Arranged marriage was an age-old story that Khushi, the youngest of the infamous Gupta family, who revolutionized and dominated the trading market for generations, knew well.
For it was the only thing she heard growing up.
But that neither prepared...
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Arnav rolled in his bed, savoring the small streaks of sunlight dancing in through the curtains. After a whole week in the hospital, he was finally back home. Nothing, not even luxurious seven-star hotels, could compare with the comfort of one's own bed. It held a magic of its own.
He knew, judging by how drowsy his eyes felt, that it was still very early in the morning, just a few minutes after sunrise perhaps. And as much as he wished to just drift back into sleep, he couldn't. Breakfasts didn't make themselves.
Khushi –softly humming to herself with her back towards him– was the first thing Arnav saw when he opened his eyes. She was in a saree once again, this time an indigo blue tie-dyed print in soft cotton with a sleeveless white blouse, drying her wet hair with a towel, completely in a world of her own. She appeared so fresh, so innocent, so happy.
Arnav smiled lazily.
He had never quite appreciated how perfect she looked. Her slender frame curved in all the right places, her narrow shoulders were always held upright, the hollows of her neck looked so delicate... but more alluring than all that was, perhaps, her face. He liked the way her jaw curved daintily along to her chin, the way her lips curled up into a dazzling smile when she saw him, the way her hazel-brown eyes narrowed when she concentrated, the way her milky cheeks burrowed every time she frowned.
Images of the hospital lobby forced their way into his mind, reminding him of his goodbye peck on those very same cheeks yesterday. In many ways, Arnav had even surprised himself with that. All he could recollect were the vehement looks being passed their way by a nurse –he still didn't remember all their names– from the reception desk and then, being overcome with a feeling to set it right. After all, he had been foolish enough to entertain the nurses' harmless flirting out of sheer boredom; so why should Khushi pay the price for it? If the nurses realized that they never had any competition to begin with, that it always was, and always will be Khushi for him, then maybe they would abandon the cold war.
At least, that's what he had told himself repeatedly on the way home when he realized that his reckless act may have aggravated the situation, rather than controlling it. And he didn't even want to think about how Khushi must've felt, guarded as she always was with her personal space.
It was a stupid urge.
"You're awake?!"
Arnav turned his attention back to the dresser to see that Khushi was now facing him, looking surprised.
"Good morning," he said, his voice groggy. "When did you come back home last night?"
"Very late," she replied with a sigh. "I didn't want to wake you up."
Arnav yawned, blinking away the last of his drowsiness, and pulled himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. "You should've. I fell asleep waiting for you."
