Making Her Mine- An IPKKND story.

Chapter 14 - Refresh

Arnav figured he would go for a run. It was hot, but he needed to get away from Khushi for a while and clear his head. He also needed to fight that longing he felt—it was too soon; she was like a nervous rabbit whenever they were in close proximity, and he didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable.

"Aunty, I'm going for a run," he said to Khushi's Amma, who was in the kitchen.

He jogged around the neighborhood, ignoring the curious glances thrown his way. The exercise made him feel like himself again, and he headed back, ready to face another day with Khushi.

As he jogged past a small mandir, a sudden memory flashed in his mind. Months ago, he had driven Di here, and while she had gone into the temple to pray, he had stood around staring at the padlocked door of Buaji's house, believing that Khushi had left Delhi forever. He remembered the utter desolation he had felt then.

And hadn't they run into Shyam, right there, in front of the house? Shyam had told them he was here to meet some client. Arnav squinted across the road at the shabby grocery shop. There was a youngish shopkeeper, the same one, he was sure, that Shyam had said he was helping. Acting on impulse, he headed to the shop.

"Namaste," the man behind the counter said.

Arnav nodded, looking around the shop as he wondered how to phrase his question.

"Taking something for your in-laws?" the man asked nosily. He nodded again and decided to take the plunge into small talk.

"Have you been running this shop for a long time?" he asked, pushing away his discomfort at the gossipy nature of this conversation.

"Oh yes, I have known Madhumati-ji for years now," the man replied, eager to chat.

"Uhhh—do you remember the paying guest who used to live with her some time ago?" Arnav asked, hoping he sounded casual.

The man eyed him beadily. "Shyam ji, the lawyer? Yes, of course."

"How's your father's pension situation now? He said he was helping you out," Arnav asked.

"Oh no, no. He was helping Madhumati-ji with her pension, not me. It's been years since my father left this world." He glanced up at a garlanded photograph on the wall behind him reverently as he said this.

Noticing Arnav's frown, he added, "I thought he was going to marry Madhumati-ji's younger niece. Last year... but of course, you're married to her now. We didn't even know when she got married; it was very sudden, wasn't it?"

Disliking this nosy man, Arnav decided he had heard enough. He scowled at the man, leaving him stuttering and shutting off his grating voice, and headed away from the house again. He needed to think.

But before he could think past the fact that Shyam had told him and Di a bald-faced lie that day, and that he was certainly the paying guest, and that he was planning to get married to Khushi—the creep, Arnav thought, clenching his fists—a voice interrupted his thoughts.

A large man wearing a white wifebeater had called out to him. Arnav frowned—he was sure he didn't know this person, but the man was talking to him familiarly.

He glanced around and noticed the dirt pit behind the man, where a group of men of similar physique were swinging clubs and maces. Wrestlers.

"Where are you off to, son?" the older man asked. Arnav considered ignoring the man, but he didn't know if he was supposed to know this person.

"I went for a jog—uh—exercise," he said.

"This is the best exercise," the man said, gesturing at the mud pit. "Come, give it a swing."

"Oh, no. That's okay—" Arnav started to say when he heard his wife's voice interrupt from behind him.

"Leave it, Chacha-ji, he can't do that sort of thing," Khushi was saying to the man. She glanced at Arnav with a wicked glint in her eyes as she said this. Arnav looked over at the pit and rolled his eyes. She was egging him on. Okay then.

He unzipped his windbreaker, shrugged it off, and handed it to Khushi, who had come to stand beside him. She caught it automatically, the smirk wiped off her face.

Wordlessly, Arnav entered the pit and took a weighted wooden club one of the men handed him. He swung it over his head experimentally, imitating what he had seen the men do. It felt surprisingly good to swing that thing around. He felt his arm and shoulder muscles stretch and flex. The younger man in the pit handed him a second club, and Arnav swung both around, up over his head and to the sides, training all his upper body muscles one by one until he was drenched in sweat.

The older wrestler, whom Khushi had called Chachaji, began clapping when he finished, and the other men followed him.

"Well done, son!" Chachaji said appreciatively and pointed to a pitcher across the pit. "Khushi, give him some water."

Arnav glanced over at Khushi, who wore a look of incredulity on her face. He smirked and walked towards her.

"Here, hold this," he said, handing over one of the clubs to take the glass of water she held in her hand.

She took the club automatically and stumbled, nearly dropping it on his foot.

"Never mind," he said, and taking the club back, leaned them against a wall. He grabbed the glass of water—god knows where it came from—and poured it over his head, shaking his face as he let the cool water run down his face.

When the glass was empty, he blew the water off and glanced again at Khushi, who seemed to have frozen in front of him. She was staring at him like she had never seen him before, blinking slowly, ignoring the drops of water he had accidentally sprayed her with. He frowned at her. "Did you come looking for me?"

"Huh?" she said, as if she was waking from a daze. "Your shoes are dirty; you'll track mud all over the house. You better go in through the back." And she sauntered off, circling the house instead of going through the front gate.

Arnav followed her, wondering what she was up to. He snatched back his jacket, which she was still holding, as they entered the house.