Chapter 8: Arnav

                                    

                                          
11th December
                          
*****
                          
Chura liya hai tumne jo dil ko, nazar nahin churaana sanam. [Now that you have stolen my heart, don't spurn me, my darling.]
                          
Badal ke meri tum zindagaani, kahin badal na jaana sanam. [Having changed my life so much, don't change yourself, my darling.]
                          
*****
                          
His bed looked like a department store had thrown up on it. A department store that specialized in black and almost-black clothes.
                          
'Can you wear something other than black? No black, at all. Please.'
                          
It'd seemed simple enough when he'd first read Khushi's note, but Arnav had been standing here for half an hour, trying to get an outfit together that contained no black at all. His charcoal gray suit was with the launderers, and he'd already voiced his extreme displeasure at Om Prakash over the development.
                          
Damnit. Why are all my clothes black? Wait.
                          
Arnav settled on the dark gray suit and a blue shirt. He held the jacket up to the light and squinted at it.
                          
It's a really dark gray. Maybe she'll think it's black.
                          
He flung it onto the bed before collapsing on this sofa with a sigh. Khushi had done this deliberately, he knew. She wanted to see how far she could push him. She wanted him to suffer. Since backing down from her challenge was out of the question, he started to plan his revenge. He could ask her to wear something without pom-poms. Or maybe something Western, like a dress ... or jeans ... or a mini-skirt. He was just beginning to enjoy the thought of Khushi in a mini-skirt when his phone rang.
                          
"Hello?"
                          
"It's me speaking. What do I tell Bua-ji if she asks why I'll be late?"
                          
"Tell her the truth, that you're with me."
                          
"Ha. Ha. Very funny, Laad Governor-ji. Bua-ji will make chutney out of us both."
                          
"Then tell her Di asked you to stay. An emergency. Khushi, I don't know, tell her anything," his voice lowered, "just don't say no."
                          
"Okay ... I'll think of something. See you soon."
                          
Arnav scowled at his bed after Khushi ended the call. He needed to make a decision. He called the first number on his speed-dial.
                          
"Aman. I need a suit, tie, and shirt. No black."
                          
"No black?" came the bewildered reply.
                          
"Shut up Aman," he barked, "Don't repeat my words back to me. The light gray pinstripe suit from this season's collection and the white shirt that goes with it. Pick an appropriate tie. Have it all ready in fifteen."
                          
Twenty minutes later he was studying his reflection in the mirror in Aman's office. It would have to do – he had to leave now or he risked being late.
                          
. . . . . . .
                          
"Ready?"
                          
Khushi looked him up and down when she answered the door, a dazzling smile forming on her lips when she realized that he'd done as she'd asked. This morning's anxiety seemed a small price to pay for that smile. He held out a hand but Khushi shook her head, glancing nervously behind her to the living room before whispering "Bua-ji!"
                          
Arnav shrugged and started walking, leaving Khushi to hastily shut her front door and follow. She ran to close the distance between them and halted him with a hand to his shoulder, applying gentle pressure until he turned. Smiling mischievously, she slipped a piece of paper into his hand before dashing to the car.