Vanilla Desires

The wrist ache

This OS starts from the scene where the three women leave Aryan tied up on the sofa after the interview.

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A very frustrated Aryan Singh Rathore was perhaps a favourite sight for the man’s mischievous wife. She peeked silently from behind the door while the man attempted for the hundredth time to untie himself. The other ladies had made a smart escape and trusted in her to sort out the annoyed man since she was the reason he was bound in the first place.

“What the hell is this rope!” exclaimed Aryan.

Imlie grinned and finally decided to take pity on him. Her first step inside the room had him sitting up straight with as much affronted dignity as he could muster. He was practically sulking as he watched her jovially skip her way to his side.

“I have come to set you free,” she announced impertinently.

He made a face and turned away. “No thanks. I can manage.”

A soft giggle had him looking back with a scowl. She secretly wished she could pinch his cheek the way she had once done when he had woken up in that hospital. He always looked adorable when he was flustered. 

“I can see how fine you are managing, ABP. Let me help you because no one else is coming to your rescue.”

“I can’t believe everyone is on your side,” he grumbled. “You must be feeling so proud of yourself, right? You tied me up, got what you wanted and now you’ve come to show off your victory.”

Shaking her head in amusement, she kneeled beside his legs and proceeded to pull at the tie binding his wrists. When he resisted, she held his hands in her own and leaned forward until they were eye to eye. “I was a journalist when I tied you up. The one who is here to set you free is your wife.”

Aryan swallowed whatever complaint he had. This close, the scent of jasmine wafted all around him, stealing his thunder and soothing him at the same time. The twinkle in her brown eyes evoked a rush of tender affection in his heart. He gave up his anger and settled back allowing her to do as she pleased.

After a minute, his hands were freed. Imlie gasped in dismay at the red marks on his wrists. She had been too reckless and forceful in her drive to force him to be truthful. But now, the guilt of having hurt him drained all colour from her face.

“Sorry,” she whispered in a small voice. 

“Imlie?”

The young woman stood up and bade him to do the same. Robotically, she unbound the red dupatta at his back. A puzzled Aryan flexed his arms to ease the stiffness as he watched her put the cloth away. She made to leave silently but he got in her way. 

“What’s wrong?”

She teared up. “I seem to hurt you all the time. At holi, in the mandap, in the car and now…”

“It doesn’t hurt at all,” he assured softly, stepping closer to her. “Pehli baat, I have acquired enough strength so that nothing can break me. Doosri baat, you are not a cruel person to hurt anyone intentionally. Aur teesri baat, I don’t mind…”

“Don’t mind what?” she asked in confusion.

“Yeh teesri baat udhaar rahi,” he declared. I don’t mind the pain you give me because everything of yours is mine. But you’re not ready to see that yet.