170: OS 7: The Other Woman (Part 37)

Part 37

Arnav Singh Raizada looked up from his laptop at the knock on his open glass door. His face sported its usual frown and cross look.

Khushi was standing there.

“Khushi,” he whispered. Maybe he was dreaming. She was a mirage in the desert of his life, bound to vanish if he made a move towards her. He stared at her with rapt eyes.

She blinked. The yellow dupatta danced in the breeze.

She was real? He slowly stood up, his eager eyes running all over her, trying to capture her image and save it in the deepest recesses of his soul.

His gaze paused at the single paper held tight in her fingers.

She was real. His heart sank. She had seen his five-line missive and was here to tear  a strip off him for shortchanging her.

Khushi took his standing up as a sign of welcome and slowly walked in to his office. The door swung shut behind her.

“Woh..woh..Amanji said I could come in and see you,” she informed him.

He nodded nervously.

She swallowed. “This...this letter,” she began.

He had no other option except blunt honesty. “Khushi, I have never written a poem before,” he sighed, laying bare all his inadequacies before her.

“But...but you recited a poem,” she said, perplexed.

She had every right to be confused, Arnav thought. He too was confused about himself.

He took a step closer to her.

“I...I am no poet. Not by any definition, Khushi,” he said. “I don’t know how I...”

“Did you memorise it? Was it written by some shayar?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I made it up that very moment. Words just flowed in to my mouth when I looked at you, Khushi,” he admitted, moving to stand near her.

She blinked at him in shock.

She could inspire poetry in her boyfriend?

 A smile bloomed on her lips. She was his muse? Akhdoo Singh Raizada could spout poetry when his eyes fell on her? He Devi Maiyya! She was the Mumtaz Mahal for whom Shahjehan Singh Raizada had built a Taj Mahal with words! She shuddered in thrill.

Arnav looked at her warily.

“Shukriya,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked.

“For both love letters. The one you read and the one you wrote,” she whispered, his masculine fragrance entering her lungs and overwhelming every single cell as she breathed in deep.

“You are not angry, Khushi?” he asked to be sure.

Khushi shook her head in the negative.

Relief flooded him.

He quickly cupped her face with his hands. "Khushi," he chanted softly.

“Koi dekh lega, you Behaya Singh Raizada,” she whispered, his name sounding like a caress.

He leaned his forehead against hers. His hot breath fell against her face.

Khushi squinted her eyes to look at him. He was too close to her. She swallowed hard. Her dhak dhak would kill her one day.

“I am behaya? Shameless?” he asked.

“Aur nahi to kya?” she managed to ask, trying to put distance between their faces.

“I remember you called me something else yesterday,” he murmured.

She frowned. “Kya? Kab?”

“When you hugged me...kissed me,” he reminded her, his husky voice stimulating her sensitive nerve-ends.

Her throat muscles protested as she tried to gulp.

“I...I don’t remember,” she muttered.

“I do,” he replied. "Shall I remind you?"

Khushi tried to avert her eyes.

He turned her face up to meet his eyes.

“You called me Arnavji,” he reminded her.

Khushi grimaced. What would she do with this Sharp Singh Raizada? Why did he have to remember the name she had used in a moment of weakness?

“Call me again?” he asked.

She shook her head in refusal.

“Khushi,” he insisted.

She parted her lips to say, “No.”

“Khushi,” he tried to persuade her.

She looked up to tease him but the serious, needy, lost look in his eyes stopped her.

“Arnavji,” The name trembled on her lips.

It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. His lips crushed her plump curves in reward, drinking his name from her lips, tasting her essence, exploring the hidden depths with his tongue, teasing her in to responding to his advances.

 Space and time ceased to exist.

They remained lost in each other, letting go of their past and unpleasant memories, oblivious to the fact that his employees might witness this scandalous scene of the ASR kissing a girl in his office....and the even more scandalous scene of the girl in question enjoying it to the core.

He lifted his lips reluctantly from hers so that they could draw in much-needed air. His eyes bored in to hers.

“I love you, Khushi,” he breathed against her lips. “I want to live with you.”

Her quivering lips could not form any words. Nor did they know what words to form.

A timid knock sounded.

Both of them jerked around to see a flushed Aman standing there, fiddling with his tie.

Khushi blushed.

“Yes?” ASR growled.

“The marketing team is waiting in the conference hall,” Aman said apologetically.

Arnav looked at the clock. He was late.

“Hum chalte hein,” Khushi quickly gathered herself together. She bent to pick her first love letter from the floor where it had fallen when her fingers had clutched the hair at his nape.

Aman left.

“Khushi, our next date,” he tried to delay her departure at least for a moment.

She looked at him, her face still adorably pink.

“You wanted to see a movie, didn’t you?” he asked.

Khushi nodded. “Salman Khanji’s movie,” she reminded him.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

She beamed at him.

“I will call you,” he swore.

She nodded and moved towards the door.

He joined her at the door.

“Khushi,” he called.

She looked at him, a question in her beautiful eyes.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

She turned her head to continue on her way out.

“Khushi,” he called again.

She stopped to look at him.

He desperately wanted her to stay back with him. But how could he demand it of her? “Nothing,” he mumbled like a sulking boy.

Khushi quickly leaned forward and placing her hand on his strong, muscled shoulders, lifted herself to press a solid kiss on his stubborn chin.

On her way away from him, she pulled his nose to tease him and leaving a Speechless Singh Raizada behind her, she made her laughing way out of his office room.

Arnav stood for a long moment watching her trip her way down the steps, across the hall and out of the door, his hand on his chin, a besotted smile on his face.