Chapter 21: Khushi

"Khussi! Look at this one, it's exactly like your Fufa's engagement ring."

Khushi studied the ring in Bua-ji's hand, a thick gold band that was flattened on one side, where it was stamped with a design of stars. It was gaudy, and while it wouldn't have looked out of place on a man's finger fifty years ago, it was utterly inappropriate for the simple yet refined man she was marrying.

"Thank you Bua-ji," Khushi smiled, "but Arnav-ji would prefer something plain. Very plain."

Something that could disappear. He doesn't wear any jewellery, not even a watch.

This was her current dilemma: how to pick a piece of jewellery for a man who seemed to disdain the very idea?

Bua-ji frowned, as if not quite understanding that tastes and fashion could've changed since she sat where Khushi was today, picking out an engagement ring for her future husband.

"He'll love it! Your Fufa loved his ring, even though he couldn't wear it every day because of his work."

Khushi nodded absently, her gaze caught by a ring displayed inside the cabinet in front of her. It was a plain gold band; slightly rounded instead of flat edged, with a single clear stone its only embellishment. The sales clerk noticed her interest and swiftly unlocked the cabinet.

"Excellent choice, madam," he preened, "your fiancé will love this."

How confidently he speaks about a stranger. What would he say if he knew that I'm marrying Arnav Singh Raizada? Textile tycoon and all-round badmaash?

She blushed as she recalled the kiss he'd gifted her inside the temple.

"Not this one," whispered Bua-ji, leaning over to peek at her selection, "Khushi you're marrying a rich man, not some lawyer from Lucknow. He's used to finer things."

Khushi reached under her dupatta to fiddle with the necklace he'd given her. Seeing that she wasn't listening, Bua-ji hurried to the other side of the store to champion her cause to Amma and Babu-ji. Khushi grabbed her phone and quickly typed out a message.

You don't wear jewellery.

His reply was almost instant.

No, I don't.

Then you have to help me. Gold or platinum for your engagement ring?

I prefer gold. Platinum would match yours, do we need to coordinate?

No. Also, you don't have to wear it after the engagement. I understand.

I'll wear it, absolutely. Otherwise you'll claw out the eyes of any girl who dares to even look at me.

Badmaash. [Scoundrel.]

Pagal. [Madwoman.]

Rakshas. [Devil.]

Oh really, Miss Gupta?

Laad Governor.

What? What does that even mean?

Nothing. Talk to you later.

Smiling, she tucked the phone back into her sling bag.

"This one," Khushi confirmed to the clerk.

They left two hours later, having spent their time picking out almost two dozen jewellery sets; some gifts for the Raizada women, some to be used for Khushi's wedding functions, and the rest to be packed into her bags and worn in her new home. They were only taking a few of them home – the others would follow in the next six months as Babu-ji paid for them. Khushi skipped to her father's side.

"Thank you Babu-ji," she hugged him as they walked to their car.

He kissed her forehead tenderly, "Stop worrying about the money. We're going to marry you off in style. Wherever you are, you'll always be my daughter."

Later that afternoon, in the privacy of her bedroom, Khushi arranged and rearranged the jewellery sets. She wrapped the gifts for his sister, Mami, and Nani using white paper with pink roses printed on it. Then she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the gold band in its blue box.

Now I understand why Jiji falls into a daydream every time she catches sight of her engagement ring.

Such a small thing, but it held her entire future. A home, a husband, a life.

An inexplicable longing gripped her, leaving her hollow. It felt silly, bordering on unhealthy, to miss him when they texted constantly, when they spoke every night, when they'd stood next to each other only three days ago on Teej.

Shaking her head, Khushi carefully packed everything into her cupboard. The first notes of the ringtone she'd assigned to him distracted her as she worked. Khushi danced across the room, engaged in her own private party, and only answered when her favourite part – "Munda Kamal Hai" – was over.

"Arnav-ji!" she greeted.

"Why does it always take you so long to answer?"

"I ... uhh ..."

"Forget it," he sighed, "Did anyone tell you?"

"Yes," Khushi smiled, accustomed to his dislike of small talk.

He groaned. "Khushi, this is ridiculous."

"Why? The roka is two weeks from today."

"Exactly. Two weeks."

"It will be over before you know it," she tried to placate him, "and they'll fix a date for our wedding on the same day."

"Yeah," he scoffed, "and what's two weeks compared to six months?"

"What's wrong? Why are you in such a bad mood?"

Arnav-ji sighed into the phone. "Is it that obvious?"

"Mmhmmm."

"There was something at work," he admitted quietly.

"Oh."

"Don't worry. We'll get through it. We've endured worse."

There was a brief silence in which Khushi heard the chaos of Delhi's peak traffic through the phone. Arnav-ji battered his horn a few times before speaking again.

"Di said that we can't see each other before the roka. Something about the alliance not being formal yet."

"We shouldn't," she admitted, "Bua-ji mentioned ..."

"Who's going to stop me if I want to come to Laxmi Nagar right now?" he challenged.

"It's not about who will stop you, Arnav-ji. It's about respecting the traditions."

"I don't care."

"Respecting our elders?"

"I don't care," he repeated.

"Respecting my beliefs, my family?"

"Two weeks?" he asked after a short silence.

"Two weeks."

Author's Note:

Welcome back to RISHTAA! I hope you enjoy Arc 2 :) The eight week, though beneficial, didn't go as I'd planned. A combination of health and other personal issues means that I wasn't able to complete Arc 2 in the time I'd set myself. I hope to complete the last few chapters of Arc 2 as I'm sharing chapters, but I cannot promise anything so there may be another break in the future. There was always going to be a long break between Arc 2 and Arc 3, so nothing has changed except that the break would come earlier. My apologies to anyone inconvenienced by this, but I hope you understand that I need to take care of myself before I can dedicate time and energy to anything else.

A brief note on 'Laad Governor': British governor generals and viceroys were called Laat Sa'eb in the time of occupation. Now it's used as a way to describe a haughty or lordly person, and Khushi upgraded to "Laad Governor" when describing Arnav in the serial. The spelling - "Laad" instead of "Laat" - was canonised when Arnav wrote it down during his kidnapping. The show also had Irani deliberately mispronounce the word to create comedy - it sounds a lot like Khushi is mispronouncing "Lord", which confuses Arnav, who intentionally says "Lord Governor" in Ek Jashn when he's musing about her name for him.