211. OS 10 An Unexpected Visitor (Part 19)

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 19

Arnav stared at her for a moment and then nodded faintly.

“Ji?” Khushi asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” Arnav croaked, his mind back in the world of white silk sheets and red rose petals it had conjured up with little effort.

Khushi beamed at him. She leaned forward and pressed her full, warm lips against his for a long moment.

Arnav’s lashes fluttered shut, hoping the kiss would last forever. He parted his lips slightly to indicate that he wasn’t averse to a more intimate caress, but she was clueless.

She withdrew her lips with a sigh and smiled. “Are you coming in?” she asked.

“No...” his voice trailed away. He was in no condition to appear before public. Her innocent kiss had unmanned him.

“Shubh ratri, Arnavji,” she whispered.

“Wh..what?” he stuttered.

“Good night,” she giggled.

“Good night,” he muttered.

He held out his hand for her to alight. She hopped down and with a final smile, lifted her skirt and ran up the steps.

Arnav stood there watching his angel in red leave him. Then he got into the car and drove away.

The shagun was done. The sagai was done. Two down and three to go. Sangeet, mehendi and haldi. Then it was wedding time for Khushi and him. Then suhag raat...

Arnav smiled.

He parked before the house, tossed the key to the guard and ambled into his house. The decorations hadn’t been removed, his rose carpet was still in place. He smiled thinking of Khushi’s reaction when she had seen it.

“Chotey,” Anjali called.

“Yes, Di?” he asked.

“We were thinking,” she paused.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You and Khushiji will have to dance at the sangeet,” Nani stated bluntly.

“Dance?” Arnav paled.

“Kono excuse naahi he, Arnav bitwaa. You hab to dance,” Mami supported her mother-in-law. “Bhat bill the guests says if you run away, Hello Hi Bye Bye? Ijj my nephew a darpok?”

Arnav drew in a long breath.

“We were thinking of hiring a choreographer, Chotey,” Anjali suggested.

Arnav blinked.

“She will teach you to dance for the sangeet,” Nani added.

Arnav swallowed.

“One dancewaa, Arnav bitwaa,” Mami wheedled. “Sirf one choti-moti dancewaa.”

Arnav opened his mouth to refuse.

“Khushiji will expect it of you, Chotey,” Anjali delivered the clinching argument that could silence any Arnav Singh Raizada.

“She will?” he asked faintly.

“Of course she wills,” Mami declared.

Arnav escaped from his family and locked himself in his bedroom. He looked at the phone in his hand. Maybe he could call Khushi and find out if she really expected him to dance.

He called her.

“Arnavji, did you get home safe?” Khushi asked, chewing channa.

“Yes,” he muttered. “Khushi, it is our sangeet next week,” he began.

“Arnavji, please fix it on a Saturday or Sunday,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to miss my serial. Who knows what that idiot will do to the heroine if I am not there to watch him?”

Arnav had to smile. “I will make sure it is during the weekend,” he promised.

“Ji,” she smiled.

“Khushi, what...err...what exactly do people do during sangeet?” he asked, his heart in his mouth.

Khushi frowned. “Do?” she asked. “Dance,” she replied.

“Oh,” he said softly, feeling like a punctured balloon. He opened his mouth to ask if she would excuse him from the dancing exercise.

“It will be fun, Arnavji,” Khushi said, feeling on top of the world.

His question remained unasked.

“Won’t it be wonderful, Arnavji, both of us dancing? We will be like the hero and heroine of a phillum,” Khushi squealed, hugging herself in excitement.

Arnav could only nod silently. The phillum would be a tragicomedy.

Khushi continued, her rapture transmitted over the phone, “I am waiting to dance with you, Arnavji.”

Arnav sat down. There was no escape now.

“What shall we dance to, Arnavji?” she asked.

“Err...a choreographer is coming here, Khushi,” he said weakly.

“Really?” Khushi was over the moon.

“Yes, Di was talking of it,” Arnav admitted.

Khushi said, “Arnavji, just think. We can learn together and then dance together. It is like a dream, Arnavji.”

Arnav swallowed. How could he tell her that it was his nightmare?

“Aren’t you happy, Arnavji?” she asked, doubt creeping into her voice.

“Yes, yes,” he hurried to reply.

Khushi smiled, content.

“You have one week to get this right, Chotey,” Di told him kindly.

Arnav looked at the jeans-clad lady talking to Khushi.

“Ankitaji is very popular at wedding parties. She manages to get most guests dancing,” Anjali encouraged him.

He nodded, looking at Khushi. Her face was flushed with joy and she was listening to Ankitaji as though her life depended on the choreographer’s words.

As he watched, Khushi turned towards him and called, “Arnavji, can you come here for a moment?”

Arnav walked towards them, his heart in his shoes.

“Ankitaji, this is my groom, my Arnavji,” Khushi introduced him. “This is Ankitaji, the choreographer.”

Arnav folded his hands in greeting. Ankita, who was about to extend her hand to shake his, quickly followed suit.

“Ankitaji was asking me which song we would like to dance to,” Khushi informed him.

Arnav swallowed hard. “Any song will do,” he croaked. There was no choice really. He could dance badly to any song.

“Shall we have a passionate number, say Aaa Zara Kareeb?” Ankita asked.

“Yes,” Khushi clapped her hands in glee.

Arnav nodded. He seriously hoped that he wouldn’t damage Khushi’s feet beyond repair.

Ankita played the music. She instructed, “Khushi, stand here. Arnav, walk towards her as the opening music plays.”

Arnav obeyed her.

The Raizadas watched him with anxious eyes.

“Take hold of her hand and twirl her in time to the music,” Ankita instructed.

Arnav caught hold of Khushi’s arm and twirled her.

“Throw her back and pull her close,” Ankita instructed. “Maintain the speed, the tempo of the music.”

Arnav pushed Khushi away and then tried to bring her back to him. But somewhere in the process, she slipped through his fingers and fell on the ground with a crash.