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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She was running towards him covered in a long gown of pearls, her hair flying like wisps of smoke in the wind. Her tawny skin was glowing underneath the setting –or was it rising?– sun, her face bright and full of life.
Within seconds –or hours, for time held no meaning as he stood– her frame crashed into his, her tender eyes alluring, her glossy lips inviting. Without a warning, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, snaking her arms around his neck, gentle, docile, and teasing.
He had none of it.
With a hand on her waist and another in her silky locks, he pulled her close, deepening the kiss. She responded with fervor, clutching him more tightly, her fingers running through his hair.
It felt so good, too good in fact... he never wanted it to end.
And just like that, her hands suddenly slipped underneath his shirt with an urgency he knew quite well, tugging it, lifting it over his head. He mirrored her, sliding off her dress–
Arnav woke up with a start.
The clock on the bedside table chimed 2 o'clock in the morning, and the girl whose lips he could still feel against his, was sleeping blissfully beside him, unaware of the desire raking him apart.
Arnav took a long, deep breath.
It was just a dream, he told himself with utter disappointment. One of those rare ones which left you longing and restless... only, could something that real, something that right, only be a figment of his imagination?
A solid week had passed since he had taken Khushi to see the newly renovated restaurant and lost all sense of control watching her drenched in the rain, her saree hiding nothing, her smile infectious and naïve. Although she had gently brushed away his reckless advances that night, the urge to claim her lips hadn't subsided in the least, haunting him now even in his sleep.
In retrospect, Arnav's lapse of judgement wasn't all too surprising. Ever since his conversation with Lavanya on the eve of Vihaan's departure to London, he had religiously been watching every minute emotion that overcame him at the mere thought of Khushi, practically holding a magnifying glass to it, imagining himself as a dressed down version of Sherlock Holmes trying to find the missing clue of an enigmatic puzzle.
It turned out the missing clue wasn't missing at all... it had been there since the very beginning, sitting in front of him, waiting for his acknowledgment. And hung up as he was on his failures, he had been totally oblivious. Oblivious of the admiration taking root in his heart for Khushi; oblivious of the respect she earned by giving him space, compromise and understanding in return for his silence, brooding and sometimes, plain rude behavior. Her maturity in handling his immaturity should have been the first sign that she was different from all the girls he had met, that it was all destined to begin with.
