They all moved into a group hug, leaving Karan standing slightly aside, watching them with quiet affection. He loved their bond, their friendship, their connection. This, he realised, was what a family truly was.
And he was grateful.
Both Mishti and he had grown up without the warmth of a wholesome family like this. Now, they had built one of their own. And they had each other for a lifetime.
****************
It was already night when Mishti returned after saying goodnight to the rest of the group. Now that she had finally patched things up with Rajat and Abhimanyu, the day had turned out to be unexpectedly wonderful. She had spent hours laughing and talking with everyone, consciously keeping herself away from Karan and from the room they were supposed to share. Even Karan had remained occupied with VK for most of the day, overseeing the wedding preparations. Now, as she stepped inside the room, he was seated on the couch, his laptop open, working quietly.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt the shift in the air again. This was the first time she would be living with him in the same room, and just the thought of it stirred memories she wished she could forget.Bitter ones.Memories of the countless times she had questioned Karan about why he never allowed her to share his bedroom. Only she knew how deeply those replies of his had hurt her back then, how humiliating and painful they had been.
Unable to hold those memories back any longer as they clawed at her even now, she moved toward the dressing table and began removing her bangles, ready to end the day, change, and sleep. She was exhausted in every possible way. That was when Karan walked to the closet and pulled out a large box. He brought it toward her, and the moment she saw it, she knew what it was. The same lehenga she had tried on at the boutique the other day while shopping with Avni. The one whose veil Karan had lifted so tenderly to see her face.
She looked at him, questioning, when he spoke.
“I want you to wear it at Avni’s wedding,” he said.
Mishti looked at the lehenga, then back at him. Carefully masking her emotions, she replied, “Thanks. I don’t want it.”
“Why?” he asked, clearly struggling to keep his irritation in check. “It’s red. Your favourite colour.”
“As you said the other day…Some choices change with time,” she replied and turned away.
Karan placed the box down on the bed, fully aware that she was testing his temper. “Stop testing my patience, Mishti,” he said. “I know you like red. I know you love that lehenga and want it. Just becauseIbought it for you doesn’t mean you have to reject it.”
She turned back sharply. “Stop giving yourself so much importance to think I’d reject something just because it came from you. And now, get out. I need to change.”
Now Karan fumed. Had she really just asked him to get out? Instead of moving, he dropped into the recliner, spreading himself comfortably, and looked at her calmly.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’m not looking.”
Mishti’s jaw dropped. Even saying he wouldn’t look was wrong, because he didn’t mean it. He was already staring at her, seated in that dominant posture of his, as though waiting for her to change right there in front of him.
“I won’t give you that liberty,” she snapped. “You don’t get to see me change, even if I’m your wife. You lost that right a long time ago.”
He rose from the recliner and strode toward her angrily, but she shoved him hard onto the bed and walked back to the closet. Picking up her nightwear, she hurried into the bathroom instead, knowing very well he wasn’t going to move his arse out of the room. Not because she wanted him to. She knew him far too well.
Even after she came out of the bathroom, changing, Mishti remained remarkably controlled. So much, that it completely took Karan by surprise.
She followed her nightly routine, as if she were alone. He watched her standing before the dressing mirror, calm, as she reached for the body lotion. She made a conscious effort not to look at him even once.
Karan was back on the couch, his laptop open on his knees. On the surface, he appeared to be working, scrolling through files, fingers moving across the keyboard. In reality, his attention was nowhere near the screen. His eyes were fixed on her.
Mishti slipped on her Bluetooth EarPods and took a call, as she spoke to her team back at theSahara Foundationin London. She discussed work matters, deadlines, and updateswith one of her staff members, completely immersed in the conversation.
Karan listened to her, and then his fingers stilled mid-motion when he saw her move to the small ottoman near the mirror and sit down. She was dressed in a silk nightshirt and matching pants. To apply the lotion, she lifted the fabric of her pants to her knees, entirely oblivious to the fact that his gaze had darkened at the sight of that, and locked onto her.
Mishti was lost in her phone call, smiling gently as she spoke, unaware of the effect she was having on him.
While Karan Wadhwa had never felt more seduced. Although she wasn’t exposing anything overtly intimate, yet, the way she applied the lotion, rubbing it slowly into her skin, smoothing it over her legs with slow, unhurried strokes of her palms, was enough to undo him. The softness of her movements, the curve of her fingers, the ease on her face as she spoke into the phone, he saw it all. And his restraint began to crack.
Fast.
He wanted to cross the distance between them, kneel before her, lift her feet and rest them on his thigh, to take the lotion from her hands and apply it himself. He wanted his hands on her smooth skin more than he could explain.
Correction.
He wanted his hands andhis mouth, both, on her.
