A series of 21 one-shots (or moments), which span just under four months and show how Arnav and Khushi came to be in a secret relationship.
This is the second in a four-part series set in the Secret Romance AU. I highly recommend reading Happy...
Khushi had danced, and danced, and danced with NK, and Arnav had burned, his mind whirling with thoughts that only made him angrier.
When the choreographer - the esteemed Madhubala who'd been the focal point of many a childhood nightmare - had asked him to dance, he'd declined. First politely, and then not so politely. Nothing, nothing, was going to make him dance in front of an audience. Not Aakash's wedding. Not even being partnered with Khushi.
Madhubala, seemingly unfazed, had quickly replaced him with NK - any of the groom's brothers would apparently do - and he'd been forced to watch as his bumbling cousin had stared at Khushi, stepped on her toes, butchered the Hindi language to apologise and make simpering conversation, and touched her.
NK staring into Khushi's eyes, his hands on her waist, on her back, holding her close ...
Get. A. Grip. Arnav.
His jealousy, unreasonable though he knew it to be, pulsed a song in his veins - You don't deserve her. You aren't good enough.
His anger had risen, a red tide that he'd barely kept in check. He'd returned, again and again, to watch them, unable to concentrate on his work. He'd tortured himself with the sight of them, knowing that - if not for his pride - it would've been him standing with her, running his hands over her lush form, breathing in her scent, watching her smile as he spun and dipped and twirled her.
When she'd escaped to his bedroom after lunch, as he'd known she would, his control had slipped. He'd closed the doors to his bedroom and backed her against them in one swift, calculated move, and before she'd even uttered one syllable, his hands had been on her. Her shoulders, her back, her waist, her arms, her wrists, her hands. Reclaiming - frantically, irrationally - the parts of her that NK had touched.
And would touch again.
And again.
She's going to be your wife, Arnav. She deserves more from you.
He'd dipped his head to capture her lips, but her hands had gently pushed him away. He'd blinked at her in confusion.
"I know how you feel," she'd said, "and I understand. But you're forgetting what I said yesterday."
"I didn't forget," he'd breathed against her cheek, desperate to kiss her.
Forget? How could he forget? Her naive claims that NK's interest didn't go beyond treating her as the bride's sister, her innocent claim that NK was just being friendly.
Mine, mine, mine.
His pulse echoed the mantra his mind had chanted all morning.
"Baby, please."
And then Khushi had reached up, initiating a kiss that began as chaste and ended with both of them gasping for breath.
Damn, she's a quick study.
. . . . . . .
The afternoon found Arnav and Khushi seated at the dining table, surrounded by most of his family and half of hers. Nani and Bua-ji discussed Madhubala's formidable nature as NK, in the seat opposite Khushi, asked her about some dance move they'd learnt today. Khushi, apparently not recognizing the blatant flirtation, happily started to demonstrate. Jealousy filled his blood. He pressed his lips together to stop the outburst that formed on his tongue. But it all ebbed away as he watched her.
She was beautiful and vibrant, her eyes flicking up and down expressively as she twisted her hands in circles. Her smile was radiant.
Arnav distractedly raised his cup of tea to his lips, still enchanted by the gorgeous girl next to him, and startled when it burnt him. Khushi looked at him in askance and he shook his head slightly to convey that there was nothing to worry about. When she glanced at him anxiously for the third time in two minutes, he reached over and took her hand under the table, running his thumb over her knuckles to reassure her.
NK intruded on the moment with his clumsy praise of Khushi's dancing, and she looked down and away, finally made uncomfortable by his attention. Arnav couldn't stop himself from glaring at his cousin.
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. . . . . . .
1st January
*****
Koi bole dariya hai, koi maane sehra hai [Some say it's a sea, some say it's a desert]
Koi sone sa tole re, koi maati sa bole re [Some equate it with gold, some say it's as dirt]
Koi bole ke chandi ka hai chhura [Some say it's a knife made of silver]
Hota aise ye mauke pe, roka jaaye na roke se [It happens at such a time, you can't stop it if you try]
Achha hota hai, hota ye bura [It's good, and it's bad]
Kaisa ye isq hai ... ajab sa risk hai.. [What is this love ... It's a strange risk]
*****
Arnav smiled as he watched Khushi mime playing an accordion in time with the music. It was from the newest CD that she'd made for their car rides, and of the music she'd introduced him to, one of his favorites. She looked gorgeous in yellow and red today, and the red bangles from the set he'd gifted her weeks ago adorned her wrists.
Her energy was surprising considering how late they'd all – he, Khushi, Aakash, Payal, and NK – been awake last night for New Year's Eve. In contrast, Arnav was so tired that he'd skipped the jog this morning, opting to sleep for an extra forty minutes.
The last notes of the song faded away – she'd told him it was called Isk Risk – as Arnav sipped the coffee Khushi had thoughtfully made him from a thermos. She really was perfect.
"Arnav-ji! I had an idea this morning!"
Here we go.
"Mmmm?" he hummed around the thermos, quirking an eyebrow to let her know that she had his attention.
"Why don't we have a competition between the families for the Sangeet? Your family against mine. Then Nanhe-ji can't dance with me."
And you won't be so jealous.
She didn't say the words, but she didn't need to.
Arnav nodded.
"Ask Nani and see if she likes the idea. But Khushi," he took her hand and squeezed it tightly, "we won't let the competition come between us, okay?"
*****
The song lyrics are from 'Isk Risk' (Mere Brother ki Dulhan, 2011). The rough English translation is mine. The video is in the media section :)
