Second Hand News Part 11

Alternative ending for you all :) Based on a special request from Ridz.

Read all previous parts to this SS here.

Please note I retain sole ownership of all these works of fiction on this blog so please do not reproduce or alter my work and claim it as your own.

Part 11

“It’s in Bihar… the Widow Ashram is I mean. I think I might have mentioned it once to…”  Shukla paused. Arnav hadn’t spoken since he’d entered the office and still didn’t look likely to interject.

“My Aunt lives there you see,” he continued “and my Mother showed me this article and it sounded like… I thought maybe if you were right, if Khushiji is… it might… Anyway, I’ll just leave this with you.” He placed the newspaper clipping on the desk roughly and turned to leave.

The gruff, almost imperceptible “thank you,” stopped Shukla in his tracks. He looked back to see Arnav staring at the clipping.

3^rd June 2015

Jayanti Widows’ Association in Bihar celebrates its newfound autonomy with an open day on August 10^th! The association has grown from strength to strength in the past two years since its appointment of a new Manager.

The association provides delicious healthy lunches for beleaguered office workers who either can’t cook or won’t cook! The popularity of the lunches has also resulted in many a housewife also ordering her husband’s lunch from the association and freeing up her own time.

What originally began as a way for the women to supplement their government funding and make use of their time has now turned into a fully-fledged profiting business.

Just in case you’re one of the few business that hasn’t placed a standing order with the Association they’re holding a free event on the 10^th where you can try some delicious food and meet some of the women responsible for revolutionising Bihari lunchtimes. Discounted rates will be available on the day.

Arnav sighed wearily, preparing himself for disappointment again. He’d suffered so much disappointment the past three years. There had been so many times he thought he had found her at last. So many nights he had dreamt she had come back to him on her own. But he was always wrong.

Nevertheless he picked up his phone and dialled the code for Aman’s office. Aman had been uncompromising on his decision not to speak about Khushi. Even Arnav’s repeated pleas just to know if she was alive, happy and healthy were met with an impassive face and refusal to speak.

‘Yes sir?’

‘Bihar. Tomorrow. Arrange it.”

There was the briefest of pauses before Aman said ‘of course sir. Would you like to fly in the morning or evening?’

If Arnav hadn’t known Aman for almost 9 years now he could have missed that slight hesitation or even brushed past it. Instead it impressed itself on Arnav’s brain as he gave Aman further instructions before putting down the receiver slowly.

---

Arnav was waiting in the Manager’s office at Jayanti Widows Association looking for a sign, any sign that would tell him who this office belonged to. There was no nameplate on the door, no photos on the desk, not even a Devi Maiyya statue or embellished computer screen he could have pinned his hopes on.

He felt an unfamiliar breeze on the back of his neck, having gotten a much-needed haircut last night. He’d trimmed his beard and had anguished over which suit to wear for hours.

The thought had struck him many times as it did ever time he had a lead. That he shouldn’t come, that she didn’t want to be found, that she was better without him. But selfishness had always been one of Arnav Singh Raizada’s faults. He needed to find her, he needed to apologise to her, and he needed her.

The door behind him flew open, “I’m so sorry, have you been waiting long? It’s just the kitchen is at the other end of the…”

Arnav felt like his heart would explode, he wasn’t sure if she’d stopped talking or the blood rushing around in his ears prevented from hearing anything. She was thin, so thin. She’d always been slender but her cheeks had always been filled, her face had always had a glow and her eyes had always shone. Now he could see hollows in her cheeks, her skin looked sallow and her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

He rushed forward and pulled her into his arms, needing to feel her, and convince himself she wasn’t an apparition. He felt Khushi try to break the embrace and tightened his hold on her. ‘How could you leave me? I thought I’d lost you! I thought you were dead!’

She broke free then, pushing him away from her, ‘aapko kya farak padta hai? If I live or die what does it matter to you?’

Arnav reached out to hold her wildly gesturing arms still,  ‘It matters Khushi! You matter! I love you damn it!’

‘Wh… What?’

‘Please Khushi, I’ve been looking for you for nearly three years. I can’t live without you, I need…’ He paused and looked down at his hands. He’d been holding her wrists when his fingers came across raised lines against the smoothness of her skin.  He turned her left  wrist over to see an identical but much deeper scar dragging in a deep breath.

‘Khushi I...’ he began but there were no words. How could he put into words just how much the thought of her hurting herself had hurt him every day. How seeing these very real scars made him realise all over again just how close he had come to losing her, and just how far he had pushed her.

He wasn’t sure when he had begun crying but as he saw a teardrop fall onto Khushi’s wrist he let go and stumbled backwards against the chair he’d been sitting on earlier.

Khushi was staring up at him, her arms still outstretched in front of her.

‘I shouldn’t have come here. I’m so sorry. I made your life hell. So much that you wanted to… and now you have a new life I should… I should just let you live in peace… I should go.’ Arnav strode past her, dragging in a shaky breath and pulling out his sunglasses to hide his tear-filled eyes.

Arnav reached the car and opened the backseat door, surprising his driver who had been leaning against the door while playing on his phone. He’d just begun to climb in when he heard her call behind him.

‘Wait!’

Arnav rushed out of the car towards her and she crashed against his chest in a move so familiar to his body that his arms automatically found themselves around her holding her up. ‘Khushi?’

‘Who do you think you are? You can’t just walk in here and tell me you love me then walk out again! You… You… Laad Governor!’

Arnav could only stare dumbfounded. Her cheeks had so much colour in them compared to only a minute ago. She looked like the Khushi he remembered, not the defeated exhausted Khushi in the newspaper pictures he’d clipped almost three years ago.

‘Hum bhi… Hum bhi aapse I love you damn it!’

‘Khushi?’ Arnav tried to look at her face, wanting to see if this could really be true, if she could love him after everything he put her through.

‘Please don’t leave me again Arnavji. Please, I can’t bear it again.’ Khushi pressed herself against his chest with her arms around him.

‘No! No, Khushi. Never! I’m never leaving you again. Promise me you won’t try to leave me either. Please Khushi, promise me.’

‘I promise Arnavji, I promise.’