Chapter 27: Khushi

Khushi sat cross-legged on her bed as she stared at her phone. Texts from Arnav-ji scrolled across the screen. The messages she'd sent him far outnumbered his replies, which were always short and to the point. But peppered amongst them were flirtatious jokes, complaints, and once, even a smiling emoji.

Her heart ached for him. She'd picked up her phone a hundred times since that day, scrolled to his name and hovered her finger over the call button. But the memory of his fury, the way he'd looked at her, and his words – "middle class" – stopped her.

Devi Maiyya seemed to frown from her perch on the desk.

"It's his fault, Devi Maiyya. He should call."

Her best friend didn't deign to reply.

Arnav-ji's family had constantly brought up his anger, but Khushi had convinced herself that their words were exaggerated in the same way Bua-ji insisted in calling her Sanka Devi.

But now she'd seen the coldness in his eyes, the way his fists had clenched as if he'd needed to hit something, heard the barely chained rage in his voice. And now she wondered whether their words held far more truth than she'd ever imagined.

The realisation that she'd created a version of him - a happy, loving, caring Arnav-ji with whom she'd fallen in love - robbed her of sleep.

"Bitiya."

Babu-ji stood at the door, his eyes shadowed and a tray of tea balanced in his hands. This had become a nightly ritual. Sometimes Jiji joined them, sometimes Bua-ji, but often it was just Khushi and her father. They sipped in silence for several long minutes, and Khushi wondered which tactic Babu-ji would try tonight.

"Khushi, child, you must call him."

"No."

"This has gone on long enough," Babu-ji said softly, "Far too long."

"Amma said I could take my time," Khushi said mulishly.

"Your mother ... she cannot see past the grief of one daughter. Here you are wrong, Khushi."

"I'm not! He says he wants to marry me but he didn't help Jiji when he had the chance. And now look at her! She doesn't sleep, she barely eats, and she spends more time at the temple than here with us."

"That's not Arnav-bitwa's fault. You can't blame him for what Abhishek has done."

"I'm not!" Khushi declared hotly, "I'm blaming him for what he did ... what he didn't do."

"We're not entitled to his money," Babu-ji reminded her wearily.

"I didn't—" Khushi cut herself off, flushing.

She still hadn't confessed her humiliating suggestion of a loan, of her willingness to work off her debt as his personal assistant, of the way he'd rejected her. She'd never – not once – thought they were entitled to Arnav-ji's money, but to admit that he'd turned down a loan was to admit the magnitude of her disgrace.

My fiancé doesn't love me enough to give me a loan.

Babu-ji took her in his arms and held her tight. Khushi pressed her eyes shut as a few tears escaped.

"Don't let your pride take this away from you, child."

Her one hope, her one ray of confidence, was that Arnav-ji hadn't called off their engagement. Babu-ji spoke to his family all the time, and so far, no one had mentioned breaking the ties that bound them together. Di visited every few days, bringing food and sweets. She sat with Jiji for hours, coaxing her out of her melancholy with small embroidery projects and cooking experiments. Di seemed to know exactly what to do, and although Jiji responded to her care, she sank back into despondency when Di had left for Shantivan.

Sometimes, Khushi wished she could go with Di. She knew that all she had to do was ask, that Di would react with nothing but unbridled delight, but it was the asking that seemed so impossible.

Why doesn't he visit?

Probably for the same reason she'd never called. Khushi didn't realise she'd spoken until her father answered.

"You asked him to leave. You'll have to ask him back."

The force of her longing took her breath away. Suddenly she wanted, more than anything, to see him again. To catch even the smallest glimpse of him. To hear his voice. To feel his touch. She sobbed as another wave of despair wracked her, and felt her resolve crack slightly. It felt like weakness, as though he'd defeated her somehow even in his absence.

Her father soothed as her as if she were still a child and urged her to sleep. When he was gone, Khushi ran to the window. Jiji sat on the divan, wrapped in a blanket and a cup of tea clutched in her hands. Something twisted inside her chest at her sister's glistening face.

Am I betraying Jiji if I love Arnav-ji?

She returned to her bed, trying to unravel her furiously tangled thoughts, but it was hopeless. Khushi was still lying there, curled into a ball on her side and staring at the statue of Devi Maiyya, when her sister returned to the room.

She instantly shut her eyes.

Jiji rummaged through a drawer and padded to the bathroom before sliding into the bed with a sigh.

"Are you asleep?" she asked.

Khushi almost opened her eyes, but then remembered herself and squeezed them tightly instead.

"Hmmm," Jiji hummed, "The last time Khushi fell asleep clutching a pillow like this, she was upset because Bua-ji had to cancel a trip to Lucknow. I wonder what she's upset about now."

Some sixth sense alerted her to the danger, and Khushi sprang upright just as Jiji made to tickle her.

"Got you!" Jiji grinned.

Khushi pouted, "Jiji! Not fair."

"What did Babu-ji say to you tonight?"

"What! Nothing!" she twisted her hands into the blanket.

"I know he wants you to let go of your anger."

She bit her lip, unsure of what to say.

"Babu-ji said that Arnav-ji offered money," Jiji continued, "but he turned it down."

"Yes, he did."

"He's so generous to offer us money like that. He must love you a lot, Khushi."

I thought so too.

But he'd never said it, and now she doubted he ever would.

Jiji turned, taking Khushi's hands in hers, and stared at her so intently that Khushi squirmed.

"You're brave, and strong, and I love you. But you're also stubborn. The more we ask you to reconsider, the more you'll resist. But Khushi, he won't wait forever."

"Jiji ..."

"Remember how we used to dress up as princesses and wait for our princes to come and get us?"

"They'd always come on white horses" Khushi gave a slight smile, "and take us away and we'd live happily ever after."

"But sometimes it doesn't happen that way. Sometimes the prince doesn't want the princess, and the princess doesn't know what she did wrong."

"Wh-what?"

Jiji looked away, "Nothing. Forget it."

Recognising the deflection, Khushi placed a hand to her sister's shoulder, "Jiji, sometimes the prince is angry and mean, and he says and does things that hurt the princess."

"If you're doing this for me, then stop," Jiji turned back, "What kind of a home would they have given me? How could I have been happy there, amongst their greed and pettiness? Your Arnav-ji understood that. He tried to protect me. I know the princes in your stories sacrifice everything for the girls they love, but Khushi, he wanted to sacrifice what he has with you to protect your Jiji and Amma and Babu-ji. Did you know he sent two security guards to the sweet shop today?"

"He did?" Khushi breathed around the ache in her chest.

"Call him," her sister implored, "he's waiting."

Author's Note -

Happy 2017 :) I hope this year is filled with amazing things for all of you!

Firstly, let me thank you for supporting RISHTAA, for reading it and voting and leaving comments and talking to me! I am eternally grateful!

I am now on Instagram! The username is phatisari, and if you want to follow then please do!

Take care,

PS