27- 'Crossing The Limit'

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Jaanvi smiling/smirking sitting inside the car with Kiaan

Started Typing On - 24/11/2018

Chapter 27- 'Crossing The Limit'

Why should I say no? I mean, I'll be going to another country for free. What else do I need? Jaanvi thinks to herself walking to their bedroom. Kiaan or her in-laws will be paying for the trip but she doesn't care. "Papa held a lavishing wedding, they can do this much. After all, NRI'S." A slight part of her is hoping Kiaan will be paying so she can waste his money in satisfaction.

The strange thing is, he didn't even bother talking to her about the morning incident. Jaanvi didn't expect it either because he didn't text her but the least she imagined—something anyone will—was a 'how was home?' question.

Today's been a long exhausting day. Jaanvi wants nothing more than a good peaceful sleep. Her hand's gripping the doorknob as she begins to close the bedroom door shut but a hand—strong hand—pushes it open. She stumbles back from the unpredictable jerk.

Lifting her annoyed eyes she meets the most beautiful and mesmerizing smirk she's ever seen. Gor—he's Kiaan. Ew. Ew. Ew—

His dimples.

He has dimples.

She blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. Shell-shocked and rubs her eyes. This is unbelievable to her. She doesn't remember him having dimples—wait. He did. He had them. They only appeared when he's in a goofy and carefree mood. Oh-oh. What's going in his head?

Don't nice people have dimples only? She wonders, staring at him like a creep unafraid of being caught ogling him.

He rolls his eyes—the easy-going eye roll that one takes in pure delight—and pushes her right shoulder carefully to annoy her, "I'm sorry, my stubborn cat but I'm not for sale. Though, I don't mind you gawking me, it builds my self-esteem, you know?" He looks ridiculously dashing with a lopsided grin. He shoves her head back with his palm—flat—and walks inside the bedroom, uncaringly.

He grabs a hold of his black Adidas hoodie. Unfolding it he slips his arms inside the sleeves effortlessly and puts his head inside the hood to wear the piece of clothing properly.

His muscles flex, the veins popping from his arms look a magical blend of blue and green colour and shoulders broad. His body physique is like a proper V. It's large—his biceps aren't huge-huge like a body-builder but they're there. They're there. And visually appealing to anyone. Well, I do admire the beauty. I can't be biased because I hate him.

He pushes his hair back—as if he's inside the shower—turning around. His facial expressions are nonchalant in a—good way. It's not long before he's smiling at her in a silly way. "Stop eye raping me, Ariel."

Her aggrieved and grossed out expressions—she makes a sound and gesture of puking at him—forces her husband to chuckle heartily at her.

"Trust me—" I was eye raping you but that's not the point here. I'm going to follow Dadi's advice to lie sometimes for my good. She bats her eyelashes dramatically, as if she's a queen or princess, "—self-obsession is harmful." She leers at him mockingly and brushes her shoulder with his, arrogantly.

She settles herself on the bed when Kiaan replies. "It gives me immense joy—"

"—to be married to me? Yes, yes, I know." She interrupts with her theatrical voice, hands dismissively waving at him like he's a servant. Lower than her. Legs crossed at the end of the bed, hands flat on the bedsheet on her sides.

Kiaan's all smiles. "Yes—what? No! NO! Shut up." Why don't I listen properly? He rolls his shoulders up and down, warming his muscles up for another heated—in a good or bad way—argument. "—it gives me immense joy—"

"—to imagine sleeping next to me? Yes, yes. Of course. I'm pretty attractive—"

"Tu chup kar. Abhi!" He wants to bang his head on the wall. I thought I'd get on her nerves but this—this isn't going according to my plan! (You shut up. Right now.)

"Kyu? My voice is tem—" (Why?)

"Because you sound like a sheep. Hissing and rattling. And barking." He pulls his hair. I won't go bald, right?

Jaanvi's spotless eyebrows draw together and knit. "Sheep's don't bark. Dogs do. And Snakes hiss and r—"

He realizes he sounds like an idiot. He's annoyed and reacts quickly around her to piss her off—just the way she pisses him off—so he said whatever that first came in his head. "I was ch—checking your general knowledge." He looks away from her. "Point is, you get the point. Now let me complete my sentence."

His mouth parts to speak but Jaanvi unintentional speaks. "Hey! My general knowledge is fabulous. I took a class in year eleven—god! I got a hundred out of hundred in that class. Everyone was so jealous. One girl said 'uhh, she probably reads books all day because she's got no mother to scold her and—" Her innocent smile slips.

She lifts her eyes and gazes into Kiaan soft ones. He's quiet. Expressions soft—like a chocolate before you touch it and it sticks into your fingertips because it's melted—and painfully sympathetic but consoling too.

She swallows and clears her throat. Eyes roaming on the floor. Frightened to look into his kind eyes and spill into tears. He's the one person—the one person—she doesn't want to receive pity from. She's not a charity case. She's got no disorder or physical problem or anything wrong with her—she doesn't want this.

"—what were you saying? My he—hearts—" Eyes stinging in tears. She blinks and pauses. Collects her breath and stands up, turns away from him and begins arranging the bed to keep herself distracted. "—hearts generous for once. So, come on, talk."

His mouth dry. Speechless. You're doing it again, Ariel. She talks. Giggles. Mocks. Insults. Speaks boldly. Ends up saying something personal and honest and heart-breaking. Something that reminds her of her mother. And then she's quiet. Then she changes the topic. Starts joking again or fights. Uses humour to run from the horrible life she's living in.

He wanted to say, 'it gives me immense joy to know you finally came to realize self-obsession is harmful. So, for once, Your Highness, come out of your shell.' It doesn't seem appropriate now.

His tongue touches his mouth—sweeps as if to hydrate it—and then licks his lips. "Yeah, well, you—you're pretty clever." His eyes are on the floor too. Index finger hurriedly and accusingly lingers around the floor when she looks over her shoulders to get a glance at his expressions. It's like he's making a defensive point. For her. Supporting her.

Jaanvi doesn't remember when the last time someone called her clever was. She can't recall any memory of someone praising her for her intellectual brain. It makes her heart warm and soggy in a good way. She looks away. Smiling softly. Sadly. With a tiny bit of happiness.

Kiaan scans his eyes around the room to keep himself busy for a few minutes. He doesn't want to leave her alone after this conversation. He'll be her moral support. Just by his presence. But he finds nothing. So he stays standing. Awkwardly in his bedroom.

He watches her fixing the pillows and bedsheet—soothing the wrinkles from this morning—and tucks the bedsheet inside the mattress so it doesn't misplace.

She seems alright to him. As she shows. Kiaan takes that as a good sign. He saunters to his drawer, pulls it open and grabs his car keys. Ready to leave the bedroom.

He's halfway to the door. "Oh, and about that admiring you thing," Jaanvi's facing him. Annoyed. "Stop being so over-confident, Mr." Her arms are crossed, ready to give him a long earful lecture. "I wasn't staring at you in admiration, I was staring at you in pity."

She smirks at the sight of his shocked face. "You see, pity, because those poor; white shirt, black jeans and black and white shoes must be dying to get rid of you. They must hate covering your weird looking body. Leave that, I don't judge clothes. Where are you going?" She glances at the clock on his bedside drawer.

It's past eleven.

He has no comebacks so he adjusts with a, "Shut up. None of your business." He mutters gritting his teeth. She's so unpredictable. He begins to head out the door.

"Oh yes," Jaanvi exclaims walking to him. She stands before an annoyed Kiaan. "Business. I've heard your hotel is doing well, so, umm, let's become partners? What say?" She grins cheekily. And then she's giggling, clapping her hands. "Get it? Business partners and real-life partners?"

"No." He's stern.

"What 'no?'" Jaanvi mimics his voice. "Forgot we're marri—"

"Jaanvi, jus—shut up." He's getting irked.

"Your hotel—soon to be mine too—can promote my little beautiful café! What say? Good, nah?" She smiles licking her dry lips.

"O—okay." He didn't hear what she said. His full attention was on her naturally red lips as she speaks her mind.

"Okay?" She's stunned from the sudden brisk agreement. "Aren't you supposed to fight and argue with me? Like always?" He stays gazing her for more than two minutes, He doesn't respond, it irritates her. Jaanvi jerks his shoulder making him stumble back and hit the door.

"What was that?" He murmurs in a mad loud voice. She has temper issues just like him, he should know.

"Nothing." She gives him her most popular and annoyed look. "Sleep."

"No, I'm going out." He walks past her. Dodging her body from stopping him.

Jaanvi's one warning and determined tone has him halting. He freezes. "If you dare to step out of this house to get drunk you'll really regret your decision Kiaan. Don't take me as those innocent wives who obey their husbands because you know me. You'll regret it Kiaan, I mean it." He doesn't need to turn to confirm she's glaring at his back.

He sighs. Massages his temple and gulps—shove—the guilt down. "I won't change my lifestyle for someone else, Jaanvi. I want to be myself, I don't want to change in any way."

He doesn't wait for a reply. He doesn't need one. He storms out of their bedroom and jogs down the big stairs and drives away once he's sitting inside his car, Yet again, to get drunk at some club.

His wife stands there all alone as his body drifts away. She runs to their bedroom window—which gives a perfect view to the car park—and touches the glass with a face that looks seconds away from crying.

He slams the door shut. Starts the engine. Her heart cracks open. She's not sure why but Jaanvi hurries out of her bedroom, sprints down the stairs to stop him. Stop him from going. She clutches her saree—she's not used to wearing them—so she doesn't fall.

"Bhabhi?" (Sister-in-law)

She stops. She's around six steps away from reaching the living room. "Dh—Dhruv." Her voice is panicky. "H—He's going. Ag—Again." Urgent but miserable. Concerned but furious. That's how she sounds.

She's left defeated in every possible way. As a human being. As a wife, a friend, a female. She knows he's gone but her heart has hope. She makes her way down the stairs, pushes her hair back and opens the main door. Fresh cold wind breezes past her. She steps out. She's wrapped in an icy blanket of Mother Nature.

A whimper escapes from the bottom of her lungs. You don't need a homewrecker when alcohol exists. It works just fine. She gazes at the stars. Right, Mummy?

She stands in silent. Still. Lost. And vulnerable. Eyes peering at the gate from where Kiaan must have driven away from. Her saree's pallu dances at the tunes of the wind. In process sometimes touching her cold arm.

"I'm sorry." She hears his sad and shameful voice. She slowly turns. Dhruv's eyes are on his feet guilty. "I—I knew from the start about his drinking habits bu-but thought he'll change one day. I'm s—sorry Bhabhi." (Sister-in-law)

Betrayed. She feels betrayed.

She was told by Roshni about his drinking habits—once—but it wasn't exaggerated by her mother-in-law so Jaanvi took it as occasionally—but this is unbearable.

If she has to pick one person in this house who she can trust—blindly—because this person is mature, unselfish and direct then it'll be Dhruv. And what he says—the truth. The truth she always wants to hear from everyone mouth—has her heart shattered and eyes water.

She just lost a friend too. An acquaintance too.

Jaanvi can't describe how suffocated she feels because of the smell of alcohol. The thought of having to share her room and life with someone related to alcohol makes her gag.

"You knew?" Voice, deadpan.

He shivers at her unpleasant tone. "Yes."

"You kne—" She bites the inside of her cheeks. Her tongue betrays her from finishing her sentence. Her mouth wails at the revolution. She nods to herself, "You knew. You knew. You knew."

Dhruv's face creases in tension. He moves closer to comfort her but Jaanvi slaps him hard across the face. The slaps raging as it connects to his pale skin. He's surprised but at the same time, he's not. He'll probably have a dark print of her hand on his cheek for least a day or two.

The sensation of the slap burns his cheek and her hand. It tingles. It'll go soon but the scar in her heart and soul will remain forever. She wants him to defend himself. Say that he was lying. To react but he stays quiet. Eyes on the floor.

Jaanvi grabs a hold of his collar and stands close to him. "Why? Why did you never tell me or my father? He trusted you. I trusted you! We trust you! Everyone lied. Don't you think this was important to mention? To inform my father about your brother's habits? Your mother very subtle mentioned it but—bu—" her voice cracks.

She moves away from him. Mad at her foolishness of blindly trusting them. She covers her hysterically crying face. "My parents trusted you guys. My dead mother tr—"

A tear slips from his eyes. "Pl—please. Do—Don't. I swear I—" He begins with a throaty cracked voice.

"You didn't even consider our acquaintances once, did you? If you did I wouldn't feel betrayed." He looks away. Accepting his mistake. "We grew up together, Dhruv. Together. How could you just hand me over to someone—I thought my humiliation in childhood would be the end. I thought my adulthood would be much better and—and smooth. Like others. But you watched me being married off to some drunk man. You watched, Dhruv! You were meant to be my—my—" her lips viciously tremble in sadness and anger. She cries her heart out. "—brother."

He stands in shock at her honesty and actions. Brother? They barely spoke as kids but Dhruv would always—whenever he wanted to—support Jaanvi like a friend. He wouldn't laugh at her like Kiaan did. He didn't tease her. He was a good and nice person to be around without having to communicate with him.

Maybe it was her fault to imagine him as a brother. She thought that's how brothers are meant to be. Right? Caring but careful not to look obvious about it. He deserves this reaction.

"All my life I was called names, l—like 'Mute's daughter, whitey, oh look, the mental's daughter!' Later, I was known as 'Kiaan Rajput's toy!'" His eyes grow wide. Astonished. "Yeah I—I was known as his toy. You guys left b—but I was there. Here. I listened to a—all of them. And now guess what? I probably am his toy." If a sorrowful smile could kill he'd be six feet under.

"Jaa—"

"No!" She raises her hand stopping him. "All I ever wanted was a nice husband, Dhruv, that's all I wanted! Your brother's nowhere near that. 'You can change my Kiaan,' who am I? Some doctor? Or what, God? How will I change someone who's not ready to even talk to me properly? This is all because of every single one of you. Everything." Her tears are like the river. Steaming down uncontrollably.

"Just because I'm not someone's sister doesn't mean I shouldn't be protected. Just because I'm not your sister doesn't mean you can talk about me. Because I am someone. To someone."

____

Getting the club address from Dhruv she walks inside the loud place wearing an elegant black dress which reaches three inches above her knees with a low neckline. Her hair is left open as always. Her dress paired with black classic heels.

Jaanvi scans the place. She sees men and women. Sixty per cent of the club is occupied with men around twenty-seven plus to thirty-eight. Kiaan's twenty-seven. His age isn't important but she seems to think of it.

She steps farther into the club. The loud music is starting to get on her nerves—already—making her wonder how on earth Kiaan deals with it. Her head is reacting to the strong smell of the alcohol being served to people. She's already a little dizzy in the crowd.

I bet these people went through a breakup.

Everyone's busy around her. A woman's shoulder brushes on Jaanvi's and she flinches back. The woman walks past without uttering a sorry. Excuse me? Common sense? No? Kiaan likes this place? Ew!

People are either dancing—weirdly according to Jaanvi—or making-out, drinking and yelling or just staring at people. Jaanvi has had her shares of adventurist moment but attending a club had never been in her bucket list. It's too loud and too crowded for her liking.

Things I have to do for you Kiaan. I swear to god, one day you're going to accept how lucky you are to have me.

Jaanvi bumps into someone. "Sorry." She apologetically smiles at the man in front of her wearing a white shirt and dark blue jeans. The—Jaanvi's—smile's polite, maybe that's why he smiles back because his face describes arrogance. His huge body, gelled hair and tall height—supposedly few inches shorter than Kiaan—stands before her.

Jaanvi's the only female in this club without a drink in her hand or an over-dramatic dress. Her dress is so simple—maybe too simple for a place this—and this attracts this young man's attention to her.

His smile grew wider hearing the sound of her velvet silky voice. Everything about her screams educated and classy. "It's okay." He nods. The smile remains intact. His eyes slip to her empty hand with only her phone. "Let me buy you a drink." He offers.

Jaanvi's eyes grow wide, "Uh, umm no. N—No th—thanks." She can't tell this stranger, 'Oh hey, I'm just here to piss my bastard of a husband, knowing the fact how much I hate alcohol! So, no thank you.'

"Please, I insist." He presses politely. His smile is harmless.

She bites her lips nervously. Her anxious and desperate eyes gawk from one corner to another for her husband. This man, standing in front of her doesn't look drunk but Jaanvi has trust issues. Her morals wouldn't allow her to wander around the club with a stranger even though she's safe around everyone.

"N—No—yeah, sure. I'd like that actually." Her sentence takes a drastic U-turn spotting Kiaan sitting in front of a bartender holding a glass. Her eyes pull out of the socket instantly because of the glass shimmering with liquid. Alcohol?

The man doesn't care about her threats. She finds it strange and a little irking that her brother-in-law, Dhruv, takes her more seriously than her life partner should.

All she asked—pleaded—him was to not drink. Was it too big of a deal? She hates to openly admit it to her heart but his

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