#shades of arnav and khushi

[featheredclover]

Fanaa

02

01-------03

The gazebo provided her with the much needed shade in the midst of summer. But she could hardly relax under the expectant gazes of Buaji and Manorama aunty.

Payal was far more subdued, holding a neutral front. The only help against two persistent women. 

“Khushi bitiya, Arnav is a wonderful man. He is…what do people say? Yes! That he is a man of substance. You know, the kind of principles nowhere to be found these days-“

“Why didn’t he marry then?” Khushi arched her brow.

“What?” Manorama was stumped, “Well, nobody dared to question him. He was twenty six when he lost Ratna to cancer. Poor thing, it hit him hard. And after that, it just didn’t cross any of our minds. But mind you, he’s a well sought after man. Women have never been able to resist him! Khushi, I won’t lie to you, he is not a charming man. Neither does he talk sweet. But he’s a man who has a quality-“

“I just don’t understand why he must marry me! I mean just look at our ages! What would we even have in common?” Khushi scoffed.

“You are both in the field of media!” Buaji piped in.

“I have a degree in journalism ,buaji. I am going to begin from the ground level. He has been living on the peak since ages! What an awful match would that be”

“Khushi”, Payal warned.

“Let it be Payal”, Manorama sighed.

“Do you think we conjured the idea of you two out of thin air? Absolutely not! It was him who suggested it!”

She felt her stomach erupt in an uncomfortable sensation, her grip tightened on the arm of the wicker chair. 

The shock on her face made buaji squirm.

“Why don’t you meet him? Ask him all these questions yourself. And then reject him, if you find him an unsuitable partner for you. As simple as that.”

She hesitated, her mind was confused between rage and fascination.

“He’s a busy man..”, her voice trailed lazily.

“Aah! No problem! I’ll set it up!”

All was right again in Manorama Malik’s world.

———

‘Bubbles’, that was the restaurant she drove to in her fufaji’s old but sturdy car.

A prominent restaurant in the upscale neighbourhood was certainly what Khushi had been expecting of Mr. Raizada. Even with such a cute name, the restaurant screamed elegance. 

The valet was polite enough with her Maruti Esteem even though it was surrounded by Bentleys. She was beyond grateful to spot the man of the evening himself, walking over to her, as she handed over her keys to the valet.

“Miss Gupta”

His voice. God, his voice.

Is it a rich people thing, she wondered. It felt like his vocal cords were crafted out of the finest silk ,dipped in a potion of perfect masculinity. She needed to keep her cool during this dinner. But Mr Raizada, was not being fair at all. By just being himself, he was at an advantage.

“I am glad you came. Shall we?”

And that’s how he guided Khushi to an exclusive corner of this already exclusive place. His arm hovered around her, guiding her past tables and waiters, but never actually touching her. He was a gentleman, she knew. But it really didn’t help the anticipation soaked evening.

——

Seated, and having ordered some sushi and another Japanese dish recommended by him, she braced herself to fire all uncomfortable queries at him.

“I know your mind is running overtime”, he smiled softly, “Mami told me how you had tons of doubt about the prospect of us. I don’t want to leave anything unsaid between us”.

He paused. Only for a moment. Only to hold her eyes captive under his gaze.

“Truth be told, I don’t want to wait. And I hope that after I answer your questions, you won’t want to as well”

She gaped at him like an idiot for a moment, before gathering her senses

“Well…I think I’ll just…Why do you want to marry?”

“Well, why not?”

Khushi could do nothing but stare. He sat there, all calm and strong. But there was something. Something in the eyes which gave away the intensity of the man.

“I saw Akash getting married”, he continues when she stays silent, “Felt like I was missing out on something”

She narrows her eyes, “You don’t seem like someone who gets married because they feel…envy”

“I am human”, he says simply.

“Why me? We are so apart in age. It doesn’t make any sense…”, she bit her lip.

It was working. There was a creeping curiosity in her to know more about this man, his motives. But what it disguised was an embarrassing lust she felt for this man.

It was there in the way, he adjusted his cufflinks, before wielding the chopsticks. It was there in the way his fingers, attractive in the most masculine way, settled around his glass of whiskey. But most of all it was there in his air of self assurance. This was a man who could rival the K2! And damn her luck to be weak in front of such a fine specimen!

“Khushi”

God damnit! There’s that tone again.

“It’s the only obstacle that came into my mind regarding us. I can’t promise that it won’t be a problem between us. But it seems like an issue we can overcome, don’t you think?”

She knew that on paper these words probably would have seemed incomplete. But the way he said it, she knew Mr Raizada was least bothered by their age difference. His eyes held thousands of promises, some even deluding her into believing she was seeing her desires mirror in his eyes.

———

A few more questions, and two glasses of chilled lemonade later, Khushi found herself walking up to the entrance, where the valet waited with her car. 

Before she could take the final few steps to reach her leather seat, Mr Raizada stopped her.

“I don’t think you addressed the elephant in the room, Miss Gupta”

Puzzled, Khushi felt her face express her confusion.

“You didn’t share your plans after graduation.”

“Well…I plan to work.”

“You won’t work in AR”

The matter of factly tone of his voice offended her more than she could have anticipated.

“Of course! I have applied in several companies, even heard back from-“

“I meant you’ll be working in Rhapsody”, he cut in smoothly.

“Rhapsody?”

“AR’s new venture. It aims to bring a new perspective on journalism. I am sure you would understand Miss Gupta, sensationalism sells. My main channel could never do that. It goes against our brand value. So we have created this magazine. A fortnightly treat for everything scandalous.”

“And you want me to work there?”

“No. I want you to lead it”, he smirked.

Shock would have been an understatement to describe the emotions running beneath her skin.

He led her, in that very distinct way of his, to her car.

“But after all, it would all depend”

She looked up at him,dazed beyond measure.

“On whether you say yes”

And then he was gone. Like a dream you chase fruitlessly in the throes of ecstasy.

————

03>>>

[phuljari]

social media au! part 6

summary : khushi is a model and influencer; arnav just seems to stumble upon her profile one day— not so much by accident. (or what if khushi fell in love at first sight?)

warnings : if you don't know already, i suck at updates. yes i mean it as a warning!

a/n : i am...trying something new (by using the word prompts) #IPK 13th Anniversary Fiesta @arshifiesta

Notifications (aakash_r)

payaliyaa followed you back

iMessage

Unknown: Khushi ji agar aap kal subah tak jawab nahi dengi toh hum ye pictures post kar denge

Unknown: Aur haan, humne aapke sabhi account hack kar liye hai toh sochna bhi mat

iMessage

Unknown: arnav stay right where you are

Arnav: ???? Who's this?

Unknown: khushi

Unknown: hum jiji ka phone use kar rahe hain

Unknown: someone's hacked my phone

Arnav: WTF?

Arnav: What about the picture you just sent?

Payal: 😭😭😭

Payal: tabhi toh keh rahe hain ki rukiye

Payal: can you ask someone from your IT team to sort this issue out?

Arnav: Let me check

Arnav: Also, turn off your phone

Payal: yes yes, already did

iMessage "Raizada" Group Manorama: Aakash bitwa Manorama: Hum tumhare liye miss tip-top chun liye hain Manorama: e dekho Manorama shared Lavanya Kashyap's Instagram profile

Manorama: Hum hi apna ID change karva lete hai HP se Manorama: divamanorama kaisan rahega? Manorama: hello hi bye bye, ekdum hi fantashtic sound karat hai naahi? Aakash: Maa, ye sab kya hai? Aakash: Maine kaha na aapse ki mujhe abhi shadi nahi karni Nani: Shaadi. Toh. Karni. Padegi. Aakash. BITWA Anjali: Are waah mamiji, ye toh badhiya choice hai aapki Anjali: Aur inhe toh Khushi ji bhi follow karti hai Anjali: Unse baat karein kya?

Anjali: Theek rahega Aakash: DIIIII Aakash: 😭😭😭

thekhushigupta

liked by divalavanya, hari_prakash, preetika123, saritaraman, nandiii and others

thekhushigupta tick tick tick gulabi aankhien ✨

view comments

hayerenandkishorekaahai HAYE RE NANDKISHORE E KAA HAI

hayerenandkishorekaahai LAGTA HAI POORI PHOTU DAALNA BHUL GAYI HAINN

hayerenandkishorekaahai AE SANKA DEVI

hayerenandkishorekaahai AADHE KAPDE THEEK THE PAR PHOTO TOH POORI SHAKAL KE SAATH DAALO

hayerenandkishorekaahai AAJ KAL KI LADKIYAN

preetika123 Darling, you're sparkling! ✨

saritaraman Is that the roberto cavalli dress a certain someone brought from a certain somewhere?

nandiii Beautiful Khushi ji!

user1 fishy

⤷user1 esp the caption

hellohibyebye phati sareeee! accha kiya post kardi! hum toh puchna hi bhool jate tumhein, e konsa shade lagayi ho lipshtik ka?

⤷hellohibyebye hum yaad karke oo naa le e he liye

⤷hellohibyebye bahutey bekaar laagat hai 😒

payaliyaa

liked by aakash_r, arnavsinghraizada, divalavanya, nandiii, anjaliiiii.r and others

payaliyaa ❗❗❗IMP NOTE: Hello everyone, as you may or may not know Khushi's account has been hacked recently. We request you all to cooperate till the situation is back in control. Please do not engage with any of Khushi's accounts on any social media until further notice. ❗❗❗

Love to all the 378M followers! Be careful of scammers and hackers out there!

view comments

divalavanya: Oh my god! please be careful, i just received a dm from this account asking me to transfer 25k because of some server issue and i had almost done it thinking that was khushi user1: is this a PR scheme by ardesignhouse? they've hired khushi for their new collection photoshoot and this will def create a buzz ⤷user2: I heard Khushi was supposed to work for Pro Fashion before she signed with AR ⤷user3: maybe pro ppl have some revenge plan up their sleeve? ⤷user1: it's possible. but let's wait to see what happens rather than jump to conclusions

user4: Hope Khushi is mentally safe and sound! This can be an extremely terrifying situation to have your private space infiltrated. Cyber crime is no joke,,, this is def not a PR scheme

user5: Should we block and report?

⤷payaliyaa No, it would be difficult to regain a lost account. We're working on the security, will update everyone soon

iMessage

Arnav: Khushi, try resetting your password from any other device

Payal: okay

Arnav: Shit

Payal: ???

Arnav: Well, that photo you sent me? Not so private any more

Payal: omgggg

Payal: hey devi maiyaaaa 😭😭😭

Arnav: Why are you so goofy even in tense situations lol😂

Payal: kya goofy? hum omg kar rahe hai hindi mein

Arnav: Uh okay. Didn't think you were a devout person

Payal: something new you learn everyday

Arnav: I guess

Payal: wait, is that a bad thing?

Arnav: We'll talk about that later

Arnav: Did you change the password?

Payal: i tried from my laptop but the verification goes to my phone

Payal: so i need to switch it on

Arnav: Okay

Payal: yes, i guess it works now

Arnav: Change your passwords everywhere and add two factor authentication

Payal: yes yes, thank u so much

Arnav: No problem! I'm leaving now but Aman will stay at the office overnight in case something happens

Arnav: A threat to you is a threat to us

Payal: you don't really need to...

Payal: oh ok, when you put it like that

Payal: but i swear it's just some insane stalker guy trying to get me to talk to him

Arnav: Nonetheless

payaliyaa

liked by arnavsinghraizada, aakash_r, divalavanya, thekhushigupta, hari_prakash, preetika123, saritaraman, nandiii and others

payaliyaa Cheers to khushi getting her account back (would've posted a pic with @/thekhushigupta but it seems like we don't click enough pictures together)

view comments

thekhushigupta: jiji hai toh sahi 😭😭😭

⤷thekhushigupta: bohot sariiii

⤷payaliyaa : jisme tum bilkul pagal lagti ho

⤷thekhushigupta: sach sach bolo jiji, tumhari photo acchi nahi aati

⤷payaliyaa : hum toh tumhe beizzati se bacha rahe the par agar tumhe manzoor ho toh karde post..?

divalavanya: Thank god everything is fine Khushi! I was damn worried about you yaar!

⤷thekhushigupta: girl 😩❤️😭

preetika123 omg wtf happened

⤷thekhushigupta bestieeee 😭😭😭😭

hayerenandkishorekaahai BAHUT E PYAARI LAGAT HAI HUMRI PAYALIYA

hayerenandkishorekaahai E LAMBE PYALE ME SE KAA PI RAHI HO BITIYA

nandiii Not bad Payal ji, not bad! Maybe aapko model banana chahiye tha

⤷ nandiii BTW so sorry about Khushi ji's online harassment :(

⤷thekhushigupta nanhe jii wo sab chodiye banana 🍌nahi ban-na kehte hai usee

⤷nandiii Oh sorry, sorry! Typo Khushi ji, maaf kar dijiye

aakash_r You're so beautiful Payal ji! 🙇‍♂️

⤷payaliyaa Thank you Aakash ji! 😌

arnavsinghraizada

liked by aakash_r, anjaliiiii.r, hari_prakash, hellohibyebye, mahendrarudrapratapsinghraizada, gulabo_devyani, payaliyaa, nandiii, laxmi.ji and others

arnavsinghraizada I have a knack for playing

view comments

aakash_r Bhai hope you enjoy your stay!

anjaliiiii.r Aree Waah! I'm so proud of you

user1 Sir, are you hiring?

gulabo_devyani Arnav + Khushi. BITIYA ENJOY

titaliya_k

liked by arnavsinghraizada, anjaliiiii.r, hari_prakash, aakash_r, gulabo_devyani, payaliyaa, divalavanya and others

titaliya_k much needed pampering

view comments

divalavanya My absolute fav! Hope you enjoy the little getaway we @/payaliyaa planned for you <3

⤷titaliya_k you have no idea la! you're the best <33

hari_prakash Didi PAMPERS OUT OF STOCK HAI

nandiii I bet you smell amazing Khushi ji!

⤷arnavsinghraizada She does, now back the fuck off

⤷nandiii nannav wtf

⤷titaliya_k omg calm down boys!

aakash_r Hope you enjoy the jalebis too Khushi ji!

⤷titaliya_k AAKASH JI😭😭😭😭tysm

Notifications (nandiii)

preetika123 followed you back

(1) new messages from preetika123

preetika123: Hey, you're NK right?

nandiii: Yes yes

nandiii: Nice to meet you pretti woman!

nandiii: Khushi ji has told me so much about you!

Notifications (aakash_r)

divalavanya started following you

(1) new messages from divalavanya

divalavanya: Hi

Notifications (payaliyaa)

abhishek_kumar started following you

(1) new messages from abhishek_kumar

abhishek_kumar: Hey

abhishek_kumar: Garima ji showed me your account

abhishek_kumar: Hope you don't mind

abhishek_kumar: Hope your parents mentioned me

iMessage

Khushi: hahahahahhahaha omggg

Khushi: look at these two goofballs

Khushi: aakash ji, payal ji, aakash ji, payal ji

Arnav: You know I'm sitting right besides you right?

Khushi: yesssssssssssss

Khushi: but it's easier to say things here

Arnav: Yeah?

Khushi: stop looking at me all flirty

Arnav: Your sister, my brother and your friend planned this one day getaway for us to "cool off"

Khushi: you're clearly doing the opposite

Arnav: Uh huh

Khushi: like how your fingers on that piano were driving me crazy

Khushi: the swiftness with which you played

Khushi: and those rolled up sleeves arnav, you're killing me 🫦

Arnav: Stop it

Khushi: what

Arnav: Stop biting your lip like that

Khushi: only one way to stop me

TBC

<previous> | <next>

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 13

Dancing With The Devil

We're goin' down

And you know that we're doomed

My dear, we're slow dancing

In a burning room.

- ( the song of the chapter is 'Slow dancing in the burning room' by John Mayer.)

The majority of the next day is spent ransacking the entire room she’s been staying in at the Oberois. She’s lost something incredibly valuable, something given to her out of pure love, a gift from the heart. And now, losing it feels like proof that maybe, deep down, she doesn’t deserve love. She can’t hold on to it.

It’s a bracelet, an antique piece made of silver that Buaji’s late husband gifted her on their wedding night.

Buaji has no blood ties with the Guptas.  Her husband had been a soldier of the Serpents. Buaji never had children. Before she could have one, her husband was killed in a police crossfire during an illegal shipment. Since his death, Buaji has stayed with the Gupta family as Khushi's Nanny/caretaker.

Just a few weeks ago, on Khushi’s graduation day, Buaji had given her this bracelet as a graduation gift, the only gift Khushi received that day. The only one that showed she mattered. And now she’s lost it. She feels despicable.

“I’m so sorry, Buaji,” she says, her voice strained. She's sent Mohan to search the lawn and the garden around the pool. She hopes he’ll find it.

All of this is the fault of that Rakshas, Arnav Singh Raizada.

He is a demon’s spawn.

He is cursed.

Wherever they cross paths, something bad happens.

She hates that disaster of a man. She curses him in her mind.

“It’s okay, bitiya. It was just a bracelet, Nandkishore. No big deal.” Buaji responds, caressing Khushi's hair.

“It's a big deal to me.” Tears start streaming down her cheeks, big, fat drops she can’t hold back.

"Hey, bitiya, don’t be sad. Everything that comes to us, whether a person or a simple thing....has its own season, its own purpose. That bracelet was with us when it was meant to be. It is gone now so that it can make space for new blessings in your life....Don't cry....I'll get you another one."

“It won’t be the same,” she sniffles.

“I’ll go to the jeweller and have him make the exact one. Okay? Now stop.” Buaji gently wipes Khushi’s tears and pulls her into a warm embrace. “Now, you don’t want puffy eyes for the reception party, do you?"

With that, Buaji snaps back into action, rummaging through Khushi's clothes with newfound determination. “Which dress do you think you should wear, hmm?” she asks, holding up a vibrant red cocktail dress, then discarding it in favour of a black one, her brows furrowing in concentration.

“The green one,” Khushi replies brushing away the remaining tears from her face.

“Of course...it’s your favourite colour.”

Buaji pulls out the green dress from its cloth bag, and the stunning emerald colour catches the light. It’s from a renowned designer, a rare indulgence Khushi allowed herself solely because of the colour.

The dress’s cut reminds her of the one Keira Knightley wore in the movie 'Atonement', though this gown is even more intricate, with delicate embroidery and stonework that glimmers subtly.

With the help of Buaji, she carefully slides into the dress. The silky fabric clings to her form, designed with a bias cut that settles gracefully, accentuating her curves with an effortless elegance. Its plunging neckline is framed by thin, delicate straps that cross and drape over her shoulders, creating an elegant, backless design.

The gown hugs her waist before cascading into a long, flowing skirt, subtle pleats adding dimension and a hint of drama, trailing gracefully with each step, a gentle wave in her wake.

She has initially hesitated to wear it, feeling self-conscious about the backless design, but now, a boldness surges within her. She’s ready to wear this dress and own it.

Backless or not.

.

.

.

After hours of enduring the poking and prodding of the makeup artist, she finally breathes a sigh of relief as she hears the words, “All done.��� The tension in her shoulders eases, and she turns to face the full-length mirror.

She takes a moment to admire her reflection. She can’t help but appreciate the artistry of the makeup artist’s work. The soft, natural makeup is accentuated by the messy updo with delicate side braids and a stunning emerald hairpiece nestled among the strands.

Her ears still throb from the heavy earrings she wore yesterday, but she breathes a sigh of relief seeing the complimentary jewellery offered by The designer house that provided her dress. Lightweight and absolutely fabulous. Inspired by Greek designs, the pieces are simple yet intricate, allowing her to forgo traditional ear piercings. The earrings can be adjusted to fit comfortably in her earshell with just a slight tweak, making them the perfect choice for the evening. A matching bracelet perched on her wrist, she is ready, leaving her neck bare.

She takes a deep breath and runs her eyes through the girl in the mirror Infront of her one last time.

She feels as though she’s someone who stepped out of Greek mythology.

Almost otherworldly.

.

.

.

Mr.Jha arrives to escort her. As his

eyes roam over her body, Khushi inwardly shrinks.

Will the gaze of caramel-brown eyes have the same effect on her?

She shuts her eyes, shaking her head as if she could physically dispel the thought of those deep, piercing eyes from her mind.

He has a stunning date with him anyway. Why would he even look at her?

Does she even want him to look at her?

That thought scares her and, at the same time, fills her blood with excitement. She is lost in her mind when, without warning, she feels a hand, unwelcome and intrusive, pressing against the bare skin of her back, sliding lower than it should be. The weight of Mr.Jha's fingers makes her skin crawl, in a way that makes her instinctively want to step away.

With each passing second with Mr.Jha's hand pressed into her back as he guides her toward the main hall, she feels a growing regret for choosing this dress, the once-liberating backless design now a vulnerability exposed, an invitation she wishes she hadn’t offered.

Summoning her composure, she peels his hand from her back, letting it drop with a subtle, firm grace. Her eyes meet his, a quiet warning sparkling in her gaze and she walks past him.

Soon, Mr.Jha catches up to her and offers her his arm but she refuses to take it, pulling away slightly.

“Oh, come now, Khushi. Don’t create a scene. It’s just a little arm for support,” Mr.Jha says, spitting the words.

“I really don’t need your support. I’d prefer to walk on my own,” she answers firmly.

“You wouldn’t want me to tell your father, would you? Imagine how he’d react if he saw you refusing to walk with me,” Mr Jha murmurs as he walks side by side with him in the corridor leading to the main hall.

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m not afraid of your threats.”

Mr.Jha leans in slightly, his tone menacing, “Just remember, Khushi, I have ways of making sure you regret crossing me. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

This time when he extends his arm again for her, she takes it silently and enters the main hall together.

.

.

.

Coming to this party, Khushi hoped to be in her own element while the men engaged in their usual banter. Or, maybe she would get a chance to chat with Lavanya and Payal, and share a laugh or two. But instead, here she is as she finds herself trapped in endless discussions about politics, forced to wear a mask of polite smiles.

At this point, she would gladly welcome Mrs.Rastogi’s patronizing questions over this tiresome charade. Boredom settles in, heavy and stifling, making her restless.

Her eyes unconsciously search for those caramel-brown ones, but they’re nowhere to be found.

Of course, the Bollywood heroine needs more time to get ready. Not that she cares.

She quietly sips her non-alcoholic drink when she notices the air around her thickens, and a slight breeze brushes along the back of her neck. Her pulse quickens in response and she draws a sharp breath. It's like every molecule in the room has shifted to announce his presence.

She knows the exact moment his eyes find her in the crowd.

To be more specific, her back. 

But she knows he knows that it belongs to her.

His gaze is a caress. 

A caress that never quite touches her skin, sweeping slowly, deliberately, over every curve, claiming each inch of her. 

It travels over the bare curve of her shoulders, sliding down the delicate straps that barely tether her dress in place. She feels him lingering at her exposed back, undressing her with his caramel-browns, one thread at a time. The corner of her lips quirks up. 

Involuntarily, without any effort.

She looks over her shoulder, turning slightly toward the irresistible pull she feels, and there he is, in an impeccable attire with a stunning beauty in red hanging on his arm.

Now, ask her if she cares. 

She doesn’t. 

It seems like he doesn’t either.

His gaze touches her collarbone, skimming down the plunge of her neckline, ghosting over the emerald silk, setting fire to the fabric that clings to her figure.

And he is done. 

He has rendered her breathless and bare. She’s standing before him with no barriers, no silk, just his caramel-browns wrapped around her like a second skin.

The booming laughter of the man beside her startles her, making her look away.

"Looks like Helena Khan is here," the man with a sky-blue tie says, grinning mischievously and signaling toward Miss Khan with his eyebrows. "So, Jha, feeling up for a little challenge tonight?"

"Depends. What's the game?" Mr.Jha replies, lowering his voice.

"How about stealing Raizada’s date and taking her for a spin? Two birds in one stone. You need to get back at him for all those digs he's thrown at you yesterday," the sky-blue-tie suggests.

"Think you can manage that?" another man with a bald head taunts Mr.Jha. "Come on, it's just one dance. Miss Gupta here won't mind. Will you Miss Gupta?"

She puts on a smile as she quietly shakes her head.

"See, I told you," the bald man continues. "Show us those legendary charms of yours. Let’s see if they hold up against the great Arnav Singh Raizada."

"Don't underestimate me, guys."

"Go on, then. If you’re as smooth as you say, it shouldn’t be a problem," another man with a baby-pink shirt underneath his grey suit joins the conversation.

Mr.Jha smiles confidently, "Watch and learn, gentlemen. I’ll have her on that dance floor before Raizada even realizes she's gone." With that, he strides into the wave of guests toward the destined couple.

Khushi watches, unable to tear her gaze away, as Mr.Jha approaches Miss Khan directly. Miss Khan squirms uneasily, glancing at Mr.Raizada for directions. Mr.Raizada’s expression remains unreadable while he watches Mr.Jha intently. And, then his lips curve into a lopsided smirk as he looks directly at her and her breath hitches. That look screams danger.

He says something to Mr.Jha as Mr.Jha looks at her as well, but Mr.Jha looks kind of pissed. Then contemplating something, Mr.Jha beckons her closer. Not wanting to seem rude, she inches forward, feeling the redness of humiliation creeping up her neck and cheeks. She has a nagging sense of what’s happening. She’s being traded, like currency.

"Khushi, dear, why don't you share the next dance with Mr.Raizada while I take Miss Khan for a spin? It's just for one dance. You wouldn’t mind, would you?"

She simply shakes her head, pursing her lips. Her gaze is fixed on Mr.Jha's face but her eyes are unfocused. Mr.Jha takes Miss Khan’s hand, guiding her into the swirling crowd of dancing couples.

"Shall we?" the voice of sin graces her ear for the first time this evening as he offers her his hand, but the owner of those words meets with a glare from her.

"What? No hellos, no ‘how are yous’? Is this how you greet an old friend?" he adds in response to her glare.

"Are we friends now?" she responds, eyeing his massive hands as her tiny one slides on his palm, ignoring the tingling that blossoms beneath her skin. The skin of his palm is weathered, etched with slightly puckered scars and callouses. She can feel the grit beneath her fingers, textured, rough and raw like worn leather. Her eyes meet his with questions, 'what happened?'

He chuckles, unfazed, not addressing her silent question, answering her spoken one. "Aren't we?"

"What did you tell him?" The words come out clipped as his fingers curl around hers. Her delicate hand's swallowed by his, a fragile bird resting in the grip of a giant.

He shrugs, guiding her into position. "I just told him I didn’t want to be alone and that he could dance with my date if I could dance with his."

She bites the underside of her lip. She can feel the pulse of her heart thrumming beneath her skin, wild and urgent, matching the cadence of her breathing as his hand glides to her lower back, fingers brushing the curve of her bare waist, igniting a fire that dances beneath her flesh. His palm glides over her skin like fine sandpaper.

The roughness, the callouses—she noticed them before, back in the elevator, when his hand found her neck. Every ridge, every line on his skin seemed to hold a story, a history carved into flesh.

Her hand hesitantly finds its place on his shoulder, fingertips brushing against the fabric of his jacket, feeling the taut muscle beneath. Her breath shatters as he draws her closer. Crimson blooms on her cheeks, feeling the raw strength of his arms pulsating around her. With each step, her heartbeat echoes like a whispered secret. Every nerve in her body zeroes in on the small place in her lower back, where his palm touches her skin.

Their breaths sync, shallow yet quickened, as they sway together. His eyes are constant on her face as he pulls her even closer. His hand trails further down her hips. The silky fabric slides beneath his fingertips, creating a tiny furnace in each meeting point. Her body instinctively arches toward him seeking the whispers of desires long buried, waiting to be unleashed.

Her awareness of their every point of contact is so acute that she feels frozen in his arms, like a board, torn between the desire to melt into him and the instinct to pull away.

"Relax, Bitterheart. I don’t bite," he murmurs near her temple, his voice low, teasing. "Unless you want me to."

A scowl twists her lips, resisting the urge to let his scent--the dark, addictive cologne--pull her in. "Don’t try anything funny today, Mr.Raizada. You won’t like where it leads."

"Okay." He drawls out arching a brow, amused, as if this exchange is a private joke. "Got any knives strapped to those thighs today?" A flicker of a smile tugs at her lips, betraying her despite herself.

With practised ease, his hand remains steady on her waist as they move in unison. His steps are deliberate, his timing perfect, revealing a confidence he wears as easily as his suit.

Talking about his suit, it a dark black velvet tuxedo. The fabric absorbs light, giving it a depth that seems almost liquid under the chandeliers’ glow and oh, so soft under her skin. Beneath the jacket, a black waistcoat hugs his frame, contrasting against the crisp white of his tailored dress shirt, with only the slightest glimpse of an intricate black onyx cufflink glinting at his wrist. A sleek black tie sits neatly at his collar, perfectly tied, tempting her to wrap her fingers around it and yank him closer.

Her mind is going into dangerous territory. She needs to stop. She tilts her head to look at him, a taunting smile spreading on her lips as she realises something. "So, your Helen has been stolen by a Paris, huh?"

A spark flashes in his eyes. “Aren’t you so full of surprises? A girl with a taste for Greek mythology...tsk, interesting."

She shrugs. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," he says, his voice dips lower. "So, who do you see yourself as?"

A faint smirk plays at her lips as she tilts her chin haughtily. "Oh, You’ll like it.... Nemesis." she begins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "She lured Narcissus to a still pool, where he fell in love with his own reflection. And then, he was consumed by the very beauty of his own that led to his ruin.'' She leans in closer and whispers, "Pride is a dangerous illness, Mr.Raizada, which has no cure except death."

"Some of us could use catching it....too bad not everyone can afford it."

She rolls her eyes at his reply but continues after a pause, "But most Gods didn’t like Nemesis because she had a backbone."

He leans in, his voice just a murmur. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have a backbone "

Her gaze doesn’t waver. "Of course I do."

He tilts his head. "Then prove it..... Show up this Monday at Paragon Tech." His eyes glint, gazing at her reaction. "What’s happened? Did you get scared?"

"Not at all." She meets his gaze head-on, "But, first, tell me, Mr.Raizada, what do you have up your sleeves?"

"Nothing.....except my arms."

'Yes, I've noticed. Thank you very much. They are very muscular'. She mutters in her head. But on the outside, she says, "Liar." Her fingers curl a little tighter on his shoulder.

"Yes, most of the time," he murmurs, his voice laced with an amusement that only she can catch. "So are you?"

"I am not."

He studies her, the teasing mask dropping just for a second. "You’re a bird inside, trapped in a nest of snakes, aren't you? That’s why you named your hacking handle after the name of a bird. You crave freedom, but you have shackles in your feet, playing the role of a dutiful daughter and fiancé."

Suddenly her ears feel very hot as she has a strong urge to hide, but she tamps it down. "You don't know anything about me"

"And yet you claim to know me so well." His tone turns into a dark shadow that sends chills down her spine. "At least I’m honest."

"You just admitted you’re a liar."

"I’m honest about being a liar." His smirk is dangerous, intoxicating. He leans in to whisper in her ear. His voice is vintage wine and she is drunk. "But that’s not the point. The point is, you want to fly in the open sky, high and free......don't you, little bird?.... I can give you the wings you want so much........just say....‘yes.’"

His words envelope her. Every syllable he utters wraps around her like a silken thread, pulling her closer, compelling her to bow down and surrender to their master.

"Yes."

The word is barely audible as it slips out of her lips. At this point, she's not sure what is she saying "yes" to.

Like a moth drawn to the flame of his proximity, her thoughts dissolve. A soft fog blankets her mind and her heart flutters like petals caught in a fleeting breeze. But she straightens her spine, shaking off the spell and looks at his eyes. His lips are set in the infuriating smirk he wears so often, that she begins to sort of admire.

She returns his smirk with one of her own and adds, "I always believe in the saying, 'In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.'"

A brow rises. "Quoting The Art of War now?"

As soon as her brain registers that he knows about the 'Art of War' written by Sun Tzu, an ancient Chinese military strategist, her brain cells go gaga over him. They have a leather-bound copy of this book in their library, a prized possession of her father, given to him in a ceremony. As a child, she liked reading this book, imagining herself as an ancient warrior princess.

She curses all of her brain cells for their lack of control over themselves. But that's the danger with Mr.Raizada. He isn't your typical, college drop-out, harebrained, obnoxious rich fuckboy. He is arrogant and egoistical, sure, but he's also someone who has graduated from one of the most prestigious universities in the world. Of course, he has substances up there.

And that's dangerous.

For her mind.

For her heart

For her panties.

Setting her brain cells even more overboard than they previously have been, he whispers, "You wanna know what my favourite is...Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."

"Why am I not surprised?" she responds, holding his gaze. "But before anything else, I have some conditions of my own."

He narrows his brow, nevertheless, she continues, "I want answers, and I want you to be honest to me for a little bit...like, say, 10 minutes."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Ten minutes of truth? What are you, my therapist?"

She fixes him with a withering look. He is so condescending sometimes that it is like he has breathed fire into her soul. And now she wants to breathe fire, too, burning him down. "Have you ever attended one? I heard they do wonders for assholes."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Feisty today, aren’t you?" His smirk deepens as his caramel-browns dance in between her hazels. Then, after a pause, he adds, "What do you want to know?"

Everything.

But she has to be careful about what she asks. She needs to be under the shield to defeat the devil. One wrong question and his defences will rise like a wall. He won't tell her anything. She starts with something small, testing the boundaries, to see how much he will share.

 

"Why don't you drink?"

"Stop playing hard to get, little bird....I know what you're doing...that's not what you really wanna know." 

She doesn't let herself be disarmed by his teasing. "Just humour me."

"I am allergic to it," he shrugs.

She rolls her eyes, unconvinced "Go figure. Of all the things in this world, Arnav Singh Raizada is afraid of alcohol...can I kill you with it?"

Amusement gleams in his brown orbs. "No, I just avoid it when I need to be alert.....like if someone tries to eavesdrop on me."

She narrows her gaze, catching the jab but letting it slide. "Did you date Miss Sheetal before she was with Mr.Rathore?"

A skeptical look flits across his face before his expression goes blank. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Is the child yours?"

"No."

"Who is the father?"

"A man."

"Obviously." She closes her eyes, exhaling slowly. Getting answers from him is like pulling teeth. "If the child isn’t yours, why do you care about him?"

A humourless chuckle escapes him, "Why can't I just care about anything out of the sheer goodness of my heart."

Her eyes glint with mirth, "You have a heart, Mr.Raizada?"

She enjoys the ‘caught off guard’ look in his eyes, impressed by how quickly he masks it. "Touche, Miss Gupta, you are right. Arnav Singh Raizada doesn't have a heart."

"Anyway, you want me to believe that anyone in our world does anything out of the goodness of their heart....without anything getting in return." She sighs, shaking her head.

He just shrugs, holding his unreadable mask in place.

"What's so special about him or do you spend time with lots of children?.... I don't think so. Then why?" she continues, trying to gauze his reaction.

A guarded look crosses over his eyes before he slips into his neutral mask. "What do you wanna hear...that the boy reminds me of myself when I was his age.....another lonely kid, starved for a father’s affection, barely acknowledged, barely even seen? Hate to disappoint There's no story behind it.....I was just bored, so I played with the boy. It's not a big deal."

"Then shipping Miss Sheetal out of the country…isn't a big deal either...after all, you are doing it out of the goodness of your heart, too." A taunting smirk plays at the corner of her lips as her hazels dare her caramel browns to defy her.

He glides her effortlessly, leading them toward the far end of the hall, out of earshot from the crowd.

Getting no response from him, she reminds him, "I still have 5 mins left, Mr.Raizada."

A ghost of a smirk brushes his lips like a secret. "I would have told you, but then I would have to kill you. And, you aren't ready to die yet, are you, little bird."

She fixes him with a hard gaze.

"Nobody can leave the mafia alive. If they wanna leave that would be inside a coffin. We don't hear words like break-ups and divorces in our world, do we?" He murmurs in her ears.

It's like a death sentence to break up with a mafia member. Because they've known too much and seen too much during the relationship. But there are exceptions.

"That's not entirely true...my father let my mother go..." The look on his face makes her stop mid-sentence. It's a fleeting, almost imperceptible emotion. But she catches it. "What?"

His brows draw together in a subtle crease. His jaw tightens for a moment, but his gaze remains steady, searching her face. What is she seeing in his eyes? Pity? For what? 

"You don't know?" he murmurs, almost to himself.

"What I don't know?" She becomes frustrated with every second, and then, like cold water being poured over her head, a nagging feeling crashes over her. Her mind screams 'Nooo...that can't be true.' Her thoughts scatter into silence, her mind refusing to let the truth in, to give it shape.

They stop moving, her hand coming to her mouth as the doubt settles in her stomach. He grabs her upper arm, guiding her toward the back door that opens into the garden.

As they step outside, her voice wavers, her gaze fixed on him. “What did you mean back there?” she asks, a thread of disbelief woven through her words. Her voice is barely a whisper, the urgency and dread constricting her throat.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, the weight of his silence pressing down like a stone in her chest.

“You’re telling me…” Her voice falters. “She didn’t leave, did she?...that..she… she’s...” The word won’t come, as if speaking it might shatter her entirely.

He finally looks at her, his face a mask of grim understanding. “I thought you knew,” his voice low, steady.

But, hers is glass, breaking into hundreds of pieces. “No. I didn’t…”

As she sinks onto the bench outside, she feels numb, detached as if she is watching everything from somewhere far away.

Her chest feels empty, an aching hollow she doesn’t know how to fill, and yet so heavy it’s pressing her down. She wants to scream, to tear at something, to rage, but no sound comes. Her body betrays her, locking her in this numbness, this sickening calm like her mind is too afraid to let her feel anything real.

Author's note:

That was a long chapter, wasn't it? Either way, I am super grateful that you are here with me, readers. Much more adventures to come.

Lots of love.

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @msbhagirathi @titaliya @9artsdragon

[chaiandtakkar]

The Case of Ordered Disruption

Arnav Swami was a man of discipline.

A man of order.

A man who firmly believed that leisure was an overrated concept - one peddled by those who failed to appreciate the sanctity of perfectly symmetrical restaurant table arrangements.

He did not engage in frivolities like sports, dance, or (he shuddered) antakshari on road trips. Not because his stamina, agility, or voice was questionable (he would duel anyone who dared suggest such blasphemy), but because he simply had better things to do.

Like ensuring his aloo paratha-to-butter ratio was mathematically flawless.

That is… until she happened.

One fateful afternoon, Khushiji stormed into his dhaba like an action hero, except instead of sunglasses and a slow-motion entry, she was clutching a prehistoric transistor radio in one hand, its six-foot antenna extended so far it nearly took down his newly serviced ceiling fan.

“Swami Ji, LISTEN to this!” she declared, swinging it dangerously close to Bankelal Ji’s head.

Arnav, who had been peacefully ensuring his jalebis were soaking at the optimal syrup saturation level, sighed. “Khushiji, if this is another episode of Shrimaan Shrimati..”

“It’s cricket!” she announced, eyes sparkling with the kind of enthusiasm when she spotted a huge discount on Lifebouy soaps for her guest rooms. “They’re building a new team for the  Ganga Warriors League! And guess what?” 

“You, my dear Swami Ji, are going to the trial.”

Arnav froze. His soul momentarily left his body. 

Cricket? Him? That was about as likely as a dosa rolling itself into a perfect cylinder on the first try.

“Khushiji…” He carefully removed his reading glasses (which, to be clear, had no number but were purely for intimidation purposes).

(Also author’s nod to @Hand-picked-star’s Crimson Shade, Chapter 35.)

 “There are two things I do not do. One: I do not eat at competitor’s dhabas. And two: I do not play sports.”

Khushi gasped, clutching her transistor like it had just been personally insulted. "Swami Ji, that’s exactly what all legends say before they become legends. Haven’t you seen Lagaan?"

Arnav rolled his eyes. "Wasn't that about taxes and colonial oppression?"

Khushi waved him off. "Details. The point is…you have potential."

Arnav folded his arms. "The only thing I have is common sense, which is why I’m going to say this very slowly. I. Do. Not. Play. Cricket."

Khushi’s eyes narrowed.

A slow, mischievous smile curled on her lips.

Dangerous.

"Oh?" she mused, tapping her chin. "I see… So, you're scared."

Arnav’s jaw twitched. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, it makes sense," she continued airily, inspecting her nails. "You’ve built this whole ‘intimidating dhaba owner’ persona, but deep down, maybe you're just…" She trailed off dramatically. "A little… uncoordinated?"

Arnav bristled. "Khushiji, I…"

Khushi, completely unfazed, grabbed his hand and started dragging him out. “Enough said. You’re going.”

“Khushiji, NO”

“Bankelal Ji, secure the pedas! He’s trying to run!”

“ON IT, KUSHIJI!”

And just like that, the most feared dhaba owner in Haridwar found himself hauled to a cricket trial, against his will, like a child being taken for his first polio shot.

The cricket ground was a dusty expanse of regret.

A very short man with an unnervingly squeaky voice stood in the center, wielding a clipboard like it contained state secrets.

“Alright, boys! Step up, step up! My name is…”

He said his name, but it came out so fast and high-pitched that it sounded suspiciously like Squeachin Teller.

Arnav squinted. “What?”

“SQUEACHIN TE—OH NEVER MIND! JUST BAT!”

Khushi elbowed Arnav forward. “Go on, Swami Ji! Show them your hidden talent!”

Arnav had hidden talents. Avoiding human interaction was one of them. Cricket was not.

Nevertheless, he took his stance at the crease. He could do this. He just had to imagine that every ball flying toward him was a Bengali rasogulla.

Except…

He could not do this.

One ball hit his pad, another flew past his ear, and one particularly aggressive one nearly knocked off his reading glasses. 

He really tried but then he swung with the grace of a malfunctioning table fan, missing each one so spectacularly that even the neighborhood halwai selling stale pakoras outside the stadium winced.

The bowler, a lanky fellow with a face that screamed mohalle ka gunda, but very round glasses, was enjoying this way too much.

“Arre bhai, are you trying to play cricket or swat mosquitoes?” he snickered.

Khushi had had enough.

She stepped forward, snatched the bat from Arnav’s hands, and pointed it at Squeachin like a warrior queen ready for Mahabharat 2.0.

“You. Squeaky voice. Get in there.”

Squeachin hesitated. “But…I…”

“Now”

The short man gulped, grabbed the bat from Khushiji and strutted up to face the bowler, clearly confident in his ability to show these amateurs how it was done.

Big mistake.

With the fury of someone personally offended, Khushiji grabbed the ball from the lanky fella, took her position, and hurled it straight at him.

Clean bowled.

The stumps flew. 

The bat dropped. 

Squeachin let out a noise somewhere between a meep and a yelp.

Silence.

Then, from the sidelines, Bankelal Ji erupted in laughter. “Kya baat hai, Khushiji! Arnav bhaiya, maybe YOU should be holding her transistor while SHE plays instead!”

Arnav scowled.

Khushi turned to him, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly, looking entirely too smug.

"Swami Ji," she said sweetly, stepping closer, "sometimes, it’s not about catching the rasogulla…"

She let the ball drop, watching it bounce near his feet.

"It’s about making sure no one else even smells it."

For a moment, Arnav Swami forgot how to breathe.

The sun shone behind her, a slight breeze catching the end of her dupatta, and for one horrifying second, he was tempted to close the distance.

Instead, he muttered, dangerously low, "Khushiji, one day, you will regret this."

Khushi grinned. "Looking forward to it, Swami Ji."

And with that, she picked and tossed the ball back to him and sauntered off, her transistor blaring the latest S.P. Balasubramaniam hit in the background, leaving Arnav standing in the middle of the pitch, contemplating a few things:

One, that cricket may actually be the most humiliating sport ever invented.

And two… that if Khushi ever joined the Indian Cricket Team, the rest of the world would just have to deal with it.

And three… that maybe, just maybe…he’d be there, transistor in hand, shouting her name in the stands. Not that he cared. He just didn’t trust Bankelal Ji to keep score properly.

Also on blog here and Wattpad here

[chutkiandchotte]

"All shows are women-based, but somehow the men always get more money"

Watch from 4:00 onwards to see Sanaya Irani talking about pay parity in ITV. I think she's talking about Gul Khan and 4 Lions for sure.

I've been out of IPK loop for a bit but this part in the Sanaya Irani interview I stumbled on, made me so angry (not at her, at the world). She heavily implies that Barun and her were never paid equally while doing the show. And later, when asked to reprise their roles/do a new show together (she's not clear about exactly which), she asked for equal pay as the success of their pairing was due to both of them, and she was DENIED.

This is outrageous to me, considering Sanaya was definitely the bigger and more popular star prior to IPK. And as IPK 3 undoubtedly proved, the big draw of IPK, the thing that made it super successful was the PAIRING of Arnav and Khushi, not just the music or the love-hate story or Barun all by himself. No shade to Barun, he's a fine actor of course. But this is about what made IPKKND work - and the credit for that is EQUALLY shared between the two leads, and of course the writing and the supporting cast are also critical in that success.

Anyway, I'm sorry but I am not mature enough to not be kind of happy that IPK 3 didn't work out, not because of any other reason but just because it made the producers and their misogyny look really really stupid. They really thought they were having a "we can re-do IPKKND, we don't need HER (the HER is always replaceable), as long as we have HIM" moment, and I'm glad they were proven wrong.

It's what fans have pointed out forever, which apparently the producers were too damn stupid to know - of course as fans of Barun himself, we are glad to see a NEW tv show with a totally different story and new co-stars. But if you're going to shove the IPKKND branding in there, you're going to make us listen to the background music in every scene, you're going to name the lead character similar to the iconic ASR, then SORRY - you're the one who is inviting us with garlands into comparison territory, and you WILL be found wanting. IPKKND without Sanaya as Khushi, is really not something anyone who loves this show wishes to see or imagine.

Barun Sobti has his own brand and fan following, which they could have easily cashed in on by making a totally new show with him. But what they wanted to do was cash in on the IPKKND brand, imagining in their arrogance that Sanaya Irani (not to mention good writing 👀) is only incidental and expendable to that brand.

Like there is a reason there are so many fucking ITV shows these days with 17-20 year old girls paired with 32 year old men. Because audiences will easily swallow these odd pairings, and you can get away with paying a 17 year old peanuts. Because the successful 32 year old woman is going to ask for what she's worth. And while producers can make peace with paying men what they're worth per their experience and popularity, doing the same for women, is considered too extreme to even be an option.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hello dear. Hope you are well. I am not sure how best to articulate my thoughts but here we go. It's very very long but you inspired me today. You've been a beacon of change in questioning and challenging ITV. I wanted to quip in. Hope you don't mind. Arnav anger is often excused as coming from trauma and his 'grey/anti-hero' character is often glamorized. He is without a doubt compelling and attractive. Plus, he has his strengths such as honesty and forthrightness.

Ok, so this is a LONG question with a lot of your own analysis and I wouldn't touch that at all cause analyzing is a beautiful thing and I wouldn't want to add/remove from your lovely analysis. I'll just be adding some of my thoughts here and there :D

(rest of the ask below)

His greyness amplifies a lot of the hypermasculine stereotypical traits such as aggression, strength, power etc. In the narrative like in Kabir Singh this makes us discount the wrongs when perhaps his treatment of Khushi in many ways in similar. Rather we swoon over his charm when in reality most 'charming' men have similar shades and unfortunately, never change. The sense of entitlement and the joy of wielding power over others is observed in abusive men.

Tbh though, Arnav doesn't have any charm. Shyam has all the charm in the world and that's interesting considering he's a villain.

Often we excuse this behavior by comparing them to worse portrayals when again abuse usually escalates with time. For example, at least Arnav didn't violate Khushi's consent. How different were Shyam and Arnav? Weren't they both ultimately two sides of the same coin? Isn't this afterall a way to build tolerance towards worse behavior? Shyam is the 'bad' guy because he plans things deliberately, but aren't Arnav's actions also not something he is accountable for?

Fun fact, Arnav and Shyam were written to mirror each other in multiple situations. It was very intentional of the creators to draw a thin line between the anti-hero and villain and to be honest, at one point we all simply believed Arnav is the hero of the story only because he is Khushi's choice.

I wish Arnav's actions were far more accountable for - hence the guesthouse and resignation scenes are some of my favorites.

We don't talk much about Arnav and Anjali here. They are incredibly close, but the co-dependency is discernible. He is obligated to her for being the 'mother' but she is his first and Khushi the second. It does perhaps from trauma but Anjali has a lot of control over Arnav and he is guilt-ridden if she is hurt. We blame Khushi for her mistakes but do we ever consider that it is her desparation to receive unconditional love which is missing.

Arnav and Anjali have developed codependency over their trauma -which is what Shyam exploits.

Coming to Khushi, she is often criticized for her world revolving around Arnav, being infantilized, that she should 'stand up' etc. However, it's not a new fact that abusive relationships can be incredibly difficult to leave and can have a huge physical and emptional impact on a person's self-esteem. Is this not victim blaming? We also dismiss the impact Arnav's family has on Khushi. Anjali,Akash,Dadi -all had a role to play as their support was conditional or inadequate.

Hmm interesting. To share my opinion and take on this - my gripe with Khushi rarely comes from considering her and Arnav as real people and assessing their relationship as such. My gripe is with the writing in the show coming to Khushi. Khushi recessing to childlike behavior is a signal of trauma that @honeybellexox had once brilliantly discussed.

But the show is not portraying the delicate pained layers of emotions you described. The rest of the family is left out to hype TRP forced romance or family politics (not plot) and Khushi's weight of being in an abusive relationship is seriously traded for terrible writing which things suicide is funny, pissing off an abusive husband is hilarious.

We do not SEE Khushi's behavior as a response to a terrible marriage. We are made to see this is how Khushi is 'one upping' against Arnav by irritating him the way she poured juice in his shoes. And wow how intelligent.

There's no depth, no gravity, nothing in Khushi. She becomes hollow - not because of the pain you aptly put above - but due to a very Star Plus enforced 'bahu' trope.

Victim blaming would be wondering why Khushi didn't shove Shyam off the terrace scene and froze when Shyam hugged her - no, any reaction she had at that point is absolutely justified!

But wondering why Khushi acts around Arnav post revelation that she is having an affair of Shyam instead of providing facts or actual reasonings is a flaw in the show. Why? Because the intention of the show at that point was to ensure that Arnav's misunderstanding does not break and he is 'justified' in the audience's eye to mistreat Khushi. Now that is a problem.

The complication of Payal being married into the same family, lack of societal, financial and family support almost meant that Khushi had no choice but to humor situations and find happiness in meaningless trivalities. He child-like behavior and adherence to patriarchal traditions/rituals was her only resort to be accepted. That is so ingrained in her mind, that any attempt to tilt the balance might cause her more problems. Perhaps Khushi's character arc was realistic.

I absolutely wish the show showed the nuance you are writing. Her dancing to Nani for Holi was beautiful - it conveys everything you're saying. Her force-feeding Arnav mid meeting, forbidding anyone to give him food, then eating up food that can feed upto five people and still tasting the food before she gives him to eat is... ridiculous and demeaning as a character.

I do disagree with you on Khushi's arc because her arc, after a moment, is stunted to serve Arnav as a character. An excellent character that displays everything you wrote is Gauri from Ishqbaaz. They lend her the grace and gravity that one can only dream of in Khushi.

(I'll show it to you!!! You'll absolutely love it - it's a solid recommend from @aye-masakalii)

It wasn't the lack of strength or that she had certain traits. Her reality and worth had been controlled, toyed with and manipulated that she no longer could see things clearly which made her sink deeper into the marriage. Should the IPK writers be criticized for mirroring the reality many women still live in or is it an eye-opener which makes us very uncomfortable in acknowleding the sad reality that many women meet the same fate?

Our innate optimism makes us favor the idealized world that Arnav and Khushi were a fairytale. Perhaps they do end up being together but is that the only yardstick to measure marriage? More questions than answers, but isn't is critical to shift the repsonisbility towards Arnav rather than victim-blame Khushi? Love, RDX

I loved your analysis, and if the writing hadn't been so flat and actually conveyed everything you wrote - I would've never wanted Arnav and Khushi together.

Lol, maybe that's why my edits and fanfics exist.

Arnav needed to be held more accountable and Khushi needed to be written further as an independent character - these are perhaps some of my main grievances against the show only because they proved they could do it.

Best,

Soapy

[arziaisfrench]

▪︎ IPKKND Ep 165 : A sexy game

The tension and chemistry is making me shy !! 😏

" -What if you lose?

-I'll do whatever you want

-… " Arnav's mind immediately goes directly into imagining Khushi kissing him, but also definitely not just kissing … 👀

" -Really? Think about it.

-I have given my words.

Khushi very much understood the se×ual insinuations he was making to her ...

-I don't do things I might regret later"

This was a shade to Arnav's bad habit lol, after all, he's the one who ran away after trying to kiss her !

"-You'll do anything … right?"

Khushi accepts this condition not only because she's sure he can't dance but also, I think, because she trust him. She knows he won't do something she doesn't want to, if she doesn't want to hmhm ...👀

"What If you lose?"

Arnav definitely was thinking of asking her to have an intimate moment, but I think Khushi was thinking of asking him what he feels for her.

This is the occasion they waited to move their relationship forward!

"-I don't believe in destiny

-So much attitude and that too of that person who once said, will never see my face again but still came in front of me, who once said, will throw me out of my job but still gave me the job!

The one who prepared a lot for a party, but that party got interesting just because of me …

You write a very good destiny for yourself !"

"If you don't believe in destiny it means you purposely chose to let me stay in your life mr Arnav Singh Raizada? Is that so?"

[simplycurlz]

Fifty Shades of Grey

This is my first try at writing a fanfic or fiction of any kind...I usually just write my thoughts on whatever I feel like...I am new to Tumblr and only recently discovered this awesome world of IPK fanfic and the beautiful writings of so many people had me itching to create something of my own...each time I re-watch the show I get so many ideas but as they say, its the execution that's the key..so here I am presenting one of the earliest ideas I had..it had started as a small, funny One shot in my head but has grown into something else as I put it into words...Hope whosoever reads it, enjoys it...I am not sure how many people will read this but if you do, I would love some feedback...any feedback ..positive or negative...I would like to thank @phati-sari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @featheredclover and @dimaagkadahi as their blogs introduced me to IPK fan world and then inspired me to try my hand at it... so here goes nothing

Chapter 1- Vorfreude The one with anticipation and realizations

“Arnav ji, aap ayenge na?”

Intrigued and amused he had replied with an “I guess so”, but the anticipation mingled anxious tinge to her voice told Arnav how important today was for Khushi. She had planned a date for them.

Their first date…that it had taken them six months of being married, and almost a year of being in some kind of a relationship to actually go out on a date, and that too on the eve of their second marriage, amazed Arnav and he realized, once again, how unusually turbulent their journey had been. He also acknowledged that most of the issues could be laid down at his feet. He had repeatedly hurt her, accused her of imaginary slights and unimaginable crimes, manhandled her and used deliberately targeted words to slice through what he thought was her façade of innocence. If he had been an outsider viewing their relationship, he would have advised Khushi to stay the hell away from him. He himself had tried to keep distance, whichever way possible, tried damn hard do so for a very long time but failed spectacularly and miserably…and when he gave up fighting what she was doing to him, he was a changed man…her personal brand cocktail of charm, tenacity, madness and the sheer large heartedness had at first chipped away gently and then bulldozed its way through the walls around ASR to reveal Arnav and his heart which had an ocean deep capacity to love.

As all these realizations swept through Arnav’s mind, and not for the first time, he was just grateful for who Khushi was …no one else could have loved him and made him feel the way she did… Arnav turned the car towards his rose garden to thank Ma, as was his habit whenever the realization hit that his behavior could have lost him his Khushi, for literally dropping her into his life, because who else would send such a gift his way.

Realizing he was already late, Arnav ran towards his wardrobe and was interrupted by NK as he chose what to wear for tonight. NK was up to his usual antics and banter and Arnav ignored him for most part before picking a black suit, black tie coupled with a lavender shirt. He wanted Khushi to know that he could a little color to his wardrobe and NK’s comment “Black is better than black" had rankled a bit.

He was excited for tonight and really looking forward to what Khushi had planned. It smarted a little that she came up with the idea first, and he decided to take her on an outing as soon as possible. He will take her to the Derby, Arnav thought. She loves outdoors and his heart skipped a beat as he imagined asking her to wear something in white to combat the heat of the day. She looked ethereal in white. He started on a run outside the room a smile playing on his lips as he imagined Khushi in white, hair flowing, eyes wide, jumping in excitement of the races, a rosy glow on her cheeks ...his heart started on its now familiar rhythm of anticipation… He was brought out his musings when he saw Di…she was about to head out. After ensuring that she wasn’t going out alone Arnav left for Blue Orchid. Arnav was excited, he was nervous, he was happy…he was going on his first date with his wife…Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada

You can read the second chapter here

[ipkkndlovescenes]

Episode 2

In his safe arms

This episode takes the breath out of intensity. The intensity of fear and the intensity of losing control, control of desires...

She is in his arms, her hand is where she had unintentionally, but he feels it. Her beauty is what makes him breathless, his eyes scanned every inch of her face, her hands feel her skin the first time, his heart feels her heart next to him. Is he lost? Yes, his stubborn eyes scroll down to her trembling lips. Oh, she is doing something to him, making him lose control, he is damn angry and jolts her in between his arms but still doesn't let her go yet.

But the moment she gestured a little he put her down with rage, more of throwing her away and his men take her away. Cameras catch every tiny moment of this event...

Here comes the stepping up either in hate or love towards his love and her towards resistance accepting it because of that. He comes in and asks his men to let her come out. She runs out for her freedom, but his stronghold over her tugs her back to him...

Arnav walks towards her & she walks back ... a cute start of this hate and love chess game.

Khushi tries to explain that she came there by accident. Arnav rips off her dupatta. Khushi tells him that she needs to go back to her sister, otherwise, her wedding will be canceled. Arnav tells her to let the wedding be canceled one goes, and another one comes. He rips her pearl's Dori from her dress.

She answers him in the same tone as it is, "Who are you and why are you after me for all this time? Stay away from my way, leave me alone and let me go"

Oh, her control, her confidence, and her courage challenged him as no one ever spoke to him like this and especially a woman like her.No way he will let her go like this.

Her intake breath, when he breaks her Dori, a shock all over her face seeing his clenching jaws, darkness in his eyes which were trained on him mercilessly, uncaring of his own actions, or how much hurt he has caused.

a set of eyes shocked. unable to fathom the moment.

A row of pearls was scattering trying to break the breathless moment but it was not in anyone's control.

It was unfathomable for her to grasp this strange man in front of her and his actions but he was mad, oh, he was because she has lost him his control, she became the reason to break that shell where he was safe and untouchable all these years. She indeed has affected him at very first sight.

Now when he breaks her Dori..look at his face, he is hurt doing that...why because he reads that " truth ...innocence in her eyes which always was there but she triggered the avalanche by reminding him of his mission...saving and protecting his sister.

Her words what if this happens to your sister? What if someone leaves your sister like this then...landed on his ruthless mind and he couldn't control himself further and the damaged was done.

While PEARLS...Symbol of innocence and purity of emotions which both feel in the form of tears, fears, smiles, pains, but while rejecting her innocence and embracing her with all of these ...in return he felt the same.

"Chot" A wound on his heart.

Then seeing her protecting her innocence, her way also brings many shades on his face.

Her covering her back with her hair...which makes him lowers his gazes right there...WOW.loved this part...He has fallen way down in respecting this Low Standard and status girl right here...she made him lower his egoistic eyes just by mere one-act...but, after tonight, he never will cross any limit respecting her values...not even once. Verbally it takes time but his actions will never reflect such a character like this again.

Yes ...he let her go because he was adamant that she is a woman who looks innocent yet full of deceit...but his heart knew all along that she was innocent...

Index /Arshi Moments 

[hand-picked-star]

First of all, Welcome to my blog. This blog is dedicated to IPKKND. I had been a avid fan of IPKKND since forever. For a long time, I couldn't indulge myself to my obsession of it. But right now I got some times to do what I always wanted to do. It's a navigation post,mostly for me, as I am getting lost in my own blog. And for you too,if you ever show interest in my blog.

I have another blog @hand-written-dreams where I post my stories. You are welcome there as well.

My scattered thoughts

Namak ishq ka

Bharosha nehi hain mujhpe?

Saza toh milegi

Lay me down by your side

12 labours of Arnav Singh Raizada part 1, part 2 and narratives

sshhh...relax

Teri meri prem kahani

Yeh kya ho gaya

Kahi Ankahi baatein

This is so tough

I love you, damn it

I have no other way

Kabhi khushi kabhie gham

No pun intended

My khawali pulao

Right after kidnapping

During remarriage

After remarriage

Mr. & Mrs.Raizada gif-set

bachelor's party dance

You put a spell on me

Guilty as sin?

She's got you high

Hold me close

Color my world

Crazy in love

The rain

The sun & the moon

Me and you, we were made to break

Five love languages

Out of my head into your arm part 1 and part 2

Just him touching her everywhere

Ab na jaa

IPKKND and BOLLYWOOD

Part - 1

Part - 2

Part - 3

IPKKND & VEER-ZAARA Part - 1

IPKKND & VEER-ZAARA Part - 2

Arshi Comics

New year eve smackdown

Others

Arnav and shyam

Video edit

Mine:

let me down slowly x main dhoondne ko zamame mein

Favourite from others:

Munda kukkad kamaal da by siasvms

A x K Saaware by Pastellitesoulx

A x K celebrating 9 years by Riya's Vids

Tu hi haqeeqat by nisazeinn creations

An iconic saga of love & hate by poohbaniparvatix

Arshi x ye ladki hain dewaani by poohbaniparvatix

Afreen afreen by isspodcastkokyanaamdoon

Arnav x khushi: enna sona

Reblogs

Posts I adore(by others)

language of sex in IPKKND

Arnav's redemption

The consumation scene

Favourite Fanfics

Saadi by Expelliarmus

Something about you by Farah

Fanfic by me

Whispers of the Heart ( Historical AU)

Crimson Shade ( Mafia/Age gap AU)

Anniversary post (2024)

Chotte vs Chutki

Their happy ending

7 types of greek love

What's a Soulmate?

Arshi comic: New year smackdown

You belong with me

Do you love me enough?

Five centimeters

Saving khushi from evil fairy light

Take my hand

IPKKND Episodes

[featheredclover]

Fanaa

08

Read from the beginning

07.......09

Sara’s boutique was a quaint little store, tucked away in the city’s corner.

Payal had discovered it accidentally, when she took a wrong turn once. 

But it was love at first sight, as Payal bought everything for her wedding from there.

The pastel tone of the store and Sara’s exuberance made Khushi feel at ease. But Payal was like a maniac, with a long list on her hands.

“Sara, we need everything. From lingerie to formal dresses. I want lounge wear appropriate for Khushi’s age but not too childish. A mixture of suits,coord sets and skirts for work. I want saris, but their blouses should be sleeveless. And for her wedding? It will be a day event, so how about a blush pink lehenga?”

“Ooh! I have a wonderful piece for the wedding”

Sara rushed off into the back, even as Payal skimmed through the rack.

“Di, this is too much. I have clothes”

“Do you realise who you are going to be after this wedding? Someone leading a magazine! I can’t have you walk in there with your plaid shirts and worn out kurtis. And don’t even start about your lounge clothes-“

“What’s wrong with my pyjamas?”, Khushi whined.

“You may find this odd, but you will be living with Arnav after the wedding “, Payal rolled her eyes, “And a man like that will be very impressed seeing your Spongebob SquarePants shorts”

Khushi pouted, knowing any argument would be futile at this point.

———

An hour later, they were stuffed back into the car, surrounded by the best pieces of clothing.

Buaji had prepared an elaborate lunch, as Khushi gathered from Payal who was on the phone.

Bored, she looked out at the bustling stream of cars and rickshaws.

A ping interrupted her musings, and she looked down at her phone.

Arnav R.: Hey! My friend wants to invite you for a movie night. Are you in?

She didn’t have to bother wondering why the text sounded so unlike him, as he was calling her the next moment.

“Hello?”, she said a bit unsure.

“Khushi? Hi! I am Aman. Aman Sethi. We met last night, if you recall?”

“Oh yes”, she could hardly sit still,”Of course, I remember “

“Well, since Arnav doesn’t want to introduce us properly , I have taken the liberty to steal his phone and invite you myself”

Before she could agree, a distant rumble of displeasure reached her ears.

“Aw come on! Arnav here says you would have no interest in an old film- is 1989 that old? Come on Khushi, Arnav was born that year! How could you be so insensitive?”

She couldn’t help but burst out laughing at Aman’s theatrics.

“Not that old at all. I’ll be there”

“Great! Can’t wait!”

As soon as she hung up, Payal coughed.

“Date night?”  She smirked.

“More like a hangout, Di. Aman Sethi invited me to watch a movie with them. Feels surreal”

Payal shrugs, “You should get used to being around media personalities. After all, you are going to be one yourself soon”

Khushi scoffed, “Me? I am just marrying one”

“We’ll see”

———

Aman’s bachelor pad was the one selected for the viewing. Arnav had mentioned it to her that his apartment was undergoing minor renovations.

So when she drove upto Athena apartments, she reallly didn’t what to expect. One day in, and already she was parking into the most influential residential area in Lucknow.

The sleek black elevator greeted her with a blast of jazz.

Glancing at her reflection, Khushi pushed a stray strand of hair away. 

She was surprisingly not that nervous. 

“Hi”, Arnav greeted her at the door, dressed in a simple black tshirt.

“Hey”, Khushi smiled.

“You really wanna spend your Saturday night with two boring men?”

, he teased after letting her in.

“Who the hell did you call boring?!”

“Come”, Arnav rolled his eyes before grabbing her hand and leading her into the living room.

The entire apartment was truly a bachelor’s haven. Completely set in shades of black and red. Khushi was bemused seeing some strange artefacts, like the monkey statues, staring right at her in the living room.

“Interesting decor”, she quipped.

“Isn’t it?”, Aman grinned as he walked in with two bowls of popcorn.

“Khushi, Aman. Aman, Khushi “, Arnav introduced them with a wave of his hand.

“Aw come on man! We deserve better. Khushi, I am this idiot’s only friend. Held that position since college and here we are!”

Khushi smiled as she shook his hand,” Honestly, I am lucky! I have read all your books”

“Really? I hope you didn’t bring any of them to slam it in my face?”

“Nonsense! My friends and I treat them as the gospel”

“I like you already!” Aman winked.

Arnav cleared his throat, “Let’s start the movie, shall we?”

“Sure!”, she settled down next to him on the plush couch, “What are we watching?”

“Her alibi”

“It’s a Tom Selleck movie”

“Ooh! I love Tom Selleck!”

Arnav looked at her, “Have you seen any of his movies?”

“No, but I loved him as Dr Richard in Friends”

“Aah! Love that”, Aman passed her a soda before pressing play on his remote.

———

She loved it. 

The old school charm of the movie. The sexy older novelist of mystery genre who rescues this beautiful, younger murder suspect, but lives in two minds between his attraction to her and doubt that she might actually be guilty.

It was just plain sexy.

She hesitantly admitted to herself that she did find the age gap sexy.

Maybe it was the fact that it was Tom Selleck . Maybe it was because her own prospects were leading into that direction.

But as she glanced slyly at Arnav, she felt herself inexplicably drawn to him. Everything that he was, chivalrous, masculine and intelligent. He had everything a girl dreams of her man to have. 

Drunk on her attraction for him, she scooted closer before resting her head on his shoulder.

He turned immediately.

“Bored?”, he whispered.

“No”, she whispered back before curling her arm around his bicep.

Arnav allowed her to cuddle closer, before kissing her forehead.

Turning back to the screen, they saw the couple in their own battle of emotions.

Khushi felt a burst of contentment in her heart. 

She could get used to this.

———

Much later, after a wonderful dinner and a heavy discussion on the film, Khushi was down in the parking, walking towards her car with Arnav.

“Aman is amazing! I have loved his work for so long, I can’t believe he is as wonderful in person!”, she gushed.

Arnav said nothing, simply holding her hand tighter.

“I guess I should watch more Tom Selleck movies”, she mused.

With no warning at all, he pulled her flush against his hardness in one quick second.

“You should, but only with me”

And then. That infuriatingly sexy man kissed her. 

He pressed deeper into her. Caressing the nape of her neck, he pulled her closer, teasing her lips with his tongue.

She clutched onto his shoulders, before letting him deepen the kiss. 

He groaned before plunging in. Kissing her again, again and again.

She couldn’t get enough. When he tried to slow down the kiss, something possessed her into kissing him back harder.

Arnav moaned before holding her tighter.

Damn it all! This felt so good!

When they finally broke off, Arnav rested his forehead on hers.

“She might have been the murderess after all”, he said with a sinful smirk.

For a first kiss, Khushi knew he had given her the best.

-------

Next>>>

[leila1]

OS:Aaj Bhi

He grabbed her hand and making sure not a single eye was on them hurriedly walked towards his room. 

“Kya kar rahen aaap” 

Khushi asked, releasing her wrist after he had finally stopped by the pool. Her brows crunched in annoyance. 

“Dekh raha hoon”  

Arnav’s eyes lazily scanned her face as a smile adorned his face. 

“Kya” she asked, not entirely sure of his spontaneity. 

“Tumhe” 

“To hall mein light kam thi kya”  she rolled her eyes. 

Arnav bit back a laugh as he rolled his eyes at this clueless woman. Wasn’t she the one who watched endless movies. How could she not catch on?

He started walking forward causing her feet to take her backwards at their own accord. 

“Light to kam nahi thi lekin main tumhe nazar nahi aa raha tha” 

He looked her in the eye making her cheeks shift in shades of crimson. 

She bit her lip knowing what he meant a little too well. 

“Acha?’ Her eyes displayed a certain glint  that was hard to miss. 

“To ab nazar agaye na, to chalein phir” she said as she tried to take a calculated step almost grabbing his arm. 

“Nahi” he said, pinning his arms to her sides against the brick wall. 

His musky scent mingled with her floral one. She stared into his eyes, that mirrored the same glint as hers. She was about to open her mouth when he moved closer making her lose all coherent thoughts. 

Arnav moved closer. 

“Di ajayegi”  

She whispered as she placed her hands on his chest. 

Holding her hands he kissed her forehead. 

“Aney do” 

He moved his face to her right and leaned in. 

“Nani ajaengi” 

“Aney do” 

He kissed her cheek. 

She bit her lower lip and looked to her right. Her left cheek only an inch away from his lips and desired filled eyes. 

“Mami ajaengi” 

He kissed her left cheek, increasing the heat, the crimson on her cheeks growing richer. 

“Aney do” 

She turned to face him slightly amused at his determination. Arnav looked at her lips and Khushi looked at his. Her hands moved from his chest to his neck. If Arnav was surprised he didn’t let it show on his face. 

Khushi bit back a bubbling laugh as his arms went around her waist. Her thumb grazed the corner of his lip knowing fully well the implications of her simple movements. 

Arnav leaned in, his lips almost touching hers, in the back of his mind he was happily surprised at her silence. 

“Aman ka phone agaya to?” 

Only she would say something like that. 

“What” 

Not being able to believe he moved back and looked at her in surprise. 

“Aman ka phone?” 

Khushi’s eyes reflected the teasing in her voice 

“Haan pehle bhi ho chuka hai” 

She looked at him in the eye slightly raising her brows, reminding him of a previous instance from months ago. 

Arnav slightly chuckled. Only Khushi could amuse him this many times in a few minutes. 

He looked at her with questioning eyes, pretending to not understand her cues. 

“But of course it meant nothing right” 

She said mimicking his words from that day. 

It meant then and it meant now but of course he wasn’t going to admit it, not so easily anyway. 

He folded his arms and looked at her to go on. 

“That's okay hota hai, it meant nothing to me either” 

She said nonchalantly and started to walk past him. Khushi stopped in her tracks as she felt his warm hand encasing her cold wrist. 

“Acha?’ 

He said, bringing her in front of him. 

“Isi liye ab tak yeh sab yaad hai tumhe?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Mujhe to sab yaad rehta hai” she narrowed her eyes. 

“Lekin aapko kaise yaad hai? After all it meant nothing right ?’

If looks could kill,  Arnav wouldn't be standing in front of her. 

“Heat of the moment” 

She said, wiping his slightly sweaty forehead. 

“Khushi” 

Slightly getting annoyed he placed his arms on her waist. He was in no mood to dwell in the past, and definitely in no mood to accept certain things. 

“Maan lo, us din bhi kuch hua tha...aur aaj bhi” she grabbed his collar and pulled him. 

A startled Anrav just looked at her, unable to control a smile, his racing heartbeat more than just audible to her ears. 

She smiled in victory, knowing the effects had reversed. 

“Maanta hoon” he tightened his grip around her waist. 

“Kuch kuch hota hai, aaj bhi”  

She was touched at his sincerity and felt triumphant at making him finally admit. Khushi slightly raised on her toes and kissed his lips. She had fallen for him all over again. 

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 18

Monsters stuck in my head

You've got no place to hide.

And I'm feeling like a villain,

got a hunger inside.

One look in my eyes

And you're running 'cause I'm coming

Gonna eat you alive

- ( The song of this chapter is 'Monster' by Ruelle.)

A steaming cup of coffee slides into view, the rich aroma pulling her from her intense focus. She blinks, realizing how long she’s been staring at the screen of the bullet-riddled laptop.

She looks up, startled, to find Mr.Mathur’s smiling face.

“You’ve been at it all day,” he says, nodding toward the laptop. His gaze flickers to the disarray of cables and tools scattered across the desk.

Khushi sighs, stretching her arms. She pushes the laptop aside, satisfied that most of the data has been extracted. The rest still need more work. “Thank you, Mr.Mathur. You’re a lifesaver,” she says, reaching for the cup.

“Please, call me Aman,” he replies with a light chuckle. “Mr.Mathur sounds too formal. Makes me feel ancient.”

She smiles. “Only on one condition… call me Khushi.”

She can see why someone like Mr.Raizada is friends with Aman. He carries an aura of comfort, a natural ease that draws people in. Everyone within his radius seems to instinctively relax, their guard lowering without even realizing it.

For someone like her, who’s spent the better part of her life building walls, it’s a bit disarming.

“Deal.” He leans against the desk, folding his arms. “So, you graduated from college with honours, huh? I was dragging my ass just to pass my computer science course,” Aman says with a chuckle.

Khushi arches an eyebrow, momentarily surprised by his candidness. “The Harvard course must’ve been tough, no?”

“I actually graduated from MIT,” he corrects, his smile easy and relaxed.

“Oh.” She blinks, caught off guard. “I thought you graduated from Harvard with Mr.Raizada.”

Aman shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “Oh no, that man went to Harvard for business studies, all high and mighty. Meanwhile, I was at MIT, knee-deep in code and circuits. We were in a…long-distance friendship.”

There’s a playful lilt to his tone, but Khushi catches a subtle fondness beneath it. The contrast between him and Mr.Raizada intrigues her. They couldn’t be more different.

She chuckles, "I don't have that much knowledge in geography, but I believe both these universities are situated in the same city in Massachusetts... Cambridge, right?"

"To me, it seems like you have pretty good knowledge of geography."

"I searched all things about MIT. I wanted to go there." She doesn't know why she shares this with Aman.

"Your father didn't let you, did he?"

Khushi keeps sipping her coffee. Not responding to him.

Aman sighs, settling into the chair in front of her, letting the matter drop.  “So....Arnav didn’t really explain what ‘special task’ he’s assigned to you. Something about finding a hacker? What’s all that about?” he says, his tone turns slightly curious.

Khushi takes a careful slow sip, the heat of the coffee settling in her stomach. “Someone stole some important documents from me,” she says, her tone clipped. “And made it look like Mr.Raizada was behind it.”

Aman tilts his head, his brows furrowing slightly, his eyes scanning her face. “You know I’m not really into the whole dark web hacker business. But let me know if you need my help with anything. By the way… mind telling me the hacker’s ID? Just curious.”

For a moment, she hesitates. Her hand tightens around the mug. “TheShadowMonster,” she replies.

Aman stares at her, deep in thought and what looks like confusion, as his brows furrow. Then, his lips quirks into a half-smile. “Huh, that sounds like something a kid would come up with.” He gives a short, quiet laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, yet his tone struggles to contain his amusement.

Khushi watches him closely, something in his reaction unsettling her. “It actually was,” she responds, deadpan, her tone colder than before.

Can it be him?

BSc in Computer Science from MIT.

But, but, but..

Why would he frame his best friend?

And why didn't Mr.Raizada share this information with Aman?

Does Mr.Raizada not trust him fully?

Does he suspect Aman or what?

If that was the case, then sharing this information with Aman would be dangerous. But it could also open new doors for her.

If he is indeed that hacker, the one pulling the strings from the shadows, she could play him. Mislead him.

Just like he did to her.

Aman’s gaze sharpens, just for a moment, before his expression softens again. “Excuse me?”

“He created the account when he was twelve. He’s older now…I guess.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He told me.”

Aman studies her for a second, his brow furrowing further. “He told you? When? How? I mean, I’m happy to help you find him if you need, but I don’t want to get tangled up in some… lovers' spat.”

“It’s not like that,” her voice sharper than she intended, her eyes studying him. She then quickly looks away. “We bumped into each other.....talked from time to time. He's intriguing, kind of a genius...he taught me many online spying techniques. With that, I collected lots of evidence. Evidence that he ultimately stole.”

“So… you were friends?” The way Aman is looking at her now makes her uncomfortable. It’s as if he’s studying her, dissecting every word, every movement as if she’s some specimen under a microscope.

She shifts uneasily, wishing she could retreat from his probing eyes.

She feels the knot in her stomach tighten. “I don’t know,” she murmurs, staring at the screen but not really seeing it. “Can you even call online acquaintances friends?”

His gaze softens, and he nods slowly.

“I think you can. And I think you’re upset because, online or not, you considered him as a friend....or at least a confidant. You trusted him.” He pauses, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “And he betrayed you.”

She doesn’t know why his words feel like they’re cutting deeper than they should. She looks at the laptop, forcing herself to focus on the work that still needs to be done.

It doesn’t matter.

But it does. She doesn’t know why, but it does.

All her life everyone just did that.

Betrayed her.

Her parents betrayed her.

Her best friend betrayed her.

TheShadowMonster betrayed her.

It's the new trend.

Betraying Khushi Sen Gupta.

“Can I have a word?”

She pauses at the threshold of the lavish office, her steps faltering as her eyes land on him.

Seated in the high-backed, leather chair, he exudes an almost unnatural stillness, his sharp features illuminated by the faint glow of the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Mr.Raizada looks up, “Isn't that why I am here?”

She rolls her eyes. She texted him yesterday after she recovered all of the data from that laptop. That was some highly encrypted CBI laptop, and it took almost two days for her to decrypt it.

"Glad that your sarcastic tongue didn't fall off. But I want to talk about something else."

"Hmm, take a seat."

“We got interrupted discussing our deal terms that night,” she says, her voice steady but her hands fidgeting at her sides. “We didn't settle actually what I want from our deal." He remains silent, so she continues, "I want you to make me disappear. New identity, new address…somewhere far away from here...anywhere, as long as it's not here.”

He leans back in his chair, his sharp gaze scrutinizing her. “Done.”

Her breath hitches at his quick agreement. “I have it open,” she says, turning the laptop screen toward him. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“That was fast.”

She smirks faintly. “Was that a test?"

He chuckles, "No."

"Why are we looking into a CBI agent’s laptop? And I know you took it from my father’s study, don't you dare deny it.”

"Good morning, Boss," Aman enters the room and takes the chair beside her, "Good morning, Khushi."

It doesn't escape her eyes how his eyes narrow, and his browns darken at Aman's calling her by her first name. But he quickly drapes his stoic mask over his face.

"I promised you evidence against Mr.Gupta, didn't I? Consider it a token of appreciation for you to accept my deal." His lips curl into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “And...I’m not entirely sure about the CBI agent part. Either he was an undercover mafia operative in the CBI, or an undercover CBI agent in the mafia, doubling as a dealer in the Triad Tribe.” He leans forward, his tone low and pointed. “You know about the Triad Tribe, right?”

She stays silent, nodding faintly.

“Anyway, Mr. Gupta killed him,” Mr.Raizada continues, his voice growing colder. “The owner might have used the laptop as a shield to protect himself from getting shot.”

“There are multiple IP addresses of warehouses,” she says after a moment, her fingers flying across the keys. “Information about shipments… What’s in these warehouses? Arms? Drugs?”

“Humans.”

Her fingers freezes mid-typing. She looks up sharply, her face pale. “But human trafficking was shut down…”

“The Serpents are trying to reopen it,” he says, his voice dark, his jaw tightening. “They’re exploiting their special privileges with the border in West Bengal and the influx of Rohingyas in Bangladesh. They’re collecting people, trying to strike a deal with the Chicago Outfit as a test run. If it works, every other family will jump at the chance to restart it.”

She stares at the screen, her throat tightening. “I looked into all of them. Only few of them have CCTV cameras. I hacked into them yesterday. They were empty."

"They'll probably fill up the warehouses a few days before the shipment. To avoid suspicion." Aman adds.

She looks at the dates of the shipment and sees the warehouse with a CCTV camera has the closest date, two days from today. "Let me look into it again." The feed appears instantly. Her voice trembles as she continues. “They’re all kids… boys mainly. What, six or seven years old?”

Mr.Raizada's face darkened. “The Chicago Outfit has an assassin-making organisation called the 'League of Shadows',” he says, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “They train children into killers and sell them to clients....or use them to eliminate their enemies. Kids that young are more impressionable. Easy to mold. Loyal....they might be in storage of children to train.”

"This shipments can't happen...I don't want to empower the enemies any further. Tomorrow, they could send one of these boys to slit my throat in my sleep. Who knows?" He adds with a shrug.

“Can’t we do anything to stop it?” she asks as she glances back at the screen.

“I hope you can,” he says, his tone softening for the first time, though his expression remained grim. “Alert CBI about the shipment discreetly, not the police. The police are in Mr.Gupta's pocket.”

She nods her head faintly

"Are you guys up for an outing this evening?" Mr.Raizada asks, his voice low and calm, but his eyes glint dark.

"Excuse me?"

"A celebratory outing to welcome you in our company. We are going to a casino." Aman says with fake enthusiasm.

"What do you mean?" She asks utterly bewildered.

"You will see," Mr.Raizada says in a grave voice.

.

.

.

That’s what she’s seeing.

A tablet screen.

It is balanced precariously on her lap as she sits on the lid of a commode in a restroom stall. The underground fighting arena roars to life just beyond the walls, the sound vibrating through the tiled floor beneath her feet.

Such a celebratory outing.

“Khushi, are you done?” Aman’s voice crackles through her earpiece, his tone strained but calm.

“Almost,” she whispers back. “Just ten more seconds.”

The chanting from the arena grows louder with each passing moment, a relentless tide of sound pressing against her nerves. Her disguise feels stifling. The jet-black straight-haired wig with its blunt bangs and the large black-rimmed glasses perched awkwardly on her nose, that was all she could come up with to hide her identity. She shifts uncomfortably, hoping the disguise is convincing enough.

They are all on an undercover mission, Aman and her. Mr.Raizada tasked them with hacking the Triad Tribe database stored in a server room of the casino above this underground arena. It could only be accessed from close proximity, forcing them into this chaotic labyrinth, or should she say restroom. She is sure two people in her next stall are having sex.

She closes her eyes, taking some deep breaths. She instantly regrets her decision. It smells like something have died in here, something probably have.

She taps rapidly on the tablet, installing the undetected virus into their system. Once successful, they’ll have full access to the Triad tribe’s sprawling empire... casinos, resorts, hotels, and more.

Finally, the screen blinks in confirmation. Mission accomplished.

“Done,” she whispers.

Minutes later, they make their way toward the main hall where the fights are taking place. The moment they step inside, a bell rings, and the crowd erupts. A massive, burly man thumps his chest like a gorilla, roaring in triumph as his opponent lies unconscious on the floor. The crowd is mostly men and a few women, with some bouncer-type scary men standing around the ring and against the walls keeping an eye on everyone.

She adjusts her glasses, keeping her head low as she and Aman take their seats in the gallery overlooking the fighting ring. She has never been in places like that before.

The cacophony of the crowd swallows them, the metallic tang of sweat and blood sharp in the air. And despite the overwhelming chaos, her focus zeroes in on the centre ring.

The announcer's loud voice echoes in the space, "NOW TAKING THE STAGE...THE LEGEND, THE ALL TIME WINNER...THE STOWSTOPPEEEERRR, AT 225 POUNDS, 125 VICTORIES, DHRUUUUV RAO."

Dhruv Rao steps into the ring. Shirtless except for his boxing shorts with all of his muscles in full display. The crowd goes crazy at his arrival.

Her nose crinkles in disgust like she smells something rotten. Well, she won't mind watching Dhruv Rao taking some punches tonight.

"AND HERE COMES OUR ANONYMOUS GUEST TONIGHT. AT 200 POUNDS, AND 0 VICTORIES."

A roll of "haha's" and "boos" ripples through the crowd as the man in question steps into the circle of harsh fluorescent lights.

A predator in disguise among his prey.

A wolf in a black coat.

Well literally in full black.

He’s dressed in a black full sleeved t-shirt that clings to his defined, muscular frame like a second skin, paired with dark combat pants. Thick white gauges wrap around his knuckles.

His face is obscured by a simple black mask, covering the top half of his face, leaving his eyes and his already damp-with-sweat hair exposed. The strands falls back over his eyes in tousled disarray. His mouth and jaw below the mask are visible, highlighting the tension in his clenched teeth. Yet he seems utterly unaffected by the roaring crowd. His calm is unnerving.

"Are you disappointed that he'll fight like that?" Aman asks, his eyes carefully scanning the arena.

"What do you mean?" She leans slightly closer.

"I mean, he’s fully clothed," he gestures toward the ring with a subtle nod. "I came to my first underground fight expecting flesh, blood, and sweat. Instead, I get a guy in a tactical black outfit. Feels like I’ve been cheated."

She smirks, her tone teasing. "You wanna see him shirtless, huh?"

"What?" Aman scoffs, though the corner of his mouth twitches. "Don’t act like you don’t. After all the pain that bastard put me through, I at least deserve the satisfaction of seeing him beaten black and blue." His tone is almost affectionate, almost.

"You know very well why he can't be shirtless."

Aman sighs dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I forgot." He pauses, his expression shifting to one of mock pride. "But let me tell you about that shirt...it’s a polymer blend. Practically indestructible. I pitched the idea, of course...That guy is very particular about what he puts in his body."

Her brows knit slightly, and she glances back at the figure in the ring. "I noticed…" shit, "I mean, not noticed. Please forget that I said anything," she fumbles, immediately regretting her words as Aman chuckles under his breath.

He shouldn’t be here, same as them.

None of them should be here.

If he went shirtless, his tattoos would be visible. People would know who he is.

"If they could’ve seen just a glimpse of that bird tattoo on the back of his hand, this arena would be dead silent right now," Aman chuckles, more to himself than anyone else.

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. She finds herself staring at the man in the ring again, wondering how someone can command this much power without even lifting a fist yet.

"Does that tattoo mean anything, or only for aesthetics?" She asks feigning nonchalance.

"Probably, I don't know."

That man is a vault. Ever his best friend doesn't know everything about him. She chuckles internally.

"He got that in his first year of college. He trademarked it in his name. Nobody in the Triad is allowed to have this tattoo." Aman finishes with a low chuckle.

"That's pretty early. How many tattoos does he have other than that?"

Aman smirks, tilting his head as if to taunt her. "Wouldn’t you like to know? Though I haven’t seen him shirtless in a long time...but not much. He’s got his Eagle on his back and a Bratva tattoo on his chest."

"The Bratva? As in the Russian mafia?" Her eyebrows furrow.

"He is an honorary member of that mafia family, particularly a captain."

"How? Is he going to marry the Russian mafia princess," she says teasingly, but the expression on Aman's face turns sly, so she adds bewildered, "He is, isn’t he?"

Aman chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s his personal matter. You have to ask him."

"Why would I? Not that I care," she mutters quickly, crossing her arms. Heat rushes to her cheeks as she quickly looks away.

"Of course not," he quips, biting back a laugh. "Why should you?...Anyways, Dhruv Rao’s about to regret ever stepping into that ring....I am waiting for this crowd to go pin-drop silent when Dhruv hits the ground."

She arches a brow, "Confident much?"

"That’s what best friends are for," Aman said lightly, though his gaze lingered on Arnav, a glimmer of something deeper flashing in his eyes. "Cheering through life...and making sure the world knows who’s boss...and besides do you know who trained him."

She shakes her head.

"The league of Shadows. Dhruv Rao doesn't even stand a chance. But we have let him think that he does. It's fun, isn't it?"

The league of Shadows.

The assassin organization he was talking about in the morning. That explains all his wall climbing and all.

Her attention shifts as the crowd erupts in cheers. The arena turns into a brutal, chaotic world of sweat, blood, and adrenaline. The roar of the crowd echoes off the concrete walls, deafening and relentless. Harsh fluorescent lights cast an almost theatrical glow over the bloodstained mat.

And there he is.

The man in black.

The sharp angles of his face are illuminated under the stark lights, his expression unreadable. He looks entirely out of place in this savage setting yet utterly at home.

A loud bell rings, signalling the start of the fight. Dhruv charges first, roaring, fists flying, hoping to overwhelm the masked man with sheer force. But the vulture is faster, more precise. He sidesteps, the rush of Dhruv's attack barely grazing his side.

Dhruv charges again, throwing wild

punches. This time, his blow connects. A brutal hook to the jaw that sent the vulture stumbling. The crowd erupts in cheers.

Her heart leaps forward as she winches as well. The crowd’s cheers blur into white noise as her focus narrows to the man in the ring. She doesn't like the idea of him being hurt.

What's wrong with you, Khushi?

He's the enemy.

He straightens up slowly, his expression unreadable at first as blood trickles down the corner of his mouth. He drags his thumb from the corner of his mouth across his chin, smearing the blood along his jawline before spitting

a crimson glob onto the ground.

Slowly, he turned back to Dhruv, his lips curling into a sinister smile. The crowd hushes seeing this menacing aura. Dangerous, dark, and unsettling.

It sends a shiver down her spine. 

He tilts his head, wiping the blood by the backside of his hand as if savouring the taste of his own pain.

She hates the helpless awe curling in her chest. He is as sinister as the devil and twice the pretty. He is all seven of the deadly sins wrapped in a tall, alluring frame.

She can't comprehend how something as menacing as this moment can be so maddeningly captivating and so utterly mesmerising.

He cracks his neck, and then, in a fluid motion, the devil delivers a brutal elbow to Dhruv's ribs before Dhruv can block them. The sickening crack of bone echoes in the arena. Dhruv stumbles, gasping for breath. The vulture delivers some quick jabs to Dhruv's shoulder and a spinning kick to his knee, making Dhruv kneel on the ground.

Still Dhruv stands up and lunges again, this time with a knee aimed at the gut, but the vulture catches him mid-air, twisting with brutal force, slamming his body to the ground with a brutal thud. The sound reverberated through the arena. The crowd's roar falters, and their cheers turn into stunned silence.

Blood drips from Dhruv's mouth as he groans, struggling to lift himself. The vulture circles Dhruv as he pushes himself to his knees. With a sharp twist of his torso, the man in black delivers a punishing uppercut to the kneeling man's jaw. The force of the punch snaps Dhruv's head back, his body collapsing back to the ground.

But the devil doesn't stop. He's relentless, almost animalistic. He takes hold of Dhruv's hair as his fist slams into Dhruv's face once, twice, three times, each blow raw and brutal. His knuckles crack and bleed, but he doesn't stop.

A few more strikes and Dhruv is barely conscious, his face a mangled mess of bruises and cuts. He stands over Dhruv, breathing heavily, eyes wild as his opponent lies sprawling on the bloodstained mat.

And the arena falls into the pin-drop silence Aman wished before. And all she does is watch, watch and watch him. His breathing is ragged, and knuckles are raw and bleeding, but his face remains impassive, a mask of icy composure.

But his eyes, they tell different story.

Dark. Unyielding. Wild.

And they meet hers, the same time the crowd erupts again. This time in a roar for him.

Yet, his eyes hold onto hers, unwavering, through the chaos around them.

They pierce through her with a force that causes goosebumps to erupt in her skin. His browns darkest she ever saw.

Raw. Untamed. Feral.

And that leaves her utterly undone.

It feels like an eternity.

There's a dangerous intimacy in his gaze, an undeniable claim.

She should be afraid. But she's not.

The animal in him calls to the animal in her, and she can’t look away.

He is a weapon.

There's a raw, primal violence in him.

The violence that paints the floor with his opponent's blood. Each strike is devastatingly precise, his strength terrifyingly controlled. She's captivated by the way he stands untouched by the brutality he's just unleashed.

lt's terrifying.

It's magnetic.

It's beautiful.

It's making her feel alive in a way she’s never felt before. A raw monsterous hunger consumes her, burning through every nerve, every inch of her skin.

And the answer to that hunger terrifies her. The beast in him, the predator in him, the monster in him that calls to her, but it’s also the thing that could destroy her.

And she has a frightening feeling.

This beauty won't survive her beast.

If Arnav Singh Raizada ever happens to her, she won't survive him and she won't let him survive her either.

She and him.

They are monsters.

They will rip each other apart, limb by limb, drowning in destruction, before they'll let each go, before he'll be out of her system.

Author's Note:

This author is very lazy. Lovely Readers please have your patience. See you soon. Coming up next: a date night 😜.

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @chutkiandchotte @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @simplycurlz @9artsdragon @chaiandtakkar

[chaiandtakkar]

The Case of Curious Mustache

For as long as he could remember, Arnav Swami had lacked in the department of facial hair. He had attributed this to family genetics, and honestly, it was fine. Really. He was a man of business, of integrity, of perfectly crisp samosas. Who needed a mustache?

Until one day.

That fateful afternoon, Khushiji had visited the dhaba and much to his horror had been glued to the television screen. A cacophony of awful music blared from the TV playing a runaway hero with an unquestionably thick mustache, smoldered at the heroine. Khushiji had turned an alarming shade of red.

He had frowned. A daring hero? Fine. But a mustache? Was that… was that what impressed her?

To make matters worse, Khushiji had dragged in a group of patrons, all whispering excitedly about that very mustachioed hero. Bankelal Ji, the dhaba’s cook, who sported a particularly large and twirly mustache, had swelled with pride at their admiration. Never mind that he had a potbelly and a mole that could practically be its own person.

Arnav gritted his teeth. He had seen enough.

The next morning, when Khushiji returned to the dhaba, Bankelal Ji was still basking in the afterglow of his newfound fanbase. And worse…Khushiji had brought him chana. CHANA!

That was it.

Arnav Swami, a man of business, could handle many things; food market fluctuations, spice shortages, even the occasional grumpy patron, but this? This was an attack on his pride.

So, as any rational man would do, Arnav took matters into his own hands.

He visited Vaid Ji, the local Ayurvedic healer, and procured the most potent herbal aushadhis for hair growth. Twice a day, without fail, he applied the concoction and waited.

One week. No change. Two weeks. Still nothing. Four weeks. Hope was a distant memory.

And that was when Arnav had to do what a man had to do.

He bought a set of fake mustaches.

It was a simple plan. The mustaches transitioned from light stubble to a full-fledged, dignified mustache over the course of several days. Business was all about subtlety, after all.

The next morning, he placed the first ‘shadow mustache’ carefully on his upper lip, checked his reflection, and nodded in satisfaction.

When Khushiji arrived, Arnav sat behind the counter, poised like a man of great wisdom and, hopefully, impressive facial hair.

Khushi stepped in, humming a tune, and barely spared him a glance.

“Swami Ji, I hope the dhaba is flourishing?” she said, flipping through his ledger.

Arnav cleared his throat. “Indeed, Khushiji. But more importantly… have you noticed anything different?”

Khushi finally looked up. Her brows knitted together as she scanned his face. Arnav held his breath, his lips twitching ever so slightly in anticipation.

And then...

“OH!” she gasped, stepping back. “Swami Ji! What happened to your face? Did you fall into a tandoor?”

Arnav nearly choked on air. “Excuse me?”

Khushi leaned in, eyes wide with concern. “There’s… there’s something on your upper lip. It looks like; oh no! Swami Ji, did you accidentally burn yourself? That explains why it’s so… patchy.”

Patchy? PATCHY?!

Arnav reeled, his confidence plummeting like a misjudged jalebi loop unraveling in the hot oil.

“This is not a burn, Khushiji” he bit out. “It’s my mustache.”

Silence.

Then...

“Your what?”

“My mustache.”

Khushi clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. “Oh. OH. Oh, Swami Ji,” she snorted. “That’s your story? Really? You’re sticking with that?”

Arnav’s jaw locked. “Yes.”

That was all it took. Khushiji erupted into full-blown laughter, doubling over, hands on her stomach. The sound echoed through the dhaba, drawing the attention of Bankelal Ji, the cook, and a few amused patrons.

Arnav scowled.

Bankelal ji fastened the pace at which he was stirring the halwa.

This was not the reaction he had envisioned. He had imagined awe. Admiration. Perhaps even a shy compliment. Not… this.

But then, before he could respond, Khushi reached into her bag, pulled out a small mirror, and handed it to him.

He looked down.

The mustache had shifted. One corner was slightly peeling off.

Through her gasps for air, Khushi wheezed, “Swami Ji… I.. I appreciate the effort, truly. But…” she leaned in, eyes twinkling, “next time, maybe try growing one instead of… er… pasting it on?”

Arnav groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

Khushi, still giggling, reached forward and, before he could stop her, plucked the offending thing right off his face.

“Khushiji!” Arnav yelped, scandalized.

Khushi twirled the fake mustache between her fingers, her lips pressing together as if trying to hold back a smile. “Swami Ji… you really didn’t have to.”

Arnav crossed his arms. “And why is that?”

Khushi tilted her head, pretending to consider. Then, with a small smile, she said softly, “Because… some things are better left in their natural state.”

Arnav inhaled sharply. “Khushiji…”

“Hmm?” she blinked at him innocently.

Arnav stared at her, unsure whether to be flattered, frustrated, or just completely defeated.

Then, with a shake of his head, he muttered, “I really should’ve invested in a better adhesive.”

Khushi grinned and, as she sauntered out of the dhaba, she paused at the door, glanced back, and winked.

"Swami Ji," she murmured, her gaze flickering toward him with a teasing smile, "Since we’re on the subject, I suppose a haircut for Diwali might be a good idea."

Arnav exhaled, running a hand through his unruly hair. He had lost. Completely.

And yet, as he glanced down at the discarded mustache, a small, begrudging smile tugged at his lips.

Khushiji was impossible.

And maybe… just maybe… he didn’t mind so much…

Also on blog here

[phati-sari]

Arshi FF: Charade - Chapter 31

Author's Note: Hi! Welcome back to Charade. Thank you very much for your patience. I'm not sure when I will be able to update again, but I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Interlude 4 // Read on FFnet // Read on Wattpad

Chapter 31: Clandestine

Khushi

“When you look at me like that, it makes me think that you don’t know that I’m in love with you.”

Khushi fidgeted with her pallu as she stared at the back of her husband’s head, wishing she could read his thoughts as easily as he seemed to read hers.

His hair is still too long.

In the front seats of Arnav-ji’s car, the men talked softly of some negotiations that were not going to plan. She sat in the back with Jiji, who had long since abandoned her attempts at conversation and left Khushi alone with her thoughts.

He loves me.

He’d said it like it was obvious, as if she should’ve already known. And perhaps she had, somewhere deep inside.

It was there when he looked at her. It was there in his words … and in his touch.

Her body heated with the recollection, her pulse returning to its dhak-dhak tempo. She still felt drunk with his presence. Though fire no longer raced in her veins, she felt it would only take one look, one whispered word, one grazing touch, to make her as weak-kneed and needy as she’d been earlier. He’d left her overawed, bewitched by his masculinity, and it was only after he’d slid into the driver’s seat of his car that she’d recovered enough to absorb what had happened.

Hai Devi Maiyya, I didn’t say it back.

They’d been halfway down the corridor before she’d even processed what he’d said, and after that, there hadn’t been a moment of privacy. It was not only his physicality that beguiled her. He, as a man, enthralled her. Arnav-ji was a mix of contradictions, at once both solemn and stubborn, steadfast and stormy, and more seductive than any man had a right to be. Their sensuous encounter had only amplified his magnetic effect on her.

He knows that I love him too. Doesn’t he?

And if he didn’t, what was the best way to tell him? A message on his phone? A whisper in his ear as she hugged him?

Should I decorate the poolside? Write it in jalebi?

Her thoughts chased one another until they stopped at a traffic light, when Arnav-ji tilted his head so he could see her in the side mirror. His smile was slow and sincere, his eyes bright and features relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen for a long time.

I want him to be this happy all the time, Devi Maiyya.

Her heart soared as she grinned back at him. The butterflies in her tummy awoke when he winked. Then his attention was back on the road as the cars around them started moving. Her preoccupation lasted until they reached the reception hall. Arnav-ji parked his car smoothly into a space and turned in his seat to face her.

“I’ll help you. Leave the gift.”

Aakash Jija-ji opened Jiji’s door and offered his hand as she slid out. Khushi prepared to do the same as Arnav-ji opened her door. But he didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he lifted her out with his hands at her waist, his fingers skimming devilishly under her pallu. She held onto his shoulders as she slid down the length of his body before her shoes found the ground.

“Are you alright?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“About … earlier … are you … are you okay?”

“Y-yes.”

He searched her eyes, “Sure? You’re very quiet.”

“It’s not … it’s not that,” Khushi tried to pull away.

“Then what is it?”

“Can I tell you later? Jiji and Jija-ji are waiting.”

Her husband pursed his lips, his eyes flicking to where his brother and her sister stood, absorbed in their own whispered conversation.

“Okay,” he conceded. “Let’s go.”

Releasing her, Arnav-ji reached into the backseat for the large box she’d wrapped earlier in the day and locked the car. The four of them approached the gorgeously decorated hall, their conversation mostly centred around the food, and the anxiety Khushi had been carefully hiding from her husband came rushing back. They were greeted inside by a small group of people, all in varying shades of blue. The bride’s family had carefully dressed in coordinating colours for every event.

“Welcome, welcome!”

“Namaste, Uncle-ji. Look, I brought him this time!” Khushi indicated to her husband.

The bride’s father extended his hand, “Mr Raizada, welcome. It’s an honour to have you here.”

“You are so recently married yourself,” the bride’s mother joined them, “It’s a wonder she attended the other functions alone.”

Khushi jumped a little when she felt Arnav-ji’s hand on her back.

“Work has kept me busy but Khushi told me about the other functions, ” he said tightly.

This, of course, was a lie. They hadn’t seen much of each other in the past week, a result of the chores she’d busied herself with and his longer and longer hours at work. All of it had left little time for conversation. They slept with him holding her hand or holding her tightly against himself but she hadn’t known how to bridge the silence between them until he’d pulled her into his lap earlier. And then it hadn’t seemed to matter.

When the gifts and small pleasantries were exchanged, it was time to join the rest of their family inside. Her husband guided her to their table, his hand still on her back, but he was distracted by the approach of another man before he could settle between herself and Di.

“Khushi-ji, you look stunning in that sari.”

Jiji lowered herself into the seat between them, so Khushi leaned forward to reply, “Thank you, Di. That necklace is exquisite.”

“This?” Di pressed a hand to the diamonds, “Chhote gifted me this for Raksha Bandhan a few years ago.”

Khushi looked to the side to share a smile with her husband, only to find that he’d disappeared. Turning in her seat, she scanned the crowd with something akin to restlessness until she found him. Arnav-ji leaned against a wall with Aakash-ji, a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand. He was watching her. The molten caramel of his eyes kept her captive until Arnav-ji raised an eyebrow in question.

Khushi blinked, shook her head in reply, and attempted to follow her sister’s conversation with Nani-ji. A glance confirmed that he was still watching. A pair of ladies stopped by the table, prompting a round of introductions and niceties. Another glance, another confirmation that his gaze hadn’t wavered. A tremble went through her. And when she was seated again, her body now angled towards him, he was distracted by a short man with heavy eyebrows. They exchanged a handshake and some quick words before the elder gentleman wandered away. Arnav-ji blinked up at her. Her heart raced. Fighting a blush, she tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. When she looked up again, he and Jija-ji were moving towards them.

She thought he’d somehow detected her panic but soon realised that a man was now standing on stage, making ready to begin the formal part of the evening. Aakash-ji dropped into a chair on the other side of the table. Arnav-ji seated himself next to her, his arm draped casually across the back of her chair. He flashed her a smile before leaning across to speak to Di, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Shyam-ji’s return to the table.

Khushi stiffened, mirroring her husband’s sudden tension, as the man sat next to Aakash-ji.

“Where did you go?” Di pouted.

“I met someone I helped once,” Shyam-ji simpered. “I thought it was polite to say hello.”

“I would’ve liked to meet them.”

He glanced at Khushi from across the table. She dropped her eyes, feeling nauseated, and realised she hadn’t seen him except at mealtimes over the last week. And had somehow forgotten just how slimy his stare could be. She was grateful when Arnav-ji stroked his fingers across her shoulder to distract her. Shyam-ji glowered, his eyes flashing with undisguised jealousy as he focussed on the gesture.

“It’s a shame,” Shyam-ji curled his lip in contempt, “that Khushi-ji had to attend the other functions alone. Saale-Sahib, if it were my wife being introduced to our friends for the first time, I would’ve accompanied her every step of the way.”

On the table, Arnav-ji curled his fingers into a fist. He leaned forward, making a small growly sound in his throat.

Di rose to her brother’s defence, “That’s not fair. Chhote was working very hard this week. And he’s here now.”

With the eyes of the family elsewhere, Khushi leaned towards her husband, “Arnav-ji, he’s trying to provoke you.”

He made no reply, though his jaw tightened. Nani-ji’s voice filtered to them.

“Tell me, Anjali-bitiya, what use is all that work if it takes him away from his family? His wife?”

“Even so, Nani-ji,” Shyam-ji agreed heartily. “Especially when the manner of their marriage was so … Oh, but what will I say about that? The people here have already said so much … haven’t they, Khushi-ji?”

Arnav-ji, who had been in the process of pushing his chair backwards, froze.

“What have they said that we haven’t already heard?” Mami-ji joined the conversation, “We had to hear it in our own house.”

“Manorama …” Mama-ji sighed. “Is it necessary to …”

“Shyam-ji …Mami-ji …” Di’s eyes darted around the table. “I thought we weren’t going to …”

“Who said what?” Arnav-ji turned to Khushi, his voice dangerously low.

“N-nothing Arnav-ji, it’s okay.”

“What haven’t you been telling me?”

Khushi looked around the table, where the rest of the family was studiously pretending they couldn’t hear their conversation. Shyam-ji smirked in victory. Anger pulsed in her veins as she stood. Arnav-ji followed her outside into a garden area complete with a pretty white bridge that spanned a small pool of water.

“Khushi, what did they say?”

She stopped in the middle of the bridge, “He said it to provoke you. You’re doing exactly what he wants.”

He tore a hand through his hair, swearing, and then began to pace along the bridge. It was some time before he came to stand next to her.

“Were you planning to hide it from me?”

“No,” she replied honestly. “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Khushi looked out across the water, “It was my idea to get married like this. Now, people say things about you. About us.”

“Then we deal with it together, dammit.”

A cool breeze rippled the water in the pool and ruffled her hair. Arnav-ji shucked off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders when she shivered. It was warm from his body and saturated with his masculine scent.

“Th-thank you.”

His hands were gentle on her shoulders as he turned her to face him, “Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

“No,” she huddled closer.

For a brief moment, she entertained the idea of telling him just how much she loved him. How much she appreciated him, how much she’d come to respect and trust him. How glad she was that, however it’d happened, he was her husband.

Patience, Khushi. You’ve waited so long say it. Say it at home.

So she curled into him instead. He waited for a few minutes before speaking.

“Khushi. Should we go back?”

“Oh,” she blushed. “Yes.”

She shrugged out of his coat and held it out so he could slip his arms into it. Then she buttoned it for him, letting her fingers linger on the fabric for longer than necessary. The family of the groom was making a speech when they returned to the reception hall, Di and Jiji both shooting her questioning looks as she settled into her chair. A smile, a nod of reassurance, and Di’s smile returned. Arnav-ji reached for her hand under the cover of the table and traced his thumb across her knuckles as the speeches droned.

When the formalities were over, and the newly wedded couple had retreated off the stage to eat, Aakash Jija-ji leaned forward.

“Would you ladies like to eat?”

It was quickly decided that she and Jiji would go with Nani-ji and Mami-ji and Mama-ji would follow with Di. Aakash-ji elected to accompany them but Arnav-ji stayed behind.

“Khushi, just bring me something small.”

Aware of his dislike of oily and spicy foods, she filled a small plate of potatoes and puri for him. She set it in front of him before digging into her own.

“What’s that?” he indicated with his fork.

“Biryani.”

Without warning, he dipped the fork into her plate and took a mouthful. “It’s nice,” he pronounced.

She blushed, unused to the sort of public intimacy he seemed intent on. And though they were interrupted a few times by the curiosity of other guests, Khushi quickly decided that this was her favourite function of the entire wedding. Though she supposed that had more to do with her companion than anything else. When Aakash Jija-ji offered to get dessert for the table, Arnav-ji scraped back his chair to help. They returned with enough wedding cake for everyone and a plate of sweets to share. Khushi’s heart swelled with emotion when her husband snatched up the sole jalebi and offered it to her.

It was when Nani-ji had moved to sit with a group of society ladies, and when Arnav-ji and Aakash-ji had been distracted by a tall man in a maroon sherwani, that it happened. Khushi claimed her sister’s hand as the lights dimmed without warning. The music, which had until then been soft and cheerful, was silenced. Only to start up again with a well-known tune designed to flood the dance-floor.

And flood it did, within minutes if not seconds, with coloured lights strobing in time with the beat. Grinning, Khushi dragged her sister into the middle of the crowd. They shook, shimmied, spun, and she felt a brightness in her soul that she hadn’t felt for weeks. Many minutes — or maybe hours — later, as she was singing off-key to a well-known song about betel-leaf, hips gyrating and hair flying, she smacked into a solid chest.

Oh.

Stilling instantly, she found his eyes in the semi-darkness. But her startled question died on her lips as he dipped his head.

“Dance?” his lips brushed her ear.

Arnav-ji didn’t wait for an answer. Tugging her forward with his hands on her hips, he nudged her into a gentle sway. Khushi slid a hand up his chest and behind his neck, caressing his nape as his breath heated her cheek. Her heart thundered. He stroked his thumb across the skin just above her petticoat, a maddening caress that may have looked accidental but — judging from the way his eyes blazed as he looked down at her — wasn’t. He slipped a finger in at her hip, one centimetre deep where her sari was tucked into the underskirt. Warmth bloomed in secret places, her body humming with remembered pleasure. Her husband’s mouth tilted into a satisfied smile.

Then, in a swift move that left her breathless, he turned her around so her back was flush against his chest. She saw that Jiji and Jija-ji danced a few steps away. Recovering herself, Khushi bounced and swayed in her husband’s embrace, his hands on her hips and his heat surrounding her. Arnav-ji didn’t do much dancing despite Aakash-ji’s best efforts, seeming content to hold her. But when she pointed this out to him — her lips brushing his ear as he bent to listen — he only smiled before urging her to dance.

Hours later, Khushi fought off exhaustion as she watched her husband cast away his jacket and waistcoat in their bedroom. She was on the bed, changed and washed and ready for sleep. Feeling as though she was witnessing something forbidden, she followed Arnav-ji’s fingers as he unbuttoned his shirt after loosening and discarding his tie. Her breath stalled as he peeled apart the sides of the shirt to reveal the bronzed muscle that defined him. When he pulled the shirt out of his pants and continued to unbutton it, she swallowed to wet her parched throat.

She must have made a sound. He turned without warning, amusement slowly warming his eyes as he considered her.

“See something you like?”