RISHTAA: An Arranged Love (IPKKND AU) **ON HIATUS**

Chapter 25: Khushi

"This is all my fault."

"What the!? How the hell is any of this your fault?"

"If I hadn't said yes to marrying you," she mumbled, "none of this would be happening."

It had been her engagement ceremony - held in the splendour of Shantivan - that had planted the seeds of greed in Abhishek-ji's heart.

Almost light-headed with grief, and desperately trying to swallow down the beginnings of hysteria, Khushi didn't notice the impact of her words at first. But the sudden chill in the room made her look up. Arnav-ji stood next to her small table, breathing shallowly as he considered her.

"This is all your fault," he repeated, "because you're engaged to me?"

"They're doing all this because I made an alliance with a rich family."

"So that's it? A family I've never met says two words, and you begin to doubt us?"

Khushi trembled. There was a storm in his eyes, a dark and terrible thing that sent a lick of fear up her spine.

"I'm not saying that," she tried to explain, "I'm saying that if I had been less selfish, if I'd asked Babu-ji to wait until Jiji was married, then she would taking phere right now."

"And the next time they ask for money? When Payal has a child on her a hip and another in her belly, and they turn to us because Arnav Singh Raizada is her sister's husband? Then will you regret marrying me?"

"Arnav-ji you don't understand--"

"No, I don't understand. I don't understand a damned thing."

"I don't understand either," Khushi stood, flinging the pillow away and wishing irrationally that she was taller so she could meet him eye to eye, "You pay your way into restaurants, but here ... here where your money would mean something ... where my Jiji ..."

"I offered," he thundered, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes glinting with fury, "Even though it was wrong, even though it would condemn your sister to a lifetime of misery, I offered, for you."

"Babu-ji will never take money from you," Khushi scoffed, "You're his damaad. But you and I ... we could ... I can take a loan. I'll pay it back as soon as college is over and I have a job."

"You want me to loan you, my future wife, the money for your sister's dowry? That's ridiculous!"

"I'll work in your office," she suggested desperately, "I'll work until my debt is cleared."

"Khushi--"

"I can type. I took a course. I can answer the phone, get you coffee, organise your meetings."

"Khushi, that's not--"

"Why won't you agree?" Khushi clutched at his lapel, frantic in her attempts to sway him, "Don't you care about me, my family, my Jiji?"

"Khushi, stop--"

"No, that's it isn't it?" Khushi spat her accusation as she stepped away, "You don't want to help!"

"Shut up!" Arnav-ji snarled, "I offered the money, Khushi. I did what I could. But you can't see that because you're too caught up in your middle class attitudes. Don't pay for privacy at a restaurant, but pay a despicable man to marry your sister."

There was a beat of silence, in which Khushi heard the echo of his words over and over.

Middle class.

"Well," she ignored the tremble in her voice, "at least now I know what you really think of me and my family. Get out, Mr Raizada. This middle class home must be stifling for you. I wouldn't want you to suffer a moment more."

"For God's sake Khushi stop over—"

"Please leave," Khushi interrupted him, "My family is going through a difficult time."

She turned away, hiding her tears.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, damn it."

Her heart felt bruised, as if something had squeezed it too tight.

"Khushi."

She thought – hoped, in some corner of her mind – that he'd close the distance between them, hold her in his arms and apologise. She closed her eyes at the soft swish of his suit, every atom in her body anticipating his touch. An acceptance of his apology hovered on her lips.

So when the door to her bedroom swung open with its tell-tale creak and she heard him bid a soft, curt farewell to Babu-ji and Bua-ji, Khushi's knees buckled. She held onto the edge of her bed as disbelief flowed through her.

He's gone. He really left.

And that disbelief turned into hurt, which quickly solidified into anger, until she'd almost convinced herself that it was for the best, that his leaving now had saved them both a lot of heart ache.

Because what kind of a husband would he be, if he didn't use his wealth to help them? What kind of a damaad, what kind of jija, left his bride's sister to suffer such a terrible fate?

Who will marry Jiji now?