Typed: 16/12/2023
Chapter 18: The Shower

Author's POV:

He came back from his usual morning runs an hour ago, showered and has made chai for everyone. It's not the first time Yug is making tea on a Sunday but it's the first time for Khushi. He'd walked into his brother's room first, nagging him to wake up and had said, "chai's by your lamp, not get now."

He's now in his bedroom. He places the chai on top of their drawer and rubs his hand over her hair. "Khush, wake up." His voice is low. When she doesn't stir, he whispers close to her ear, "Khushi, wake up, I've made chai." He kisses her ear and cheeks, helping her up shortly afterwards.

His wife yawns and rubs her eyes, staring out of the window. "How was your run?" It's not a question now, it's obvious he's been out.

He smiles, handing her the warm cup. "Good." He doesn't sit beside her, instead, Yug sits in front of her. "How'd you sleep?" She fell asleep instantly after having boiled milk last night. She's clinged into Yug the whole night.

She shrugs her shoulders, sipping the hot chair. "It's really nice and strong." There's a small smile lingering in her lips and it meets his eyes. She's smiling but it affects him so much that his eyes light up.

He shrugs his shoulders, as if to say, of course, it is. I made it. He tucks strands of her hair behind her ear, grinning at her. When his wife asks why he's smiling, he rolls his shoulders back, "I'm smiling because I get to make you chai every morning for the rest of my life and wake you up." There's this childlike innocence in his eyes and face that touches Khushi's heart.

She blinks away the overwhelmness she feels and continues drinking her chai. "Kamla di doesn't work on Sundays, I'm thinking I should mak—"

"I'm thinking we order food and watch movies."

Khushi rolls her eyes at the suggestion, "there goes all your money," she mumbles. "And I thought I was marrying a rich man."

"Exactly what I thought about you."

They both laugh at each other comic timing. Once she finished her chai, Khushi got up and extended her hand to take his cup too. He gives it up and stops her by holding the hem of her top. She stays in place, waiting. "I want you to share stuff with me. Anything. From the past or present. Okay?" The okay isn't just an okay—it sounds like I love you.

Khushi debates. It's clear her father has told him so she has to. But how does she? Their marriage began on the wrong foot—yes, he accepted her. He's respectful and they're close, they even shared their bodies with one another numerous times now but it doesn't change the fact that he couldn't accept it. This marriage wasn't organic. Their relationship is starting to become organic but Khushi can't risk it.

You can't hide it forever too. He'd know. He'll see her back one day. She's been grateful that Yug's been respectful towards her wishes—her preferences and leaves the lights turned off but how long?

No matter how careful Khushi walks, she's acknowledged to herself that she loses control around and with Yug because he's so—he's so him. He's so honest not just with words—anybody can pretend or master the art of communicating—but his actions are evidence that he's so honest. He has integrity.

When the marriage proposal had come, Khushi was anxious. She had been abused, physically, mentally and emotionally. Her body had gone through fracture after fracture, long treatments—one after another to bring her back to her usual self.

Being married meant not only sharing your life and money and home but body. She feared it. But every time he'd called her and messaged her, nothing suggested that Yug would exploit her. In fact, not one conversation had he turned sexual even as a joke.

Yug was always proper and classy—still is. Yet, yet Khushi thought she'd wait. She'd get used to him. Especially after he confessed he wasn't aware he was marrying her. She thought she had her mind fixed—fixed that she could not trust anyone this quickly after everything.

But it was Yug. It was Yug. Not only did he make her feel safe physically but emotionally too. Every time he tried to touch her, even her cheeks, she saw how he'd do it slowly, seeking permission. He always asked for consent. Even now. So how could she refuse the warmth, the acceptance, the love that she felt oozing out of him?

She liked being with Yug. She loves being with him. She loves his aura, more importantly, she loves it when he touches her and she touches him back. How could she trade it all for the mistake her parents made.

"Of course," she says convincingly. "Of course, I would share everything with you."

She can't tell whether he's convinced or not. He hides his expressions and Khushi doesn't bother to unwrap them one by one.

~

"How's Mr. Husband?" Pihu asks excitedly after handing Khushi her coffee. Pihu initially found Yug mysterious and weird because he kept staring at the Courthouse. It wasn't until Khushi had told her that he was her groom.

Her friend's eyebrows wiggle impatiently. "He's good," Khushi can't hide her smile in her coffee mug. "He's at work, he'll leave early today though and pick me up. His brother's going out so he's planned something. I don't know, some surprise of some sort." Despite her best efforts, she can't hide her zeal. Khushi's never been out on a date—nobody has ever surprised her or done anything romantic for her, so this was new.

As she stared at the wooden counter, she admitted to herself that though Yug wasn't her first, he was her first for everything new. Everything pleasures. Everything that oozed in passion and stimulation of not just the body but soul and heart. 

"He sounds hopelessly romantic," Pihu gushed, putting her elbow on the counter, chin resting in her hand, gazing at Khushi dreamily.

Khushi wacked her arm making her laugh. She couldn't hide her own joy. "He is. He's very—" she gazes at the lamp by a table and licks her lips, "—him."

"I won't be surprised if you're pregnant in a month."

It's the casualness in her friend's tone that Khushi can't hide her gapped face. "What—no." She firmly says. Then she thinks. They both want kids, they'd discussed it but they never discussed when. She made a mental note to speak to her husband about it tonight. "Absolutely not. He's too—" she wanted to say selfish. Yug was not someone she could negotiate with—no matter how hard to tried—in bed. He was ruthlessly selfish and wanted everything according to his wishes. He'd give Khushi her four minutes of joy taking control and then he'd come back in action.

"He's too what?"

She blushes furiously, "nothing." She looks at her wristwatch and starts getting up, "my break is nearly over. I will see you tomorrow."

"Tuesday it is."

She repeats it as a promise, "Tuesday it is."

~

They have the whole house to themselves. The couple had finished having dinner, dinner that her husband had cooked today. When he walks into their bedroom, Khushi blushes so hard that his heart starts gushing with sweetness. The artist that he was, he would record her blush as the kind of blue that was like a poem to his fond soul.

"Khushi, you've seen me in less clothes, please." It only makes her chuckle and continue blushing. Yug was wearing pants and a navy blue apron. No shirt. When she'd asked him why he was not wearing a shirt, he had said; let me cook. This is my signature dress. Apron and pants. Let me embody the chefness inside of me. And then he'd wagged the wooden spoon, pushing her out the door.

"You've finished cooking, we've eaten, now please, Mr. Chef, change."

He tosses himself on the bed, head on his hand, holding his weight up by his elbow. He eyes his wife as she ties her hair in a bun. "I was thinking of sleeping like this."

"And dirtying the bedsheet with those stains on your apron?"

"Do not accuse me with your finger," he says ludicrously. He looks down at his apron and gets up, "I really should put it in the washing though." Khushi nods, "and then I should have a shower." She agrees, again. "Alright, I'll put this in the machine and then we'll have a shower." She nods, taking her glasses off, and staring at her reflection in the mirror.

"Wait, what?" He's already rushing to the laundry. "I am not having a shower with you." She calls out. When he doesn't respond she yells so he can hear her clear and loud, "I'm serious."

"And I am too," he picked her up before Khushi could register anything and walked inside the bathroom. "You're so rigid, Khushi, learn to chill." He mocks, making silly faces.

Khushi's in his arms, tightly held, "I've already had a shower and so have you. And I am chill," she complains, lying, knowing too well she's the opposite. "Be a nice person and leave me."

"Did you not hear me on Saturday night?" She makes a confused face. "I'm never letting you go. Rings a bell?"

Khushi makes a face, pinching his neck and he squirms. "Don't manipulate me. That was a different context, Yug."

"Regardless," he holds her so effortlessly. He fixes the lights on from his knuckles and runs the shower. Khushi's eyes go wide and she protests and simpers, warning him that if she's wet she will sue him. "If you sue me, I'm not giving you my property. Ever."

"You barely have anything," she declares. She moves her hand around the bathroom, and he follows her hands, "there is no jacuzzi here, and you call yourself rich? Please." Her please is so mocking because she rolls her eyes and for the first time in their marriage, Yug sees the real Khushi. The Khushi that hadn't been made comfortable, welcomed and loved enough to share this side of herself with anyone.

She did with him. She did feel comfortable, welcomed and loved by Yug that's why she's so carefree right now. So sarcastic. So her.

"I am prosecuting you for insulting my bathroom."

"That's not how it works—"

And in she went. Under the shower, Khushi's nothing but wet. Her mouth is wide open trying to process what he's just done. Her black kurta clings to her body as she soaks under the water. The hair-tie unable to handle the pressure of the water pulls her hair down. "YUG," she screamed.

Yug nearly slipped on his back due to laughter. Her reaction was undoubtedly the funniest thing about her. "Yaar, look at your fac—"

She pulled him to her, soaking his pants too. "How dare you," but she's not angry, she trying to be but her smile slips. This had to be the most childish and stupid situation she's ever been in but it felt like a small part of her childhood that she may have missed has been fulfilled.

Eyes heavy because of the pressure of the water, they were both soaked and cold but didn't make a move to get out and change. There was this intensity in their eye contact that they have grown fond of and mutually share but there was a different wave to it today. An electrifying wave.

Yug goes in for a kiss. Her husband's hand finds her neck and the other her waist. As the water droplets drip down their faces and into their clothes, the two kiss away the jokes they've just shared. The kiss—their first kiss underwater—was so tender that they felt the world had or should stop spinning like their hearts. They could feel each other heartbeats increasing, Yug felt her in his chest but his hand too because it touched her as his hands were on her neck.

It was the burst of love that they were yet to confess or maybe they never will say it out loud because their mouths and their bodies have said it over and over again. Though chills ran down their soaked body, the mutual connection and need for one another was strong.

Khushi snaked her hand dangerously close to the waistband of his pants, the other on his upper back, pulling him close to her as she tilted her face to fasten the pace of their lips dancing. Yug pulled his lips away from hers and kissed down her jaw, grazing it with his hands too, mumbling a lot of sweet and encouraging things in her ear and she moaned into the water. He kissed and swallowed the water that dripped from her lips down to her jaw, accepting everything of his wife's.

He drops to her collarbone, sucking onto it. "Take it off." He ordered running his hand over her body on top of her kurta. When Khushi makes no move but rather shoves him more to herself, he pulls away from her and drops to his knees, pulling her kurta up. He's gotten used to her clothes and how to take them off but it was difficult when it clinged to her body like a bodysuit under the water. "Tell me if it hurts," he rips it off in one go and she doesn't make a sound.

One looks of his wife under the shower and he knew this would be their most treasured activity from now on. He couldn't thank his brother enough for not being home. He seized her lips and neck again, dropping wet kisses, hands on her waist, pushing her leggings down.

They couldn't tell whether their bodies were producing sweat or it was just the water. Yug pulls her hair tie, dropping it in the shower somewhere, pushing her hair back, kissing her mouth softly, tenderly and patiently. Khushi tilted his face, kissing him back in sync until she gave into her own desires. She kissed his jaw, touching the sharpness of it, her hands sliding desperately low from his neck to his chest, to his abs and the waistband of his pants.

She runs her tongue over his chest, leaving tiny hickeys and when she looks satisfied with herself, she teases him with her tongue. Yug lets out a terse moan, "Khushi, don't. Tease. Me." His hands act otherwise though because he lets them disappear in her hair and keep her in place.

When she unzips his pants and slides her hand inside, he violently pushes her to the wall, the water suddenly feels too cold for his burning hot body to handle, "turn around," but he does it himself. He grabs her wrists and turns her face to the cold marble tiles in his bathroom. She grins to herself in pride. She has an effect on him.

Yug started kissing the nape of her neck, making his way down when he felt a slight dip. Her usual smooth body didn't feel so smooth but scratchy. He couldn't explain it so he opened his eyes properly.

Her husband's mouth opened wide in shock. He swallowed. Khushi wiggled, impatient. He lets go of her wrists and moves back a little. He unclasps her bra and runs his hand down where the biggest scar is. He'd only touched one or many.

His fingertips tingled her. They were effortlessly gentle and lagging, Khushi found this teasing but didn't complain. He thought his finger would stop trailing down but it continued. One particular scar was bigger than the other ones. They all looked like the shape of a knife but this one—it looked so raw, just above her waist.

"Khushi," he rasp, urgently. He begs himself to wake up. To believe this is a dream. It has to be a dream.

"Hmm"

"Your back." She stilled. She realised. He saw her back. The lights her on. He saw her back. "Your back has—has endless scars, Khushi. Khushi—what are these." When he turns his wife to face him and give him an honest answer, he's not sure whether they're both crying or it's just the water. "Tell me. And be very fucking honest."

The Unwanted Bride

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