206. OS 10: An Unexpected Visitor (Part 14)

Link to my new short story: Taking Care of You


“I thought I was dreaming when I first saw you," he said.

 “How did you know it was me?” she asked. “I could have been anybody. A thief even.”

He smiled wearily. “I don’t know many thieves who would look at me with anxious eyes and then cry because I was sick,” he mumbled.

Is it possible for love to bloom, sight unseen? Juhi and Abhay are strangers who know each other better than they know themselves. One night changes the equation and the even tenor of their lives and puts all their doubts and fears to rest.

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-taking-care-you

Link to my first e-novel; A Home for Meenakshi

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-home-meenakshi

"I love the way you love, Meenu," he whispered, his eyes on hers. "Such loyalty, such passion..."

Meenakshi Sharma, an orphan, lives in Varanasi with her uncle, a chronic bachelor who wants her to become a professional musician. She unwillingly relocates to Delhi to study under a renowned musician for eight months. Staying for rent in the outhouse of the Agrawals, she meets Aditya Agrawal, an attractive young man brooding over the memories of his horrendous past. Pulled between her uncle's expectations of her and Aditya's love for her, Meenakshi struggles with her feelings. How can she disappoint her uncle who had devoted his entire life to her upbringing? How can she pretend to be blind to Aditya's feelings for her? A romance that moves between the alleys of the holy city of Varanasi and the modern city of Delhi.

A blog for my VMs:

http://smitarsvms.blogspot.in/

 

Part 14

“Kya kar rahein he aap?” she asked, one scared eye trained in the direction of the kitchen. “Buaji will see us,” she hyperventilated, forgetting that she had sworn not to talk to him.

Arnav cupped her sweet face in his palms. “Khushi, are you really angry with me?” he asked, his eyes serious.

Khushi opened her mouth to assure him that she was mad at him, but an inconvenient sense of honesty made her hesitate.

“I am sorry I hurt you. Sorry I almost got you scolded by Buaji, sorry that...” he began.

Khushi cut him off with the simple trick of placing her finger against his hard, sinfully delicious lips.

He swallowed hard, the hands cupping her face trembling at her innocent touch.

“I was angry then, but not now. Don’t apologise, Arnavji,” she told him, her voice soft, loving.

He parted his lips to ask why not but was silenced by the feel of her finger against his sensitive curves.

She explained anyway. “Arnavji, if you apologise so much for such a small incident, just think how many times I have to apologise to all the people I have tortured over the years?” she asked, looking downright scared of the prospect.

Arnav had to chuckle at her question.

She waited him out.

He said with a sigh, “Do you know how good you are, Khushi?” His eyes were tender, lit by love.

Her eyes flew open. “Me? Good? Don’t let Buaji hear you,” she whispered.

“I won’t. Let it be a secret between you and me,” he whispered.

Khushi nodded happily.

He wanted to gather her close, hug her till her ribs cracked, kiss her senseless. But both of them heard the rattling of teacups in the kitchen.

“Sit down,” Khushi hissed. “Buaji is coming.”

Arnav obediently left her and took a seat.

By the time Buaji carried the tray to the living room, Khushi and Arnav were seated on chairs, each placed at a distance of two metres from the other.

Buaji beamed. Arnav bitwaa was mature, decorous. Even her pagal Khussi could not persuade him to lower his standards. She hoped he would keep a strict eye on the scatter-brained girl.

Arnav drank the tea, making small talk with Buaji while Khushi sat silently watching her husband-to-be.

“Bitwaa, I was telling Devyaniji that we can have the sagai in two days. She was very happy, Nandkisore,” Buaji smiled at Arnav.

He drew in a deep breath of contentment. Soon Khushi would be with him 24x7, living with him in their house, sharing a room...They were moving towards their marriage on slow but sure feet, giving Khushi time to assimilate the changes in her life.

“When will our marriage be, Buaji?’ Khushi was direct in her query.

Buaji’s eyes flew open to their maximum size. “Shameless girl! No laaj, no sharam! Hai Re Nandkisore! What kind of a girl have I been looking after for years?” she asked, her hand on her head.

Arnav bit back his amusement with superhuman effort.

“If I won’t ask, who will?” Khushi asked simply. “It is my marriage, isn’t it?”

Arnav coughed, unable to control his enjoyment of the situation.

“She will put me to shame when she goes to her sasuraal!” Buaji declared. “Devyaniji will think I brought her up badly, Nandkisore!”

“No, no,” Arnav stepped in, his limpid eyes on Khushi’s cross face. “Buaji, don’t worry. Nani loves Khushi.”

Khushi got ready for battle with Buaji.

Arnav stood up quickly. “Buaji, Khushi, I have to leave now,” he informed them.

Buaji and Khushi accompanied him to the door to see him off.

Arnav pressed Khushi’s hand in the cover of darkness before bidding good night to them and driving off. He looked at Khushi’s image in his glass till he could see her no more.

“He is a fool,” Khushi muttered furiously at the TV as she chomped on channa.

“Kaun, you?” Buaji asked, pushing her specs up on her head.

“The hero,” Khushi mumbled.

“He is a fool and you are an idiot for watching him, Nandkisore!” Buaji declared before walking away.

The serial ended and Khushi switched off the TV, a frown on her face.

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked wearily.

“Must be Kamla chachi returning the sugar she borrowed two days back,” Khushi replied. “I will see to the door, Buaji. You put your feet up.”

Khushi marched to the door and pulled it open to see Arnav standing there with a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

Her mouth fell open and she stepped back in shock.

Arnav entered the house and shut the door after him.

“Is the episode over, Khushi? I was caught in traffic,” he said apologetically.

“It is alright,” she muttered absently, her eyes on the roses.

“For you,” he handed over the bouquet.

Khushi raised it to her face and inhaled the sweet scent, her eyes shut. He silently promised her that he would make frequent gifts of flowers to her, especially red roses.

She lifted her head and smiled at him. “How did you know I love flowers?” she asked.

He squirmed. It had been a lucky guess. What could he say?

But Khushi, being Khushi, did not wait for an answer. She took hold of his arm and led him to sit by her.

Arnav looked at her sitting with her arms around the flowers. She looked happy, as though she had got the entire world in her arms. But as he watched, her face fell.

“Kya hua, Khushi?” he asked, worried.

“Arnavji, if you like me, will you bring another girl into our house?” she asked seriously.

Arnav stared at her, unable to comprehend her meaning. They were on different pages, most likely in different books!

“The hero likes the heroine. Phir bhi he brought another girl into his house for a live-in,” Khushi explained.

Arnav heaved a sigh of relief. The fault was the hero’s, not his. “That sounds stupid,” he commented.

“He na? I was telling Buaji the same thing,” Khushi exclaimed victoriously. “Arnavji, what is a live-in?” she asked curiously.