Shorts: An IPKKND Collection

Khushi's Engagement: Part 1

Author's Note: I've always watched the episode where Khushi gets engaged to Shyam aware that all Khushi wants, at that moment, is Arnav Singh Raizada. He'd broken her the night before (Diwali), shattered her heart, but he'd also followed her to the temple just to bandage up her wounded finger. She'd forgotten all about agreeing to marry Shyam until she walked back into Bua-ji's house, her thoughts still at the temple with Arnav.

So I thought I'd write something, to explore an idea I've had since I first watched the episode. This is the first of four parts.

This part is canon from Episode 117 (well, Khushi's thoughts aren't, obviously, but the actions and dialogue are). The AU begins with the chime of the doorbell.

*****

"Take this ring, and put it on Shyam."

Everything faded away until all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears. Khushi stared at her Bua-ji.

No matter how many times she repeated the words in her head, no matter how she rearranged them, they refused to fall into an order that made sense.

Ring? Shyam-ji? Now, when Babu-ji was still struggling to breathe on the bed next to her?

Dimly, she registered that Amma and Jiji were arguing against the decision. She saw Shyam-ji's mouth open and close but didn't hear his words. She saw Bua-ji turn to Shyam-ji but didn't hear the arguments she chose to make.

Khushi turned to look at her Babu-ji. The world came rushing back to her as she heard Bua-ji ask Shyam-ji about a ring.

He already has a ring?

She watched, frozen in disbelief, as he pulled out a small blue box and opened it to reveal a diamond ring. Khushi felt as though the chord that had always tethered her to the ground had snapped, and she was floating, floating in a world that was spinning out of control.

She was out of options. She knew that there was nothing she could say or do to prevent the inevitable.

"Take it," Bua-ji thrust a thick gold ring into her hand, "Give it to him. Put it on his finger!"

Devi Maiyaa had abandoned her.

"Babua," Bua-ji urged Shyam-ji, "extend your hand."

He raised his hand, solemn in his obedience, as Bua-ji urged her to put the ring on Shyam-ji's finger. Khushi turned to her father again. He shook his head from side to side, still recovering from his ordeal.

Babu-ji took you in when you had no one else, Khushi. He's never asked you for anything in return, except this. He's loved you, defended you, protected you. How can you refuse, especially when ... when you were waiting for him, and he ... he ...

The memories bombarded her, coming so strong and fast that her head spun.

Arnav-ji handing her a container of food on Navratri, her dupatta caught on the cuff of his shirt, the car trip towards Nainital ...

Khushi raised her hand, the gold ring clasped firmly between her fingers.

Arnav-ji holding her as she stumbled into him, his expression when he was mistaken for her husband, his stillness when she ran to him at the hospital, desperate for a comfort only he could provide. The fairy lights, the rangoli, the poolside.

Her hand, seemingly of its own volition, edged towards Shyam-ji's.

Arnav-ji leading her out of the circle of diya, Arnav-ji returning her payal, Arnav-ji leaning in to kiss her.

Arnav-ji had abandoned her.

Khushi blinked. The gold ring was on Shyam-ji's finger. She swallowed down her guilt and anxiety, cursing the heart that still beat for him, despite everything.

Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji.

She'd assumed she was out of tears, that she'd cried a lifetime's worth of them over the past two days, but the telltale prickle behind her eyes told her otherwise.

Her heart bled, and her eyes tried to voice its pain.

Shyam-ji held out a ring, tiny and delicate and pretty, but all Khushi saw was a hangman's noose.

She tried to suppress the urge to flee, tried to ignore the part of her that screamed at her bolt. To run away from this place where her obligation to her family mattered more than her heart, where her innermost desire could never be fulfilled because she, as always, wanted something she couldn't have ... had dared to hope for a future that wasn't in her destiny.

The dreams she'd dreamt over the past week lay shattered at her feet, but to walk over their shards and move on was to invite a pain she wouldn't survive.

Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji, Arnav-ji.

Her heart beat to the rhythm of another man's name as Shyam-ji stepped closer.

"Khushi," Bua-ji's voice cut through her confused thoughts, "Raise your hand, child. Extend your hand, for your Babu-ji."

Khushi turned to look at him, the man who'd given her everything she had. Her name, her childhood, her family. Babu-ji was shelter and love and protection. She raised her left hand, staring at the bandage that Arnav-ji had tied there not an hour ago.

"What's this?" cried Bua-ji.

My heart. My love. My everything. The future I can't have.

Khushi recalled him at the temple, head bent as he carefully wrapped her finger in the bandage he'd carried in his pocket as he drove to her.

"Hai re Nand Kishore. It doesn't matter," Bua-ji consoled herself, "Extend your other hand."

No, screamed her heart.

Yes, cried the soul that still bled from his words – "This night, and you, hold no significance for me."

"I'm telling you, extend your hand Khushi!"

No, whispered the woman who knew she loved another.

Yes, urged the girl who loved her father.

No, wept the orphan who'd dreamt of a family that didn't remind her of Babu-ji and Amma's charity whenever she committed a mistake.

Yes, howled the friend who'd betrayed another woman.

No, no, NO, screamed the lamb who was tired of sacrificing for everyone around her.

Khushi watched as Bua-ji yanked her right hand so it extended out in front of her, trapped in a daze of conflict, half formed wishes and dreams and protests whirling in her mind but refusing to be voiced. Shyam-ji took her hand.

The doorbell chimed.