Arnav & Khushi FF || Serendipity #1 || Link to Thread Two: Pg 1 - Page 18

When Khushi stirred the next morning, a subconscious part of her mind was mildly confused. The pleasant warmth of the sun beating against her neck was new and peculiar. Usually, she woke up to the chattering of teeth and a chilly morning breeze. She felt around lazily for her alarm clock, and nearly fainted as she glanced at the time. It was already 11:00 AM. Tension bubbled within her, and she hesitantly peered into the bedroom, praying and pleading to god that Arnav had already left for work. The bed was empty and spotlessly arranged. The Armani coat that usually hung on his recliner was missing. The bathroom door was wide open. She released the long breath she had been holding in fear. He was gone. She was safe.

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When Arnav had seen Khushi the previous night, to say that he had been completely mortified would be a severe understatement. Her condition was so pitiful, he briefly thought she may break apart with the lightest touch. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Arnav Singh Raizada was left completely speechless.

By the woman he despised.

As he settled in for the night, Arnav brought a book to his face, an excuse to observe her intently over the worn cover. Her night clothes hung limply off her weak body and her ankles were stripped of their chiming payal. He cringed at the thought of the woman who danced to the music of her own bangles, her delicate jhumkas swinging carelessly around her ruddy face as she threw her head back in contagious laughter. The woman whose stubborn silence now haunted him.

As she lifted her blanket and pillow, the words threatened to escape, asking her to sleep on the comfort of his bed while he took the recliner. But Arnav resisted the urge at the thoughts of his smiling sister, and he stayed silent as Khushi settled herself on the cold, hard stones of his poolside. He watched his wife till she shivered herself to sleep, pulling the threadbare comforter closer against her trembling body.

As her chest finally fell and rose in a deep state of slumber, Arnav walked over to her exhausted body, lifted her cellphone, and turned off her alarm before retiring to bed himself.

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Khushi opened the suitcase which held the few clothes she owned. Obviously her rights to Arnav's closet were nonexistent, as the importance of her presence measured less than that of the dust on his cupboards. She had buried the sparkly suits and the bright colors in the bottom of her small piles, covered them with duller colors that would have once crinkled her nose in disgust. Khushi no longer felt like shining. She no longer felt like looking vivid and bold. She certainly didn't feel it. Pretending to be a wife was enough. Pretending to be happy and radiant was too difficult--- too arduous. So she draped a grey sari instead, avoiding the mirror that reflected the harsh truths behind her battered body.

Khushi opened the nightstand next to what would have been 'her' side of the bed. In the bottom, unoccupied drawer, she had hidden a small box of safety pins, as well as other easily misplacable possessions. When she saw the folded note resting neatly alongside her things, she hesitated. Hesitation quickly turned to panic when she saw her name written cleanly along the front. What had he written? That the nightstand needed to be emptied immediately? That the terms of the contract had been preponed? Or a simple reminder that he detested her? Her quivering fingers lifted the paper anxiously to her face, and her eyes glanced over his writing multiple times, trying to comprehend what he had written.

"You're going to New York with me tomorrow night. 1 week. Finish your packing."

She jumped as a cooing Anjali and a blushing Payal walked through her bedroom door, chirping with joy, carrying strange lace trimmed shopping bags, and rambling about a pending honeymoon. Arnav and Khushi. A week in New York City. Museums. Parties. Lingerie. How Khushi Kumari Gupta remained standing at their revelation, clutching his crumpled note at her heaving chest, she would never quite know for sure.

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When his Di and his Nani had teasingly waved the honeymoon brochures in his face, red had clouded his vision. Their genuine concerns about Khushi's difficulty adjusting properly into the family angered him further. She was quite the actress -- painting the picture of a helpless, unconsolable woman while slyly thriving in the endless luxuries of his Shantivan. He hastily grabbed the tickets out of his sisters hands and stomped upstairs, ignoring the suggestive whistles that Di blew behind his back. Khushi needed a harsh reality check. That a wh**e of her stature would never entrap him with clever and vulgar tricks.

But after he grabbed her and slammed her against his bedroom door, and his eyes roamed over her sunken face, he felt his heart plummet to the pits of his stomach. She wasn't the sinfully beautiful Khushi he had taken for granted. She was a desolate version of the original. Ruined. One look into her wounded eyes, and all thoughts of punishing her were abandoned. Instead, as he watched her sleep that night behind the glass door between them, his mind conceived plans he did not wish to justify. He would take her to New York. Let her rest and rejuvenate on her own.