What If? - IPKKND | slow updates

Three

12 September 2009
Bandra, Mumbai

Christopher Paolini rightly said, "Keep in mind, that no one thinks himself a villain, and few make decisions they think are wrong. A person may dislike his choice, but he will stand by it because, even in the worst circumstances, he believes that it was the best option available to him at the time."

Even though Arnav wasn't blind to the pain and hurt that flashed in the eyes of others when he spoke bitterly, he never thought he was wrong. At a mere age of fourteen when one fesses about crushes and acnes, Arnav had found his soul to be crushed. With one gunshot, his entire life changed its path.

From being a child he was suddenly supposed to be an adult. An adult who had to complete the last rites of his parents, had to be dislocated, had to grow up and had to realise life's hardships.

So to save himself from his vulnerable fourteen self, he began cushioning his childish whims with arrogance. He had no qualms in taking what he wanted, as life took away so much from him.

Aggression was his way of balancing things. And when instead of admonishing him, his family would give him the desired sympathy, Arnav knew he had found a way to cheat the system.

Slowly, but surely, getting what he wanted became an addiction to him. The word no was something only he uttered and no one had dared to say. Even if it was his sister, she had been careful to choose her words. It had always been tactful and not a hard dismissal, ever.

A distraught looking Arnav banged the door in front of him, rather violently with his knuckles. In his inebriated state, he couldn't really focus on what was in front of him, or the fact if he was even knocking on the right house.

He clutched onto his bottle of gin, his friend for the night as he waited for any kind of acknowledgement from the other side of the door. This is not how he had expected his life to have turned out. This was no way in the plan.

No one had ever dared to say no to him, even if he had been in the wrong. And even though he strongly believed that what he said was the gospel, his family had never corrected him. So he had assumed it was true.

Arnav Singh Raizada wrote his own destiny, paved his own path, was relentless and never caved. He got what he wanted, always, and he would be damned if he didn't get what he wanted right now. What he needed right now.

Shoving the pain that he felt course through his body, he banged the door loudly and sighed when he heard nothing from the other side. He yelled, shrieked in anger and yanked his phone out.

If he doesn't get his way congenially, he surely had other means. Faltering on his step, he called the number of his right hand; uncaring of the time in the night.

"Open the bloody door." Arnav heard shuffling over the phone and a soft shushing. In his state, the man didn't realise what he said.

"I did, you're not here." Aman told him over the phone.

"Idiot." Arnav yelled rather loudly.

Hitting his head over the door of the apartment, Arnav clarified, "open the door to Khushi's apartment."

Aman sighed loudly, he could make out from the stutter of his boss's words, that it did not seem like the best time he could point out two things. The first being that Aman wasn't in Mumbai and second that, even if he was, he couldn't possibly open the door.

Mustering courage he was about to point the same to him but was saved from the blasphemy as he heard Arnav mutter Khushi's name. Aman had to flinch when Arnav yelled, "Khushi stop" and abruptly cut the call.