Warrior Hearts

Achieving The Impossible

Arjun's POV

"Sin - " Cutting herself off mid-sentence, Arohi shuts her eyes; her shoulders slumping forwards with frustration. Tilting my head to the side, I watch as my wife mentally berates herself for slipping up yet again. 

"Arjun," she amends. Being the good sport that she is, I watch Arohi pin a smile onto her face; an expression which also bears a hint of gratitude for the patience I've shown her while she struggles with getting accustomed to addressing me by my name. Although, patience is the last emotion on my mind. The truth of the matter is that I wish to thank Arohi for wholeheartedly trying to alter her habit all for my sake. My request may seem petty to others - even to her, for that matter - but for me it's truly the greatest gift of them all that she could give me. 

"As I was saying, Arjun," Arohi continues, "I want to replace some of the herbal medicines that Dadi is currently taking, but not without first consulting with you." On their own volition, my eyes widen for a few seconds before I manage to rein in my shock at Arohi's words. Since when has she begun to feel the need to seek advice from anyone, much less me? Regardless, though, this change is a welcome one for me. 

"Princess, consulting with me will be the equivalent of asking a blind man to show you the way," I say truthfully. "But I'll be honoured to hear you out, nonetheless." 

In response, Arohi offers me a nod of gratitude that's complemented by the briefest hint of a smile; gone before I have had the chance to wholly relish it. Perhaps the scarcity of Arohi's smiles are what make them infinitely precious to me. No, that's not true, I mentally correct myself. I know it like a biblical truth that even if Arohi's smiles were showered upon me in great abundance, I'd still cherish them with equal fervour, if not more. Heck, it's not solely her smile which appeals to me in ways that I cannot fathom, it is the way her eyes light up whenever she does. They remind me of the Christmas lights that adorn the streets of our townspeople every winter and warm them internally upon viewing; ever twinkling and spreading mirth amongst whoever is fortunate enough to have their light shed on them. 

"What have you got there?" Arohi's voice draws me back into the present. Blinking dazedly, I realise that I've been staring at my wife for the past several seconds. Fortunately for me, though, her attention is directed elsewhere. Following Arohi's line of sight, I realise she's directed her question at Sur. The latter is comfortably perched on the marble balustrade on our right, a red leather bound book clasped in her hands. Narrowing my eyes, I stare at the back of the novel. Realisation dawns on me as I recognise it at once. 

"Is that not, 'The Skirt Whisperer?'" I ask, nodding my chin in the direction of the novel. Although Sur's mouth falls open in surprise, she's quick to recover. 

"It is," Sur confirms, her eyes wide with excitement. 

"What kind of a nonsensical title is that?" Arohi exclaims. Knitting her brows together, she glares at the novel in her sister's hand as if it has come from a parallel universe. 

"Oh, trust me, Princess, you'll love its contents even more." I assure her, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Holding my palm out towards Sur, I silently ask her to hand over the novel. 

"I thought you didn't read, Arjun." Casting a glance towards Arohi, I shrug my shoulders with utter innocence.

"I don't." However, what I don't tell my wife is that I'm well aware about this collection of novels because of Anusha, and her obsession with them. After all, I doubt Arohi would want Sur reading the same literature that Anusha uses to coach herself for the activities that take place behind closed doors. 

"I'm not so sure..." Sur trails off, her wary gaze flicking between Arohi's face, and my outstretched palm. 

"What're you hiding, Sur?" Arohi asks, her voice adopting its infamous authoritative tone that has the power to make the mountains bend to her will. Upon hearing it, and realising that she's backed into a corner, Sur lays her novel upon my outstretched palm.