Dil Jaanta Hai | ✔

twenty-nine

||CHAPTER 29||
《¤》

"Our daughter."

Terrible, Raman Oberoi was a terrible person.

My eyes connected with my mother, and I could decipher her expression, pleading me not to make a scene.

It was harsh on me. I could now feel the anger that my actual family did. I knew I was good at masking my feelings, but anger was a totally different dimension. The only thing that kept me from bursting out then and there was my father's words that kept reminding me what I was actually here for.

Raman Oberoi's hand went over my back, squeazing my shoulder. "Mr. and Mrs. Ahuja, they are our really close friends, and own the Clara Pearls."

I turned to look at the couple. The lady had pearls covering her neck, and the man's french beard was somewhere between being completely gray and black.

"Arvika Deewan," I extended my hands forward for a handshake, making sure my name was crystal clear to them. "Nice to meet you."

Mr. Ahuja shook my hand, and his wife overwhelmed me by a hug. "You look like your mother."

But I can talk like my father, and you need to know that.

"Well," I giggled, "I hope that was a compliment."

They laughed when I winked at my father.

He seemed to like the joke too. My mother on the other hand, was busy sipping on a glass of champaigne.

"So, what are your dreams, Arvika?" Mr. Ahuja asked.

"I am-"

"She's now studying in eleventh, and will soon join our business, I guess," my mother abruptly joined our conversation. Someone clearly didn't want me to reveal where I lived, it seems.

"She definitely has the wits for it," Raman Oberoi commented, and I shrugged.

"It runs in the family," I laughed. "Atleast that's what the plan is."

What runs in the family is cold blood and deceiving.

"Please enjoy the night," Raman Oberoi said, "Hope to see you tomorrow at the wedding!"

Subtle way of excusing themselves.

Mr. Oberoi glanced between us, patting my back. "It seems you guys have a lot to speak about. I'll leave you guys to bond for a moment."

When he was out of sight, I turned to my mother. She kept her glass on the tray the servers were carrying around, and when she looked at me, her voice was stern. "Is there something you want to say?"

I don't know what reason I had given her to use that tone on me. "You look pretty."

She did, a deep red ball gown adorning her curves and a chignon enhancing her facial features.

"Brides are supposed to look pretty."

"I don't know what about me gets you in a chipper mood," I cut out, "but I'm not going to beat around the bush either. I am trying to look supportive, alright? I am trying to pretend to look happy, for your sake, and I find it extremely strange that it's not the other way round!"

It was crazily difficult to maintain a smile throughout the conversation.

She closed her eyes, sighing. "What do you want me to do?"

I smiled. "Do you really want to know?"

Sensing my hidden answer, she said, "No, not really. But... Mai bas chahti hoon ki tum khush raho, and Mumbai laut ayo. Raman isn't a bad person-"