Kaise Yeh Rishtey - 9

Chapter 9 

There was silence in the office, silence thick and dark.

Arnav Singh Raizada said nothing, his eyes on the slim figure at the window. Her back was to him, but he could see the tension in her taut frame.

He waited. After a long pause, she turned to face him. Her tension was apparent in her stiffness, the unnatural stillness of her body, but her face was calm, almost blank. He looked at her, marvelling at her self-control, masking his admiration behind a bland exterior.

When Khushi finally found her voice, she spoke clearly with the barest hint of a tremor, her eyes meeting his directly.

"I don't think I will go home, Mr. Raizada. If they call you, you can tell them that I refused to cooperate with you. Tell them anything you like. It doesn’t matter. I am not going back home."

He had not expected this. His eyebrows rose, but other than that, she saw no reaction on his face. She wasn't expecting to see it.

"Then what will you do?" he asked, his tone even. "Where will you go?"

She looked away. Aman's face came into her mind, her thoughts. Could she go to Aman, and ask him to put her up for some time, till she found a place to stay?

She couldn't tell Arnav Singh Raizada what she was thinking. Her mind worked furiously. Of one thing, she was absolutely sure. She couldn’t stay long at home after this. There was no way she would be part of what her brother wanted, and if she refused to agree to their plans, she would be beaten up, or locked up, or worse, forced into doing what they wanted. She was fed up of the whole situation, and after what her father and brother had done, the letter they had sent, the arrogance with which they had assumed that she had no choice but to fall in with their plans - she wanted nothing more to do with them. There was no love lost between her and them, and after this, she felt she hated them.

But what could she do? Where could she go? She twisted her hands in front of her, the only outward sign of her turmoil. She had never felt more alone in her life. 

She couldn't turn to Aman, she thought slowly. He was at home, with his paralyzed and handicapped wife, a small baby daughter, and a dragon aunt, who had come in to 'help'. Anjali was very fond of her, but if she, Khushi stayed there even for a few days, Anjali might guess what had happened between Khushi and Aman. And Khushi couldn't bear that. No, the few crumbs she got from him were enough. She couldn't and would not, break up their home. She was no home-breaker, she liked and admired Anjali almost as much as she respected Aman, and she could not, would not do that to her. Not with Anjali in the state she was in. It would destroy her will to live. It would be murder.

Arnav Singh Raizada was watching her, watching the play of emotions across her face.

"Can you get a place to stay at your hospital?" he asked, and she was surprised that he was concerned.

"No," she said, almost inaudibly. "I'm not a doctor or a nurse, and the staff quarters can't be used by the paramedical staff."

"What work do you do?" he asked, conversationally, and somewhere in her mind, she realized wonderingly, gratefully, that he was trying to make this into a normal situation, with normal conversation.

"I'm a clinical psychologist," she told him, dully. "I work in the social service department in Rehabilitation at the local hospital. Counseling, psychotherapy, with people who've lost their will to live. Accident victims, orphans, people who've lost their kids to illness, that kind of thing. I work with them, talk to them, encourage them to speak about their problems, and face them – to get on with life, as it were. I've been told …," she spoke with quiet pride, "… I'm good at my job. But it seems to me," she smiled, bitterly, "I could do with some of my own counseling now."

He nodded slowly, and she could see he was thinking deeply. She squared her shoulders and turned to him, her natural aloofness back on her face.

"Look," she said, "you don't have to worry about it. You tell them that you don't work that way. Leave me alone. I'll manage."

"So you don’t want to go back home?" he asked slowly, still seeming deep in thought, and she shook her head.

"No. Oh, don't worry about it. Sooner or later, this would have happened. I've been near breaking point for some time, and this is it. I can't take it any more. I’ll sit on the streets if I have to, but …"

He looked at her again, as though her words had brought him out of his reverie.

"Don't," he said, quickly. "Don't do that, or else I'll feel responsible for this, for your walking out."

"You're not responsible," she said, dully. "If it hadn't been you, it would have been somebody else. He will get into trouble again, that's as sure as night follows day."

"Yes, but if I hadn't looked at you that way, he might…."

"What way?!" she interrupted, hotly, and he looked at her directly.

"The way a man looks at a woman he fancies," he said, brutally. "Your father saw the way I looked at you when you walked in. I couldn't believe someone like you could be a part of them, their family."

He looked at her, and then looked away. "You looked like …." His face changed, his voice went soft. He seemed to be lost again in his thoughts. Then he looked at her and his face hardened again. 

"Never mind that. The point I'm making is that your father saw that, and he thought it could work in favour of his son."

She gulped. She had forgotten why she was here, his change in tone had lulled her into a sense of being in a comfort zone. His words suddenly recalled her to the reality of the situation she was in.

He came up to her, and put his hands on her shoulders. This time she didn't flinch away. His touch was gentle, impersonal.

"Look, Khushi," he said, softly. "It's partly at least my fault you're in this mess. Let me try to sort things out. Don't do anything drastic. Go back home, and tell them I've said I'll give them an answer in the morning. Say that … say that I said I’ll think about their offer … but I don’t want damaged goods. Just say that much. You don't know what was in the letter. OK? Just go back home, and trust me. Maybe I can work things out for both of us. Just give me till tomorrow to think it out."

Khushi looked at him in surprise.

"Why…?"

"Why would I want to help you?" he grinned crookedly, and she felt with a sudden shock, a realization hit her. He was an attractive man. A very attractive man, she amended silently. That aura of confidence and power that he had, would bowl over any girl, she thought.

"Put it down to love for humanity," he said cynically, and when she looked at him doubtfully, he smiled again, this time with more warmth.

"I don't like bullies, especially dishonest ones," he said, grimly. "And when they bully women, I dislike them even more. I saw how they treated you yesterday. I didn't like it. I don't like what your brother did to me, either. I don't consider him punished adequately. I'd like to see him suffer for both what he did to me, and what he wanted to do to you. Go home, Khushi. I will be in touch with you before long. Believe me."

His words, and more than them, his tone, did what his earlier harshness had not done. A tear finally trickled down her cheek, and to her surprise, he lifted a finger and wiped it away gently. She closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt protected, and it made her feel warm inside.

She opened her eyes, to see Arnav looking at her quizzically. She was also suddenly very aware that his hands were still on her shoulders.

She backed away, slowly, and his hands dropped. He raised an eyebrow, and she nodded, slowly.

"I believe you," she said, almost inaudibly. "Thank you, Mr. Raizada. Thank you more than I can say."

He nodded, and she left.

It was late, but she knew that this once, she would not be in trouble at home. In fact, she thought grimly, the later she was, the happier they would be. So she stopped to make a quick call. To her relief, Aman answered the phone himself.

"I need to see you," she told him, briefly. "I'm in trouble. When can you meet me?"

They always met at the hospital, where Anjali spent an hour or two with her baby, and then with her physiotherapist. Quickly, Khushi fixed a time, and then returned home.

It was the most difficult thing in the world to pretend to be normal, unknowing of what her father and brother had planned. She solved the problem by attacking them.

"What was in the letter?" she asked her father, accusingly. "Mr. Raizada said…"

"Yes? What did he say?" asked Shyam, eagerly.

"He said he'll think about your offer, but he doesn't want damaged goods," she replied. "He seemed quite …"

"Quite… what?" Shyam asked, pouncing as she hesitated. "Was he pleased? He's quite a ladies' man, you know, Khushi. And he can be very generous."

Khushi hesitated. She didn't know what more Arnav Singh Raizada would have wanted her to say. "I don’t know if he was pleased or not," she said, finally. "He read the letter, and then he just told me to sit and wait for a while, till he finished what he was doing. So I sat. Then he seemed to change his mind, and said he'd give you the answer tomorrow directly. Then he kind of remembered about the goods being damaged. But what goods? I thought it was papers, data that you had taken?"

"How did he look at you?" asked Shyam, eagerly. But his father interrupted.

"Leave her alone," he said, heavily. "I don't like this, Shyam. You should not have put it in writing."

Shyam looked at him scornfully. "Do you think I'd be such a fool? He read between the lines. I didn't say anything that I can be accused of trying to…."

"Be quiet!" lashed out his father. "Khushi, go to bed. And stay home tomorrow. There's no need for you to go to work."

Khushi looked at him in dismay. She had arranged to meet Aman the next day. But there was no way she could say anything, with both of them in this mood. She went to bed, hungry, and for the first time after meeting Aman, it was not him she thought about as she fell asleep. Instead she dreamed about a tall, fair man, with light eyes, and a grim face, which dissolved into the most caring smile she had seen in her life.