IPKKND OS: Slip of Tongue
Sangeet was supposed to be a friendly family ritual.
A charming little dance competition between the bride's and groom's sides - a harmless pre-wedding tradition to bond, laugh, and mildly embarrass oneself on stage while attempting vaguely synchronized Bollywood moves.
Again, that's what it was supposed to be.
Until Arnav Singh Raizada decided to turn it into Dance India Dance: Apocalypse Edition over a mere challenge by Khushi Kumari Gupta.
Who now stood in the middle of Shantivan’s garden, lehenga flaring, bangles clinking with her hands on hips, chin jutted out and eyes ablaze with moral indignation.
"You are a cheater!" she yelled at his back.
Arnav Singh Raizada didn’t bother to look up from his phone.
“This is a family dance competition!” Khushi yelled again.
“Yeah, excuse me-,” Arnav signaled NK, "NK please tell her it's a competition and Khushi... try to keep up.”
Khushi gasped at his insult. Trust Arnav to find inventive ways of ridiculing her!
"Haan Nanheji, what else can a talentless man do?" Khushi smiled as Arnav stiffened, turned slowly toward her, arms folded, jaw sharp enough to slice through the tension.
Now, she had his attention.
"Excuse me?" he said, like her accusation had personally offended his entire bloodline.
The said bloodline had stopped whatever they were doing in the name of dancing and watched the battle that was yet to begin.
Khushi marched toward him, dupatta flying like a battle flag. "You’ve flown in professional choreographers and actors for Jiji's wedding?! Who does that? It’s a wedding, not Jhalak Dikhhla Ja!"
Arnav took a single step forward and stopped her march, his eyes zeroed straight on hers.
The intensity always, always, threw her off.
But it was not the time to think of those things. Her accusations had barely begun!
Regaining her composure she began her tirade, "So what’s next, backup dancers in silver jumpsuits? Fireworks? Smoke machines?!"
"You're overreacting," Arnav replied, going back to his phone for a message from Aman.
"Oh, am I?" she snatched his phone. "You are not even calling actors who are Jiji and Jijaji's favorite - no, no you're straight up calling Hrithik Roshan AND Shahid Kapoor to perform in OUR SANGEET FROM YOUR END. HOW DARE YOU! HEY DEVI MAIYYA THEY ARE NOT EVEN FAMILY."
"Do they remember it's our sangeet?" Akash whispered to Payal.
"Akash ji, I don't think they even remember this is our wedding." Payal replied, hoping Buaji isn't around to whack Khushi for yelling at Arnav.
Even if he deserved it.
"Khushi, just accept that you're afraid of losing." Arnav grabbed both her wrists with one hand, plucked his phone from her fingers and smirked at Khushi, who had turned red in rage.
Khushi scoffed, and freed her hands from his. "Oh it's not me who is afraid of losing. Because you wouldn’t need to ‘win’ so desperately by hiring others if you could actually dance. Admit it. You’ve got two left feet and a fragile ego."
He stepped closer, just enough to crowd her personal space - not that Khushi ever backed down.
"You think I can’t beat you on that stage?" he said, nostrils flaring at her insult.
"You?" She laughed. "Even Lakshmi ji can dance better than you-" on cue, the goat blared nearby. Arnav, for once, really craved a mutton biryani. Khushi gave Lakshmi a high five in the air.
Arnav's jaw twitched. "Khushi-"
"What?"
"On that stage, I could you eat you out in a sec-"
His mouth clamped shut a second too late.
Silence.
A pause.
Then, full stop.
Arnav’s breath caught.
His eyes widened fractionally.
Khushi blinked.
Arnav blinked.
They blinked at each other.
The world froze. Akash looked like he'd swallowed his own tongue. Payal had turned a curious shade of crimson. Anjali faintly murmured, “Not like this Chhote...” NK wheezed with barely-contained laughter.
Khushi's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again like a dying fish.
Then - in what could only be described as a tactical retreat - Arnav turned on his heel and walked away.
-- -- --
Arnav didn’t sleep that night. He lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling like it had wronged him.
He tried to be logical. Maybe she didn’t know what it meant.
Maybe she was just embarrassed because he’d shouted something vaguely weird in public.
Maybe—
No.
Khushi, had very briefly, looked at his lips before he left.
He had heard the slightest, softest gasp.
Which was worse - making an image lodge itself in his brain.
Khushi.
Under him.
Eyes dark.
Lips parted.
Calling his name. In soft, sweet, gasps.
He flung a pillow over his face.
This was torture.
-- -- --
The next morning, the rest of the family acted like nothing had happened - bless their collective denial.
But Khushi?
She acted like he was contagious.
If he stepped into the kitchen, she evaporated. If he glanced at her across the room, she snapped her head away like he was staring into her soul.
And while ignorance was bliss, a part of him felt like an apology was due. Even if that apology was like a thousand thorns on his tongue.
He wouldn't want to embarrass Khushi in public.
-- -- --
Khushi drowned herself in jalebis. Walked into a tree. Told Payal she was just “hot” when she was visibly sweating bullets.
“We need to talk,” Arnav said - having appeared from nowhere. How does he keep doing that?
Khushi spun, startled. "Talk?"
"About yesterday."
"What are you even talking about?" she said, too fast. Too fake. Arnav rolled his eyes at her terrible lie.
"Khushi, you know what I meant.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her cheeks flushed.
And then she exploded.
“Is that what you want?! A girl who doesn’t know anything? A clueless little thing you can shock and corrupt and then brag about? Is that your thing, Arnav Singh Raizada?!”
He took a sharp step back. “What the f—? No!”
“You want some poor naive girl who doesn’t even know what it means so you can-so you can teach her?! You disgusting, horrible, cocky, ALPHA MALE- no-flower-giving, no-dating, no-LOVE-having—"
“Khushi-”
“—Laad Governor with no heart and no shame and - what the hell kind of man are you?!”
"THE ONE WHO WANTS TO SAY SORRY."
That made her pause.
He took a slow breath, the kind that meant he was gearing up to be serious. “I shouldn’t have said that. Not like that. Not in public.”
“And I just needed you to know that,” he added, almost awkwardly.
Khushi didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “It's not that Arnav ji...”
That made him look up.
“What does make me want to hurl a chappal at your handsome face is that Arnav Singh Raizada doesn’t even know how to date someone!”
He blinked. “What?”
“To what extent must I analyze you? Where are the flowers? Where’s asking a girl out with words and not…LED screens and groin-level hip thrusts?”
“I didn’t hip-thrust at you.”
“You THOUGHT about it.”
He looked genuinely offended. “What the f-no, I didn’t! What's wrong with you?”
“What's wrong with me is that you're not normal!” she cried. “You’re the kind of man who seduces women by glaring at them across rooms and then wonders why we’re all confused! What am I supposed to do, Laad Governor? Paint a signboard that says FLIRT WITH ME, YOU BRICK WALL?”
He stared at her. “You want me to flirt with you?”
“YOU’RE MISSING THE POINT.”
"You have a point?"
"I do! You can't even take me out and you're straight into eat-" Khushi clamped her hands over her mouth.
"Hey Devi Maiyya," she shrieked, and fled with her dignity on the floor.
Arnav stood in stunned silence.
And then slowly, a smile crept across his face.
Because she had just handed him the playbook.
-- -- --
That night, Khushi curled up under her blanket with a mountain of jalebis and a heart rate comparable to a dhol beat.
What had come over him? What had come over her?!
How had they gone from talking about a dance competition to... to whatever in the world these things are.
And he didn't have to apologize. They both were had foot in the mouth disorder.
She tried reading a romance novel.
Mistake.
The hero's name was Arman. And in Chapter 4, he was eating strawberries off the heroine’s-
She threw the book across the room. Then quickly rescued it and put it in her secret drawer. She would die before anyone got to know what she read.
Clutching her dupatta, she tried to screw her eyes shut to sleep.
She was in a red saree. The pallu floated like in the wind. A man stood by a rain-soaked window, transparent white shirt clinging to his chest in a way that would definitely get a sanskaar warning on Doordarshan. 'Teri Meri' swelled in the background. She ran into his arms. There was spinning. Wrist-grabbing. A full-blown neck kiss that would put SRK to shame. Wait... why did the man look familiar? And then, with one hand, Arnav... Arnav! reached behind and tugged at the dori of her blouse.
Khushi sat up in bed with a gasp.
“Hai Devi Maiyya!”
Hands over her mouth. Wide-eyed. Very, very awake.
And so incredibly flustered.
She couldn’t face him.
She wouldn’t face him.
-- -- --
Devi Maiyya disagreed.
Khushi and her friend had practiced 'Teri Meri' as a mockery. As to how Jijaji and Jiji didn't really have a conflict but created this dramatic love story out of nothingness.
But the funny commentary CD and her friend - were both delayed so she was left on the stage in her green saree and just the original soundtrack.
And Arnav showed up. Sans the actors and choreographers - who were apparently cancelled last minute.
Arnav and Khushi danced.
He made her feel the rhythm.
And Khushi's heart absolutely misbehaved.
Because he let her win in more ways than one.
-- -- --
Khushi ran into the guest room, clutching her heart and knocking over carpet into the bed where there were a few things.
A white rose, a box of jalebis, a long rectangular box that she suspected had bangles and a handwritten note that was impossible to decipher.
Blue Orchid, 8pm, Saturday?
She stared at the note for three solid minutes.
She squeaked. Then panicked. Then almost fainted. Then screamed into a pillow and promptly knocked over a stack of bangles.
And of course — at that exact moment — he walked in.
"Khushi."
"Ji Arnav ji," she panted, snapping back to poise like she hadn’t just done the Macarena of joy.
"Tum theek ho?" She nodded so hard at his question that her head could've nearly fallen off.
And then, he stepped in.
Arnav Singh Raizada, in all his devastating, smirking calm.
“Uh… someone left this,” she said, clutching the note like a weapon.
Arnav raised his eyebrow. So this is how she was going to play it.
"Someone?" He asked.
"Someone," Khushi shrugged, twisting the end her saree between her poor fingers.
"Khushi. Kumari. Gupta." Arnav punctuated each word with a step towards her, making her hit the wall behind her.
"N-not like this." Khushi whispered, closing her eyes.
"But Khushi... if not like this-" Arnav tucked her hair behind her ear, "then how will I tell you that-"
Khushi gripped his hands, hoping whatever Arnav was planning quickly got over-no-no-it lasted long enough for him to not change his mind!
Hey Devi Maiyya she was not ready for a kiss! She needed at least five more minutes to scream.
"T-tell me what A-Arnav ji?"
"That Di is calling you downstairs." Arnav stepped back and hid a smile at her obvious disappointment.
Khushi turned red - this time in anger - and picked up the rectangle box to fling it at him.
"Khushi! The bangles will break!" Arnav ducked.
"HA! YOU BOUGHT IT FOR ME!" Khushi cheered,
"I knew it! And who leaves notes without signing their name? What if it was for someone else? What if someone else wrote this? Must I assume everything written around me is by you? You and your God complex. And okay this is cute... but-but I don't know why you're doing this. Tell me why? You can buy these things for me but can you tell me-"
She stopped.
Because Arnav had leaned in and kissed her cheek. Quiet. Certain. Just once.
It was over before she could inhale.
"I hope that answers your questions," he murmured.
Khushi blinked. Brain buffering. And then, on impulse, she stood on tiptoe and planted a quick, nervous kiss on his cheek too.
Arnav - who had faced boardrooms, buyouts, and Buaji - actually looked startled.
"I-uh-okay so if we're doing this, then-then you can’t just show up in your car. Buaji will have a heart attack. And Happy ji’s garage is too crowded, also oil stains. No, no, maybe you stand near the paan stall and I 'coincidentally' come for... for tamarind-no, that’s not believable-OH DEVI MAIYYA."
Arnav folded his arms, watching her with quiet disbelief and far too much fondness.
"Khushi."
She looked up, mid-rant.
"It's not a heist. Just a dinner."
"It’s not just dinner! It’s our first proper-thing. And our families are nosy. And your face is too famous. And I panic around candlelight. And I don’t know what fork to use. And-"
"Khushi."
"Haan?!"
"We’ll go to dinner."
"That's what I’m trying to figure out!"
"In Delhi. Like adults. I’ll pick you up at 8. Ring the bell. Say hello to Buaji. Like a normal human man. She won't question me at all"
He reached for her hand and linked their fingers. Gently, not claiming. Just there.
She stared at their joined hands.
"...Okay, but if Buaji throws a chappal at you, I did warn you."
"I’ll bring a helmet."
Khushi laughed.
"Fine," she muttered, cheeks pink. "Come at 8. Ring the bell. Say you’re here to discuss… lights. Wedding lights. That’s believable, right?"
"Not even a little."
"Whatever, just bring jalebis. She’ll forgive anything. You're beginning to be her favorite anyway - ever since your advertisement for the steel factory. And if nothing else, praise the company or the fabric of the sarees she stiches." Khushi chuckled.
Only Arnav could defend the Guptas gift by citing the revenue of the company that made the steel thali.
He laughed under his breath. "Okay."
"And," she added, voice soft, "don’t forget to bring yourself."
"Khushi... I think that's the plan."
-- -- --
Khushi wore the bangles that night.
And the next day.
And to the mandap rehearsals and while eating laddoos and while yelling at NK about choreo counts. She wore them to sleep, even though Payal teased her about it.
One night, Arnav noticed.
He was helping her up after she tripped over yet another strategically misplaced rug in Shantivan.
"You're still wearing these?" he asked, catching her wrist.
Khushi shrugged. “They’re pretty. They go with everything.”
“You wear them all the time?” he asked casually, eyes flicking to the glass bangles.
Khushi looked down. “Haan. All the time.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Impossible.”
“Oh, it is very possible!” she huffed. “While eating, yelling, dancing, fighting - oh, remind me to tell you how Hari Prakash ji said jalebis can't be sugar-free, I mean who is the halwai's daughter here? Anyway, yes, fighting, sleeping, bathing-”
Arnav smirked and stepped closer. “Bathing?”
Khushi blinked.
Blushed.
Internally screamed.
The fairy lights blinked rapidly between them like scandalised chaperones.
"Sir, I need these files-" Aman, the savior (and sautan when he called right when Arnav and Khushi tried kissing, again), showed up in time and helped Khushi run away in mortification.
Because Arnav was right.
Apart from the fact that the chime of these bangles told her that everything was a reality, there was something else that Khushi felt too intensely in her heart when these were the only pieces of jewelry she wore in a bath, or clinked in between her very very unsanskaari dreams at night.
Now all she had to do was wait, wait for Jiji's marriage and tell the family about the latest development.
-- -- --
(": THE END :")
Tagging the usuals (pls mention if you’d like to be tagged - also this is a new list so if I’m forgetting anyone - sorry!)
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