Ambivalence

My Rani Sa

Sharvansh's POV

My Rani Sa looked absolutely stunning in the red saree she wore this morning. I stood there transfixed as she emerged from the closet, her wet hair glistening, the red saree elegantly wrapped around her slender waist, the backless blouse leaving her bare back on display with just a delicate string and thin strap to hold it in place. I watched as she rubbed her hair dry, her murmured words barely registering with me.

I finally snapped out of my daze when I heard her voice and promptly retreated to the closet.

In just two days of marriage, her presence had already taken over this room. Her dresses occupied half of my wardrobe, her bath supplies took up more than half the bathroom space. The room smelled like her, her shampoo, her body wash. It was an overwhelming shift in my personal space, but one I had to accept.

After my morning routine, I descended the stairs, overhearing Anita Bua Sa's comment, "Kya baat hai, patni ko pata hi nahi ki uska pati kaha hai."

(Wow, the wife doesn't even know whereabouts of her husband.)

I couldn't help but notice the disdainful tone with which Bua Sa addressed Aaradhya, and though it irked me, I chose to overlook it, deciding it was best not to create unnecessary tension, especially on such a special occasion.

The halwa laid out before me didn't initially catch my interest, but out of politeness, I took a small bite. To my astonishment, it was exquisite. The flavors danced on my palate, perfectly balanced between sweetness and richness. Despite my temptation to indulge further, I restrained myself, mindful of the decorum expected of me in this setting.

.

.

.

After a long day of work, I returned to the palace and found Aaradhya in front of the mirror, struggling with the pleats of her saree while dancing to the music playing in the background. Her eyes widened as she spotted me, and she almost dropped her saree. Her face turned crimson, but she tried to mask her embarrassment. My gaze remained locked on her as she continued pinning her saree, right on the brink of loosening it. I could see the gentle curve of her belly button through her semi-sheer saree, an image that stirred something inside me.

Reluctantly, I averted my gaze and headed to the closet to change into my pants and a cotton shirt. As I re-emerged, I saw her securing the pleats of her saree, and I was drawn to her inexplicably. It was as if I had no control over my actions.

I bent down, my fingers expertly fixing the pleats, my touch more intimate than I had intended. The close proximity, her fragrance, and everything about her had a disconcerting effect on me. I straightened the pleats carefully, trying to conceal the turmoil brewing inside me.

My instinct was to respond to her question with my usual cold demeanor, to remind her that I didn't care about her appearance. However, inexplicably, I felt myself moving closer to her, as if drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

I straightened the pleats, trying to maintain my composure, and finally replied, "Apne chote se dimag par zyada zor mat dalayiye. Hum nahi chahte ki log koi bhi mauka paye hamare parivar par ungli uthane ka."

(Don't put pressure on your small brain, I didn't wanted to give people any reason to point at our family.)

For a brief moment, I contemplated softening my words, to offer some reassurance. But the icy barrier around my heart held me back. I was buttoning my sherwani when the second button from the top came loose and fell into my hand. I asked her, "Do you know how to stitch a button?"

"Huh," came her confused response. 

"The button, Rani Sa."

It was becoming increasingly frustrating to deal with her behavior. She nodded and fetched her sewing kit from a drawer near the mirror. I watched as she deftly threaded the needle, her concentration entirely focused. She extended her hand, requesting the button, and placed it onto the sherwani.

She maintained a cautious distance between us, as though she were afraid of getting too close. I couldn't help but notice the fine details of her delicate face, her long, dark lashes framing her eyes, and the subtle black liner enhancing them. Her skin was so smooth and soft, her features alluring. I noticed a small mole to the left of her ear and another on her lower lip, details I had missed earlier. Her long neck was adorned with a necklace and mangalsutra that delicately graced her collarbone.

The fruity and slightly bitter scent of her presence enveloped my surroundings.

My gaze moved down to where her fingers were skillfully working on the button of my sherwani. I heard her hiss in pain, but before I could react, she examined her fingers briefly before resuming her work, as if nothing had happened. She turned to look for scissors to cut the thread.

"Jaldi kijiye, hume der ho rahi hai," I told her impatiently when she couldn't find the scissors. I half-expected her to use her teeth to cut the thread just to come closer to me, but to my surprise, she chose to wrap the thread around her fingers and break it.

(Do it faster, we are getting late,)

What was with this woman? Why couldn't she act more traditionally feminine? And why did I even care?

She turned around to face the mirror, removing the clip that held her bun and allowing her hair to cascade down her back. I leaned forward to grab a comb from the table and observed her applying red lipstick before tending to her hair.

"Chalen?" I asked her.

(Shall we?)

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the mirror one last time as her fingers delicately ran through her hair. She kept her hand lightly on my elbow, and we made our way downstairs. Ruhani Masi Sa approached us and complimented Aaradhya, saying, "You look beautiful, Aaru."

"Thank you, Au... Masi," Aaradhya replied with red cheeks and a shy smile.

We took our seats in the middle of the hall, and the relatives began lifting her ghunghat to get a glimpse of her face. I could hear their overly sweet, occasionally genuine, and sometimes envious compliments to Aaradhya, though her expression remained unaffected.

One of the relatives approached and asked us to feed each other a sweet dish. Aaradhya picked up a piece of sweet and offered it to me. I deliberately brushed her fingers with my lips, teasingly.

I was about to reciprocate when I heard an aunt say, "No, Rana Sa, let your bride feed you first. Sharing a bite from each other's plates enhances love."

I grabbed Aaradhya's hand and moved it towards her mouth. She took a bite of the sweet, and in that moment, an inexplicable urge surged within me to kiss her lips. My gaze landed on her lips, which had traces of the sweet, and I was tempted to lean in.

She flinched when my thumb brushed against her lips, instinctively wiping away the food particles. Her face turned an even deeper shade of red as she cleaned around her lips, and I watched, captivated by her every move.

As I glanced around, I couldn't spot my brothers anywhere. I decided to call Dev, but he wasn't answering his phone. Then I heard Aaradhya's voice, "Anu, where's Dhriti? I've been trying to call her for a while, but her phone is switched off."

"Aaru, she got caught up with something. She should be here in a little while," I reassured her.

She responded with a simple "Hmm."

My suspicions about a possible connection between Dev and Dhriti were only growing stronger. Soon, I noticed Dev and Dhriti arriving through the main gate. I excused myself from the group of ladies and met up with Dev and Reyansh. There was an issue with a shortage of water in some nearby villages, and I wanted to discuss it with them.

I knew Randheer will try to cause problem, I needed to execute the plan before the announcement of coronation.

After our discussion, I returned to the main hall after about half an hour. I spotted Aaradhya, surrounded by a group of women, but her complexion had paled. She wasn't her usual lively self, instead wearing a forced smile. However, I decided not to ask her about it for now.