At Last (IPKKND Secret Romance #4)

Chapter 7: Home

Khushi packed a set of red clips into a small bag, where they joined a growing collection of small and sundry items she'd forgotten when she'd packed before the wedding. Her favourite sandalwood soap. A small black comb. The evening breeze rustled through the open window, cooling the small bedroom she'd always shared with her sister when they visited Delhi.

It had been a wonderful day. She'd spent time with her parents, helping in the kitchen and making her favourite dishes, fussed over her father and amused her mother with anecdotes from her new home. Everything was familiar and easy, from her father's smiles to her mother's teasing to Bua-ji's good natured scolding.

Khushi slid into the bed, angling herself precisely so it squeaked as little as possible. It was a skill she'd acquired over the years. She shivered against the cold sheets and immediately missed Arnav-ji. He always made sure that she was warm.

Her phone buzzed and Khushi looked over to see her husband's name flashing on the screen.

"I knew you couldn't go one night without me," she greeted.

"I wouldn't have to if you hadn't insisted on staying the night. Why couldn't I get you in the afternoon like Aakash did with Payal?"

A throb of longing flowed through her.

I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Arnav-ji ..."

"Okay," he sighed, "Let's start again. Tell me about your day."

"The first thing we did was open the presents," Khushi snuggled into the sheets as she recounted, "Amma really liked the sari you got her. She said my husband has good taste."

"That I do. Managing Director of AR, remember?"

"You're modest too," she grinned into the phone.

Arnav-ji laughed. She was sure her heart skipped a beat.

"Then we had lunch," she continued, "Amma made my favourite. Potatoes!"

Khushi lapsed into silence, thinking of her father. It had brought tears to her eyes to see him eat without assistance.

"Khushi? Are you okay?"

"Oh, yes, sorry," Khushi reached up and tried to touch one of the stars that hung above her, "I was thinking about Babu-ji. He's recovering very well, but I won't be here to see him get better."

"Hey," his voice was soft and reassuring, "of course you'll be there. We'll both be there. You know I won't keep you away from your family."

As usual, the stars remained out of reach. Khushi's hand fluttered back down.

"Okay."

"Don't cry, baby."

"I'm not crying," she wiped her tears.

"Shut up, Khushi. I can tell."

Khushi managed a small laugh. A ghost of a laugh.

"I'm coming over," he said.

She heard muted sounds through the phone as he moved around – the rattle of the wardrobe door, the jangle of his keys.

"No. Stop, stay there. I'm fine," she told him.

"Make sure the door is open," he ordered before ending the call.

Khushi sat up, wringing her hands as the sheets fell away. It went against tradition for him to visit before it was time for him to take her home.

Home. When did I start thinking of Shantivan as home?

She found her family watching a movie in the living room. Pakeezah, and it looked like it'd only just started. Khushi texted Arnav-ji to let him know that the window to her bedroom was open but everyone was still awake.

I don't care.

Her pulse quickened when she heard his car. Arnav-ji parked the car so it couldn't be seen from the living room and appeared at her window.

"Hi," he smiled, using both hands to climb inside.

Khushi opened her mouth to remind him that he shouldn't be here but found herself running to him instead. He held her tightly as she tried to steal his warmth. Arnav-ji pulled back first.

"I waited so long to bring you into my home," he ran his fingers over her eyelid, her cheek, her lips, "and you've run away in less than three days."

"I haven't run away. You're just impatient."

"That's true. Mamma always scolded me because I didn't have any patience."

She led him to the bed, where they sat side-by-side. He reached up to play with one of the stars. She took one of his hands in hers and rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair.

"Khushi ..." he said a few minutes later.

"Mmmm?"

"You can come back here whenever you want. You don't need to ask anyone for permission, okay? Just get a car and come."

"But, Arnav-ji ..."

"No. I don't care. If you want, we can both stay here for a few weeks as well."

Khushi hugged him tightly before standing. She walked around the room, trying to see what he saw. She took in the small wardrobe, the open window, the pink mosquito net that hung around the bed, the small knick-knacks from her childhood.

"You'd be uncomfortable here, Arnav-ji. There's no air conditioning, we sleep with the window open, and we don't have the things you're used to."

"I'll manage. For you."

His eyes found her Salman Khan poster.

"You really do have Salman Khan posters in your room," he observed, "I thought you were joking."

"No, Salman-ji is the best actor ever. I love his movies! He's so talented, and handsome, and strong, and when he fights the bad guys he always wins. He's so funny, and he has those muscles, and he dances so well!"

Absorbed in her praise, Khushi skipped around her husband and demonstrated a dance move, and then laughed as Arnav-ji caught her up and swung her around.

"Are you admiring another man while your husband is right here, Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada?" he breathed into her ear as she squirmed, trying to get away.

"Arnav-ji, let me go."

"No. You're mine."

Giggling, Khushi swatted at his hands, but he only held her tighter. He started to tickle her, and neither of them heard the bedroom door open.

"Titaliya, you haven't eaten any din— ... Oh."

The three of them stood frozen in the sudden silence. Bua-ji looked at Khushi's waist, and she realised that Arnav-ji was still holding her. She quickly shook him off.

"Bua-ji ..."

But Bua-ji had already left, closing the door softly behind her.