again, now intent on the bag of costumes. He hauled her upright.
"I've made a mockery of this institution? Me? And you? The sindoor, the mangalsutra, you wear them everyday, and yet you refuse to be a wife."
She tossed the bags away. "How can I be a wife if you won't be a husband?"
He leaned forward until his forehead touched hers, "That sindoor is mine. The mangalsutra is mine. I am your husband, Khushi. Now answer, as a wife."