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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Khushi was sure she was dreaming.
Why else was she feeling so utterly comfortable, her head tilted awkwardly against her –weirdly– hard pillow? The smart thing would be to move, to shift her position before she pulled a muscle and wobbled around the hospital with a sprained neck, a point that would result in endless ridicule from Ved. But somehow, Khushi preferred to stay in the same place, her brain muddled in a familiar musky scent, her body cradled by a soft arm–
Khushi's eyes snapped open at once, the haze in her mind clearing with an inaudible gasp.
Sure enough, the arm belonged to Arnav, who was fast asleep on his stomach, his soft snores echoing from only an few inches above her head. It was his right arm that was draped protectively across her waist, pinning her down the bed, while his shoulder served as her pillow, strong and smooth against her forehead. Judging by the light in the room, there were still a few minutes left to sunrise, a relief considering she had to be at the hospital earlier than usual today for three back-to-back surgeries.
The whole situation was quite bizarre.
Khushi had never been a deep –or for that matter, a rolling– sleeper. Even as a child, she used to take up only a portion of her king-sized bed, almost always waking up in the same position she had slept in. This, of course, had been a blessing when she started sharing a bed with Arnav. She slept on one extreme end, and he, on the other. Perhaps out of unfamiliarity or their mutual pact to respect each other's personal space, neither of them had ever rolled over to the wrong side in the middle of night. The most that ever happened was a brush of hands and that too, once in a blue moon.
So then, what had changed today?
A quick scan of the bed told her that she was still very much on her side. It was Arnav, still dressed in jeans and a navy-blue t-shirt –clothes he had worn yesterday evening when he sped off after dinner to check up on the renovations in the restaurant– who had somehow ended up beside her. The simplest explanation, of course, was that he had returned very late last night and in exhaustion might have collapsed on the bed, not caring about the boundaries they had been religiously following until now.
But when was the simplest explanation ever the correct one?
Given how much Arnav had changed since Vihaan departed for London –almost three weeks ago now– Khushi couldn't deny that there was something more sinister in the way he slept, hugging her so close.
She hadn't realized it at first, rattled as she mostly was around him, but the signs were undeniable, the earliest one being at Vihaan's goodbye dinner, where he wrapped his arm around her as though he had every right, delicately entrapping her fingers, teasing them, pestering them, soothing them... it was a miracle she remembered any of the conversations that night, for the only thing she could register was his touch and the racing of her heart.
She had been no less, of course. Taking courage from his warmth, she boldly pecked him on each of his cheeks, testing his reaction, enjoying his surprise but mostly, submerging herself in the giddiness of knowing that she had blown him away completely.
