Kaise yeh Rishtey - 4

Chapter - 4

They stayed in her mind, this little family of three, as she went back home. So absorbed was she in their sorrow, that she didn't notice her father's taunts, nor the lateness of the hour when her brother finally returned. Mechanically, she heated his food, served him, and cleaned up. Vaguely, she noticed that her brother seemed worried, and after dinner, he banged at her father's door, and spoke to him in a loud voice. Khushi gave up, and went to bed.

The next few weeks passed as though in a dream. Anjali recovered slowly, and Khushi spent a lot of time with her, counselling her, comforting her, amusing her and telling her about her tiny daughter's progress. Anjali always felt better after Khushi's visit, so Aman requested Khushi to come more frequently to see her. Khushi was happy to oblige, and it was not because of the healthy increase in her bank balance by the extra visits. She genuinely liked the older girl, and admired the way she was dealing with problems that could have broken a weaker person.

At first, Anjali was almost hysterical when she saw her leg gone, but the sight of her daughter helped her tremendously, just as Aman had said it would. And when Khushi told her that it had been a choice between her daughter and her leg, Anjali had smiled and said simply, "I'm glad they made the right choice."

The baby made slow progress, and Khushi and Aman were both worried about her. Khushi checked on her frequently, and reported to Aman regularly, careful not to hint to Anjali that the baby was not yet out of danger. They met out of sight of Anjali, so that she would not worry about the baby. And they talked - about Anjali, about the baby, about Khushi, everything.

Khushi often wondered what she felt for Aman. She had never had a friend like him before, in fact, she had never met anyone like him in her life before. Obviously rich, strikingly handsome, he had none of the airs or arrogance one might assume come naturally to a man like him. He was down to earth, straight forward in his words, and never gave her the feeling that she was his inferior in any way, social, monetary or anything else. But what attracted her to him was something else.

It was an admiration and perhaps, an unspoken envy of the deep love he bore for his wife and new baby. Lonely for most of her life, Khushi felt a craving to be a part of what he gave her a glimpse of – a real family, bound by ties of love, of need, of belonging. And she wondered sometimes ... was it just that? Or was it attraction … an almost instantaneous attraction, which had sprung up between them both almost from the moment they had met? Something she had felt from the first, spontaneous touch of her hand on his ... something she knew he had felt too. 

Or was it … something deeper … was it love? She wondered unwillingly. Could she have been so blind, so foolish as to have actually fallen in love with him? 

She was very much afraid she had.

It would have been a wonder if she hadn’t, she though ironically. His gentleness, his innate goodness, the quiet strength in him, the love evident in his eyes for his wife and daughter - everything was so different from the two men in her life. Even when sorely tried, or upset, he never raised his voice with Anjali. His patience and gentleness with her was seemingly inexhaustible. When Anjali was upset or frustrated, and took it out on him, he remained calm and encouraging. Very often, she was angered, reduced to tears with her frustration at the slow pace of healing, and setbacks in her recovery always made her tearful and unreasonable. But Aman, never. He spoke to her patiently, teasing her with loving nonsense, till she started laughing unwillingly, and got over her tears. He was a wonderful husband and he seemed to be the embodiment of every dream Khushi had ever had, a living example of the love she had always been starved of.

And they had become close, so very, very close. They met every day, often for hours at a stretch. While Anjali was with her doctor, her physiotherapist, her surgeons, Aman sought out Khushi. With Khushi, Aman let his guard down and talked … showed his fears, his innermost thoughts and feelings, his sorrow at his shattered dreams. And his anger at their families - Anjali's and his own.

No one came to see them in hospital. Not when they were needed the most - needed by Aman. He was supporting his wife, but he was badly in need of support himself. Support both physical and mental, which was completely lacking.

"They are there like parasites, when they need anything," he told Khushi, bitterly. "Then I become the favorite brother, the best uncle, and the most wonderful nephew. Anjali's parents don't talk to her, or to me. Well, I can understand that. She ran away to marry me, two days before her wedding to the boy they had chosen for her. They've never forgiven her for that, nor me. But what about my family? My uncle, my aunt, my cousins? When I need some help, some relief, where are they? Because I don't have my own parents, they don't bother about us. And it's because I don't have my own parents, that I do so much for them all. I can afford to, and they know that. But I do it with affection, and in the belief that they will be there for me when I need them. Well, now I know better."

"They are just your cousins and aunt and uncle," she said, evenly. "My own father and brother are the same, maybe worse ... what can I say to you about them. People all over the world are selfish, Aman. You should rely only on yourself, nobody else."

He looked at her. She had already told him about herself. Indeed, in the few weeks she had known him, they had told each other their inner-most feelings. They had grown so close, that Khushi felt he must know what she felt for him. She had not made any attempt to hide what she felt, had shown her obvious pleasure in his company, her willingness to drop everything and be with him whenever he needed her.

Which was very often. Perhaps it was the lack of family support, perhaps he genuinely found pleasure in her company too. Khushi didn't know. But he sought her out more and more, shared his fears and hopes with her and every day's highs and lows. It was Khushi whom Aman told when his baby's breathing tube was removed, Anjali didn't know she ever had one. It was Khushi whom Aman rejoiced with, when his baby was taken off her drip and started taking milk, and Khushi who shared his tears when Anjali took her first step on one artificial leg.

Now he looked at her.

"You're very self-reliant, aren't you, Khushi?" he commented. "Your own people have given you so much grief, yet I don't see any bitterness in you."

Khushi smiled, a hint of wistfulness in her eyes. "Maybe because I don't remember any different times," she said. "I've learned to be like this, because I've had to. I don't know any better, Aman. I don't know any different. I don't know what love is, what a normal family can be. I've seen it from the outside, but I've never had it myself, so I don't know it, I don't miss it. I live in this little cocoon of my own, as though I'm in a bubble, unaffected by what's around me. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, and I suppose it’s kind of sad. But I don’t know if I can ever be any different. Even now," she added.

"Even now, what?" he asked, his gaze holding hers. They were sitting in a secluded corner of the garden, sharing tea and a snack. Anjali had a physiotherapy session, and so Aman had a break.

Khushi looked at him directly. "Even now that I've seen what love is, what a family can be like," she said.

Aman sighed and took her hand. He played idly with her fingers. Khushi was startled. This was the first time he had touched her so deliberately, and she felt a niggling disquiet in the back of her mind. This wasn't right, a voice said in her head.

But she found, to her dismay, that she liked the feel of his hand holding hers. And she kept quiet.

"Don't you want to fall in love and get married some day?" Aman asked. "Have you thought about that at all? Don't you want to have a family of your own? Someone who really loves you, and cares about you? A husband, children? Don't you want that, Khushi?"

Khushi looked at her hand, small and pale in his. "Yes, I want that," she said, her voice low. "But I don't think I can have that, Aman. Maybe not now, maybe never. You see, I've done something very stupid. I've think I've gone and fallen in love with a married man."

His fingers stilled their movement, then he crushed her hand in his. Then he released it suddenly, and stood up.

“And what if he’s in love with you too?” he asked in a low, fierce voice. Khushi looked up at him, her face frozen.. For the life of her, she couldn’t utter a word. The words that had been on her mind for so many days had slipped out of her mouth almost unthinkingly, and now she seemed to be struck dumb.

Aman looked at her.

“If he loves you, can't he leave his wife, and marry you?" he asked, his voice muffled and not quite steady. Khushi drew in a sharp breath and stood up too. For a moment, they looked at each other, their faces showing all that they felt. Then she turned away.

"No!" she said, then more strongly, "No, he can't! Aman…, " she turned and looked at him, her face firm, although she felt she was tearing up inside. "Aman, you can't even think about that. I…"

"I know I can't," he said, savagely. "Her very life depends on me, I can't do that to her. And, oh, Khushi, I still love her. I love her very much. But…" he turned her around to face him, and his face showed his dilemma, "…but, Khushi, I love you, too! What are we going to do?"