Khushi
Khushi felt safe when she woke up; warm and calm and content despite the tumult of the previous night.
It was only when she shifted with a groan that she realised that the warmth and softness she felt came not from the bed but from the one who shared it with her.
Hai Devi Maiyya!
Panic spread through her at lightning pace, her mind speedily deciding that Arnav-ji had joined her last night without invitation or permission.
No, wait! Wasn't I supposed to sleep on the sofa last night?
Her heart, moments away from leaping out of her chest with fear, beat to a gentler rhythm. Her thoughts fell into some sort of order and she blushed as mortification replaced her fright.
It had been her. She had climbed into his bed without invitation.
She started to leave the bed, her mind a mess of distress, embarrassment, and no small amount of confusion, and tried not to disturb her husband's peace. But she froze when she realised that his arm was wrapped around her.
How didn't I notice sooner?
Her tummy gave a flip-flop. He held her loosely, his elbow at her waist and his fingers splayed on her tummy. Heat spread through Khushi's body from where he touched her, electric and potent. Her breath came in small pants as happiness tentatively blossomed in her heart.
But what does this mean?
Her embarrassment lingered, as did her confusion, so she resumed her attempts to slip away. His arm refused to budge. She pushed a little harder.
And then Arnav-ji groaned sleepily before muttering, "Five more minutes, babe."
He pulled her closer, shifting against her and sliding his hand higher. Several things happened at once. Khushi arched, trying to prevent his hand from venturing further north, and then clamped her hand over his to still the movement. In doing so, she brushed against something that poked her in the small of her back. She froze.
What is ... oh, oh no ... it's just his other hand ... thank the Goddess.
She was still breathing too fast. She twisted, blushing into her pillow.
He called me ... no one has ever called me that before ... and he ... he wants me to stay.
And she would, so long as he wanted her.
She tentatively pressed back into his warmth and twined her fingers with his, basking in her brief euphoria until a thought intruded.
But why did he call me ... babe? He's never done it before.
He'd never even indicated that he wanted to call her anything but her name. He'd called her Miss Gupta when she'd worked for him, she'd been Khushi and Khushi Kumari Gupta after her resignation, and only recently had she become Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada. But never anything else.
He's asleep. He doesn't even know I'm here.
Her tummy cramped with anguish as she realised that he was not — could not be — thinking of her. Khushi's thoughts and emotions spiralled as her mind recovered the long-buried memory of Lavanya-ji consoling Arnav-ji at the dining table — "It's okay, baby".
Oh.
Maybe he called her ... It makes ... it makes sense.
She lay in his arms, something inside her fracturing as she vividly recalled a conversation about live-in relationships — "Living in the same room, without marriage" — and a hushed exchange between a scandalised and awed Khushi and a giggling Lavanya-ji where the latter had confessed to sneaking into Arnav-ji's bedroom on her first night in the house.
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Charade (IPKKND AU)
Fanfiction(IPKKND AU) Some relationships are tied in extraordinary ways. They begin with conflict. They grow in hatred. They stumble, they fall, and yet they remain. The hatred grows as the relationship deepens. Until one day, even hatred itself is reluctant...