190. OS 9: The Diabetic and the Halwai (Part 10)

Link to e-book

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

Part 10

He kissed her thoroughly, his palms cradling her face, his nose nudging hers, his lips sucking at hers, his tongue duelling with hers.

Khushi, not to be outdone, put up a good fight, giving as good as she got. Her fingers clawed at his hair, clutched at his neck.

His teeth nipped her lower lip. It shocked her into stillness.

Arnav held her close, letting her shuddering body rest against his.

“You are a jadugar,” she whispered.

He shook with silent laughter.

“More kaatil than my jalebi,” she concluded.

“Really?” he choked.

“Really,” she conceded.

“More potent than your balushahi?” he asked.

“Yes,” she grimaced.

“Then leave your balushahi and come with me,” he invited.

“Where?” she asked, her eyes round.

“Delhi, as my wife,” he laid his heart and his life at her feet.

Her mouth fell open. “But my balushahi,” she protested weakly.

“Can your balushahi kiss you like I do?” he asked, tongue in cheek.

Khushi swallowed.

“Can it?” he asked again.

“No,” she admitted.

“Does your jalebi have a body like mine?” he rubbed it in.

“No,” she said, looking wistfully at his sinful body covered by his clothes. If her jalebi was as gorgeous as him, she would spend her entire life making and hugging jalebis to her heart. “But my jalebi is healthier than you. It does not have diabetes,” she claimed victoriously.

He bit back laughter with great effort.

“But your jalebi, balushahi, gulab jamun etc can’t marry you. I can,” he offered.

As she opened her mouth to protest against marriage, he added, “If we are married, you won’t have to steal into my bedroom. Both families will lock us in our bedroom.”

Khushi drew in a deep breath, tempted by the offer.

“We can kiss all the time. Nobody will intrude into our private moments,” he dangled the carrot before her.

She swallowed hard.

“You can touch my chest whenever you want,” he permitted her.

“Your bare chest?” Khushi clarified. After all she was a businesswoman and liked all the facts laid down in black and white. 

“My bare chest,” he managed to say between guffaws.

Khushi drew in a deep breath tinged with sorrow.

On one side was Arnavji with his Salman Khanji-type chest and kisses. On the other side were bins of sweets that had stayed by her through thick and thin, turned a callow Lucknow girl into a crafty and successful businesswoman.

A new man versus her khandaani pesha.

An irresistible man versus her friends, the sweets.

Arnavji versus Satwik Mishtaan Bhandar.

What was a girl to do?

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Khushi,” Arnav murmured comfortingly. “You love your shop, don’t you?”

Khushi nodded. Tears trailed down her cheeks.

“Why don’t you start a branch in Delhi?” he asked.

Khushi frowned. “Delhi? I don’t know anyone there.”

“You know me. Marry me, Khushi. I will help you set up shop. Let us become business partners,” he suggested.

Khushi frowned. “A diabetic wants to start a mithai shop?” she asked.

“Yes. If the diabetic wants to marry a halwai, he has to make changes in his life,” Arnav smiled.

“You are willing to make changes in your life to accommodate me?” she was astonished.

“Yes,” he smiled and gently smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because it is not everyday that I come across a halwai with lips like a red rose, who makes a mean veg pijja and pepper tea and tries to scare me at midnight,” he chuckled.

Khushi glared at him. “Don’t think I have forgotten your lies and your underhand methods,” she warned him.

“Don’t forget, Khushi,” he said softly. “You can take revenge on me after our marriage,” he suggested.

“I will,” she said impulsively. Then she added, “if I marry you.”

Arnav inclined his head.

“I need time to think,” she said.

“I will be leaving tonight,” Arnav informed her softly. “I need to get back to work.”

“Tonight?” her face paled.

“Yes,” he said softly, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“Now go to bed, Khushi. You will be lucky to get three hours in bed.”

Khushi nodded but stood staring at him.

He caught her by her shoulders and led her to the door.

Dropping a lingering kiss on her hair, he said, “You have all day to think, Khushi. Let me know before I leave?” he asked.

She nodded.

“If you choose me, you get your balushahi and me. If you choose your balushahi, you get only balushahi, not me,” he presented her choice before her.

She swallowed.

“Good night,” he whispered before pushing her out gently through the door.