Being The Missus

Chapter 12: Being The Mister

Arnav couldn't sleep. He simply stared at his wife who unpacked his suitcase and retired for the night. The emerald shined brilliantly against her pale neck, but he found no smile when Khushi softly thanked him. Her eyes were dull and tired.

He fisted the letter in his hand, throwing it away in the bin. Fear gnawed his heart. It was all his fault. All he ever wanted was... her attention. And now that she heeded to him, he realised that being selfish could have never given him his Khushi.

"I'll inves-"

"I know better than to waste your money. This company was doomed from the start." Khushi assured him, again thanking him for his gesture. Arnav blinked slowly, his mouth gaping as he tried to form several words at once yet there wasn't anything that could say how sorry he was.

Brushing a hand against her head, he pecked her forehead and walked to his study.

Arnav fixed a stiff drink for himself and settled into his armchair, gulping one peg after the other. Why wasn't the scotch reassuring him that nothing was his fault, just like it had countless times before? His Khushi wasn't even angry... she was just, lost.

She lost her happiness

She lost her family

She lost her respect

She lost her company

She lost everything... for him.

And what did he lose?

---

Khushi stirred, a bright ray of light irritating her. Groaning, she held her head and sat up on the bed. Out of habit she patted the right side of the bed, to not find Arnav. She frowned for it was 7 in the morning and she expected jet lag to hit him by now.

Muttering to herself, she stretched her arms when someone knocked the door.

Grabbing her robe, she said "Come in."

Little Aarav ran in, wearing an oversized suit and a Bluetooth. "Aarav?" Khushi laughed, engulfing the boy in a tight embrace. "Today I'm your assistant," Khushi raised an eyebrow at his serious face and pinched his fluffy cheeks.

"Oh really, and Mr. Assistant, what does my schedule look like?"

"7 A.M. kadak south Indian breakfast, 10 A.M. visit to Devi Maiyya, 1 P.M. lunch at Rajdhani (a famous restaurant in India) then 3 P.M. kitchen lessons followed by 5 P.M. movie. Then 8 P.M. ghar ka khaana (home-food) and a special surprise at 9 P.M." Khushi's mouth hung open as Arnav walked in, wearing a chef's cap and apron as he served breakfast in bed for her.

Arnav? In chef's clothing? Bringing dosa?

Maybe he's in shock.

"Arnav, are you ok-"

"Never better love," He smacked a sound kiss on her soft lips, ignoring Aarav's excited giggles.

"More more!!!" Aarav cheered, unaware of the flood of embarrassment in a crimson shaded Khushi. With a shaky hand Khushi checked Arnav's forehead, strange... there's no fever.

Arnav grinned at her stupefied face and raised his hand to feed her.

The next thing, she fainted.

"I think it was too much..." Aarav wisely suggested. Arnav looked down at his smiley-face apron.

Maybe the boy was right.

---

Khushi kept quiet as Arnav spent the entire day dedicated to her. It was funny to watch Arnav looking at Aarav time and again for reassurance. She would have been upset, hell blasted at him if he presented her jewelries but how could she shout at a man who gently held her feet and pressed her aching heels.

There were no mischievous smirks as his fingers skimmed over her toes, his eyebrows scrunched in severe concentration. Arnav stopped when Khushi held his fingers, a slight smile on her lips.

"You don't have to do anything."

"Don't I have the right to serve you?" Arnav begged, holding her ankles tighter.

"Hey, have you exchanged yourself with some dream guy?" Khushi giggled, patting his shoulder. Arnav laughed mirthlessly, dream guy - another one of her ruined dreams. Would pressing her feet and feeding her favorite dishes earn him any redemption?

"I'm sorry," He whispered, his heart breaking as Khushi took him into an embrace, reassuring him like a mother would. Did he force her to grow up? Without another word he left the room, hoping this would relieve some heartache.

---

Khushi sighed, she didn't want anything now. Whatever life had to give, she would accept. Pulling her hair into a bun, Khushi noticed a scrunched paper in the bin.

And she wouldn't have bothered about it, if she hadn't picked up the hasty 'I love you Khushi' scrawled on it.

---

"You can do it Arnav." He motivated himself for the fifth time as the too thick batter stuck on his fingers. For some reason they weren't squeezing through the cloth to form swirly lines in hot piping oil, rather they were thick globs of stuff frying the pan.

And he was sure that black wasn't the expected colour.

But Khushi loves this.

So wiping the sweat off his forehead, he continued to struggle when suddenly two arms locked around his chest.

"You can write a thousand words but not say one to me?" Khushi sniffed, her heart still shaking from the endearments. She handed him his thrown letter, her eyes blotchy from crying.

Arnav stood still, alternating between his dramatic letter and the burning mass on the stove. "Khushi, for once I want to make you happy. Just for once I want you to live the dream you spun." He said, wiping his hands on the apron. His heart shook from the discomfort of expression, but when he saw Khushi coughing suddenly, it turned to dread.

"What happened?"

"What's burning! And... hey Devi Maiyya what in the world is this!" Khushi turned off the stove, blowing over the pot.

"Uh... jalebi?" Arnav whispered, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

"Jalebi?"

"B-Bankim brought you jalebis and I thought that if I could make them for-" Arnav never got to complete his sentence as Khushi grabbed his face and pressed her lips to his. He curled his hands around her waist, his forehead against hers as his quivering lips tried to form the words that were long due.

Khushi smiled, unaware of a soft tear rolling down her cheek. Arnav held her close... suddenly feeling at home. She closed her eyes, resting her head on his chest.

His letter between her slender fingers.

. . .

. . .

Khushi,

Even though I itch to say that I've wanted you the first time I saw you, in my arms - it would be a lie. And I've lied enough about us to last a lifetime.

I refused to believe that you couldn't have known me. And I couldn't convince myself why I was eager to know you. Beauty hasn't been a stranger to me... but attention was. I don't know but it feels funny now that out of all the things that you could have convinced me for, you just asked me to fix the wires of a light string - or mud from a plant pot.

Seriously love?

What's even funnier, I agreed - both times.

I still don't know if I have fallen in love with you, my Khushi. Because if I did, could it explain why I set out to ruin your life... twice? Could it explain why I felt better to punish you for a half baked lie than lose you for a piece of truth? Could it explain why I would stoop low to punish your family to ensure you remain with me?

And now it's a cycle. I'm too scared to do repent for anything. Because the righteous decision is to let you go. You were never mine, love. You were yours, always. If all this wasn't enough, I chose to take you for granted. After all, if you hadn't left a sinner, you wouldn't leave an ignorant husband.

My love, I never realised your heart broke so bad with the arrival of her. I knew I'm yours forever, so it never crossed my mind to reassure you of a love I never thought was capable of fading. When had I turned our relationship to the one where I'd only express at the moment of crisis... I don't know.

The past few weeks have shoved it on my face how I've ruined every single dream of yours. Khushi, it irritated me that you had no ambition apart from raising a happy family. Now when I look at Aarav's toothy smile, I realise that what you dream of changes destinies.

I've said marry me, for six months.

I've said I believe you.

I've said I love you.

I've said I trust you.

I've said I'd make you accept that I'm your husband.

I've said you're the biggest mistake of my life.

I've said I'm sorry.

I've said I want to make love to you.

But, I've never asked you.

Would you forgive me?

- Arnav

Bear with me; for another few decades, for another few letters, for another four words.

I love you, Khushi.

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