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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If anyone had told Arnav six months ago that he would be a restaurant owner once again, he would have personally booked them an appointment with the city's best psychiatrist.
Because he had accepted, a long time ago, that like Myra, even his future in the culinary arts had taken a permanent leave from his life. And for good reason, too. He still had many years left in chef training, most of his time nowadays was occupied with handing his father's company and most important of all, his confidence –the same confidence that had plummeted to its death when he had to sell his last restaurant– was hiding in a very dingy corner of his mind, refusing to come out. It was as obvious as the sky outside that there was no way he would be capable of running a restaurant ever again.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
And that too, for only one reason: he had utterly, wholly and idiotically underestimated the tiny little human, who had crept into his life like ominous smoke and settled in like a deep-rooted Jasmine tree that turned even mundaneness into magnificence with its mere scent.
Two solid weeks had passed since Arnav's twenty-eighth birthday, and he was still having a hard time getting over what his legally wedded wife had given him that night or for that matter, what she had told him amidst the unusual celebrations, half covered in flour:
You are not answerable to me because what is mine, is yours. You and I are the same.
How did she do it? How did she find faith in him when he couldn't himself? How did she trust him with all her savings, asking –no, demanding– him to chase his dreams? How could she give him everything she had and not ask for anything in return?
It was deeply alarming. All these days, he had thought than he and Khushi were companions, allies in callous situations, innocent partners unbounded by expectations, friends who valued in each other respect and understanding.
But what if there was more?
Arnav couldn't forget, even if he tried to, the feeling that had engulfed him when he had hugged her that night. It was exhilaration like no other. Her embrace had been so warm, her fragrance –a mix of flowers he couldn't name and freshly mowed earth– so tantalizing, her body so soft. It felt as though he was coming home after years of wandering, as though he was seeing shore after ages at sea, as though as he was feeling sunlight on his face after eons in jail.
Why he did he feel like that?
They couldn't be mere 'companions' if all he could think about was the feel of her against him. They couldn't be just 'allies' if all he wanted was to hug her like that again. They couldn't be 'innocent partners' if he was stealing glances at her whenever she wasn't looking. And they sure as hell couldn't only be 'friends' if he had to constantly keep thoughts of her off his mind.
