Beautiful Girl

Part Forty

She drinks disgustingly bitter coffee.

Her hair hangs just past her shoulders.

Her arms are ropey with muscles that stretch and strain, and he is a pervert who can't keep his eyes off her. He doesn't know when she decided that tank tops were what she was most comfortable in.

It hurts, that he doesn't know her quirks or her habits anymore, that she is no better than a stranger passing him on street.

All he has left are memories of a girl long dead.

There is plastic baggy on the table in front of him, beside his tea. There is apparently a strand of the child's hair inside it.

'I've had a chat with the lab. They will try to get it done quickly.'

'Suits me. Now, why are we here again?' he asks her taking a sip of his tea, his eyes on her face. She has probably taken a huge gulp of her drink, her mouth twists in distaste.

'We are here because you're a faithless cunt that takes immense pleasure in causing me pain,' she spits.

'You won't get any arguments from me save for the faithless part. I did go to a couple of dinners with Lavanya, did let her kiss me when I was drunk not that I am stating my drunkenness as excuse but that was it. It didn't go beyond that.'

She scoffs, and he wants to pull at the edges of her frown, wants to lick the sadness from her mouth. 'So, you didn't fuck her when you married her?' she taunts and suddenly he feels so tired. He has been carrying this guilt and now his shoulders ache.

'When did i marry her?'

'You tell me. My shit ass relatives were practically crowing about it,' she snarls at him.

'I broke your heart, and i broke my own. What marriage, what relationship, Khushi? I have barely existed these years without you. This ring that i wear, don't you remember it?'

'Why would I?' she roars at him, and people sitting at nearby tables turn to look at the commotion.

He shoves his hand in front of her. 'You put it on my finger,' he whispers, broken and hurting.

With her, he always, without fail becomes selfish. Only his hurts matter, only his heartache.

Her hands tremble when she takes his, her thumb running over the gold on his ring finger.

She used to kiss his ring.

He used to kiss her fingers.

'You truly didn't marry?'

'Whom would I marry if not you? Whom would I love if not you?'

Tears fill her eyes like water does a cistern. Her pretty eyes...

'It hurts, Arnav,' she confesses in a small voice and all he wants is to drag her to his chest and hide her beneath his ribs. How did he stay away?

'I know, Khushi,' he whispers back. They're still holding hands.

*

When she calls him and asks him to come to a cafe, he knows that she has got the results.
It doesn't change much.

He knows he didn't father the boy. He might have in some other universe if Khushi had not come into his life, but in this one, he knows he hasn't.

The sun is high up in the sky by the time he makes to the cafe. It's a charming little thing, straight out of the Pinterest boards she used to curate.

He spots her at once.

She is wearing a white salwar kameez. The dupatta has blue edges that make a striking contrast with her skin.