213. OS 10: An Unexpected Visitor (Part 21)

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 21

A portion of the poolside had been cleared to make a dance floor. It was lit by tens of thousands of gold, red and green fairy lights coiled around plants and trees. 

Decorative bulbs in various shapes hung from branches. The water in the pool reflected the lighting, adding to the magical ambience.

Khushi stood there, amazed at the splendour of Arnav’s garden. She looked at Arnav. His face was tense, his eyes eager to know her reaction.

“Do you like it, Khushi?” he asked.

She smiled into his eyes. “I have never seen anything more beautiful, Arnavji,” she said softly. Her melodious voice floated on the silent night, adding to the anticipation in his heart.

“Did you do all this for me?” she asked, knowing the answer. There was no one more giving than Arnavji.

He cupped her beautiful face in his gentle, large hands, his rough palms caressing the soft skin of her cheeks. “I couldn’t give you a dance on stage, Khushi. I want to—I hope to have one here—in private,” he murmured.

Khushi smiled. She turned her head and kissed his palm. “You don’t need to, Arnavji,” she whispered.

“I need to. I don’t want you to miss out on the fun, Khushi. We are getting married for the first and the last time,” he said.

She smiled and kissed his palm again.

He left her and walked to a small table he had set in the shadows. He pressed a button and the opening music of a slow song wafted on the still night air.

He walked up to her and took hold of her hand.

Hum tere bin ab reh nahi sakte

Tere bina kya wajood mera... the song began.

Tujh se juda agar ho jaayenge to khud se hi ho jaayenge juda...

Arnav slowly folded Khushi into his arms. She put her arms around him, resting against him with a sigh and a whisper of “Arnavji.”

Kyonki tum hi ho, ab tum hi ho...

They moved their feet in tandem, swaying in time to the slow, romantic confession being played.

Zindagi ab tum hi ho

Chain bhi, mera dard bhi

Meri aashiqui ab tum hi ho...

Arnav dropped a kiss on her silky hair, breathing in the sweet jasmine scent. His fingers tightened on the bare skin of her waist even as hers ran over the vast expanse of his muscled back covered by a black sherwani.

Tera mera rishta he kaisa ek pal door gavara nahi...

She nestled closer, her long limbs rubbing against his.

Tere liye har roz he jeete, tujh ko diya mere wakt sabhi...

She lifted her face and rubbed her cheek against his.

Koi lamha mere na ho tere bina har saans pe naam tera...

He rubbed his nose against hers, bringing a smile to her face.

Kyonki ab tum hi ho

Zindagi ab tum hi ho

Chain bhi, mera dard bhi

Meri aashiqui ab tum hi ho...

His lips touched hers gently.

She parted hers slowly.

He cupped her head and lowered his to feast on her lips.

Two hearts thundered away in unison as Arnav and Khushi kissed. The music played in the background but their feet came to a stop and their ears became deaf to all sounds except the galloping of their own hearts.

He lifted his head slightly, leaving a tiny gap between their lips.

She moaned in protest. Her fingers clutched his hair and urged his head down. He obeyed her silent order and set to work assiduously to drive her out of her senses.

A few minutes later, Khushi collapsed against him, feeling as weak as a newborn kitten. She coiled her arms around him and hung on for support. Arnav held her softness close to his heart, cherishing every moment he got to spend with her.

The music came to an end.

“Arnavji,” she whispered.

“Hhmm?” he asked. He was too replete and content to bother to find words.

“This must the best sangeet on earth,” she breathed against his neck.

He smiled.

“The dance, the song, the lights, the pool, the kisses...” she sighed in pleasure.

His smile widened.

“I am so glad you can’t dance, Arnavji. Nahi tho we wouldn’t have got this time together. We would have been on the stage. How could we have kissed before hundreds of people?” she asked reasonably.

Arnav chuckled, his chest moving against hers. He tightened his hold on her. “That would have been a difficult feat,’ he agreed, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Difficult hi nahi, namumkin,” she asserted. “Buaji would have died of a heart attack, Naniji would have fainted, Mamiji would have said “Hello Hi Bye Bye!” and Anjaliji would have collapsed.”

Arnav chuckled. “Yes,” he agreed.

“This is much, much better,” she cuddled closer.

They stood in silence, loving the time alone and each other’s company.

“The red carpet of rose petals, this dance—Arnavji, you are so romantic,” she said, each word interspersed with a kiss against his neck.

He swallowed hard. “Romantic? Me?” he asked. 

Numerous articles had been written about him in the business section of newspapers, but no one had dared to call him romantic, not even to picture him as a romantic. 

He smiled. He had changed.

Now even his family was looking at him with wary eyes, unsure of what he would get up to next.

He had become unpredictable. Heck, his life had become unpredictable after meeting Khushi. He was no longer the boring, reserved, cold, hard-nosed businessman he had been before she had taken residence in his wardrobe and his heart. Life had become colourful, interesting; he had lost his inhibitions.

“Yes, romantic,” he admitted slowly. “I am romantic.”

She smiled at him in appreciation as though he had scaled Mount Everest.

“I never was, Khushi,” he admitted. “I am learning to love and live now, Khushi, after meeting you.”

Khushi smiled. “Arnavji, I am so happy I came to your house for the pooja that day,” she said happily.

“So am I, Khushi. And so glad you found your way into my wardrobe,” he smiled.

Khushi  chuckled. “I made two new friends that day. You and Laxmiji,” she said.

He nodded, his eyes tender.

“But I am closer to you than to Laxmiji. Woh kya he, she can’t kiss me like you do,” she said seriously.

Arnav gave up the good fight and burst out laughing loudly.

“Now it is just mehendi and haldi, Khushi. After that we can get married and you will come to stay here with us,” Arnav told her softly as the families said their good nights.

Her face fell.

“Kya hua, Khushi?” he asked, worried.

“Poor Buaji will be alone after we get married,” she sighed.

“We will visit daily, Khushi,” Arnav promised. “Or if she is willing, she can move in here. Nani, Mami and Di would love that. As it is they are on the phone with Buaji all day long.”

Khushi quickly leaned close and kissed him on his cheek.

“You are so so sweet, Arnavji. How can you be a diabetic?” she asked.

Arnav smiled.

“I will ask Buaji,” Khushi promised.

“Call me, Khushi. We will arrange everything according to her wishes,” he informed her.

Khushi nodded.

“Titliya, haven’t you finished whispering in Arnav bitwaa’s ear? Chalo, it is time to go home, Nandkisore!” Buaji called.

“I am coming, Buaji,” Khushi called.

Buaji had arranged a car to take them back to Laxmi Nagar after the sangeet. Arnav saw both of them into the vehicle and stood waiting as they waved and said their last byes.

He waved and lingered there till the vehicle vanished from his sight.