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

Chapter 27: Khushi

Khushi sat cross-legged on her bed as she stared at her phone. Texts from Arnav-ji scrolled across the screen. The messages she'd sent him far outnumbered his replies, which were always short and to the point. But peppered amongst them were flirtatious jokes, complaints, and once, even a smiling emoji.

Her heart ached for him. She'd picked up her phone a hundred times since that day, scrolled to his name and hovered her finger over the call button. But the memory of his fury, the way he'd looked at her, and his words – "middle class" – stopped her.

Devi Maiyya seemed to frown from her perch on the desk.

"It's his fault, Devi Maiyya. He should call."

Her best friend didn't deign to reply. 

Arnav-ji's family had constantly brought up his anger, but Khushi had convinced herself that their words were exaggerated in the same way Bua-ji insisted in calling her Sanka Devi.

But now she'd seen the coldness in his eyes, the way his fists had clenched as if he'd needed to hit something, heard the barely chained rage in his voice. And she wondered whether their words held far more truth than she'd ever imagined.

The realisation that she'd created a version of him -- a happy, loving, caring Arnav-ji with whom she'd fallen in love -- robbed her of sleep.

"Bitiya."

Babu-ji stood at the door, his eyes shadowed and a tray of tea balanced in his hands. This had become a nightly ritual. Sometimes Jiji joined them, sometimes Bua-ji, but often it was just Khushi and her father. They sipped in silence for several long minutes, and Khushi wondered which tactic Babu-ji would try tonight.

"Khushi, child, you must call him."

"No."

"This has gone on long enough," Babu-ji said softly, "Far too long."

"Amma said I could take my time," Khushi said mulishly.

"Your mother ... she cannot see past the grief of one daughter. Here you are wrong, Khushi."

"I'm not! He says he wants to marry me but he didn't help Jiji when he had the chance. And now look at her! She doesn't sleep, she barely eats, and she spends more time at the temple than here with us."

"That's not Arnav-babua's fault. You can't blame him for what Abhishek has done."

"I'm not!" Khushi declared hotly, "I'm blaming him for what he did ... what he didn't do."

"We're not entitled to his money," Babu-ji reminded her wearily.

"I didn't—" Khushi cut herself off, flushing.

She still hadn't confessed her humiliating suggestion of a loan, of her willingness to work off her debt as his personal assistant, of the way he'd rejected her. She'd never – not once – thought they were entitled to Arnav-ji's money, but to admit that he'd turned down a loan was to admit the magnitude of her disgrace.

My fiancé doesn't love me enough to give me a loan.

Babu-ji took her in his arms and held her tight. Khushi pressed her eyes shut as a few tears escaped.

"Don't let your pride take this away from you, child."

Her one hope, her one ray of confidence, was that Arnav-ji hadn't called off their engagement. Babu-ji spoke to his family all the time, and so far, no one had mentioned breaking the ties that bound them together. Di visited every few days, bringing food and sweets. She sat with Jiji for hours, coaxing her out of her melancholy with small embroidery projects and cooking experiments. Di seemed to know exactly what to do, and although Jiji responded to her care, she sank back into despondency when Di had left for Shantivan.