"That's it," Anjali exclaimed to Shyam. "I have had enough of Chhote and his self-destructive ways. Just look at this," she stated, flinging a bunch of papers towards her husband. Her husband casually picked them up, leafed through them and put them back where he found them. And all Anjali could do was stare at his nonchalant demeanor towards the information she had just shared with him.

"What?" inquired Shyam, looking at her flabbergasted expression. And when he didn't get a response to his question, he asked again: "What is it that you want me to do?"

"Some consolation and advice would be nice," said Anjali sulking. "I know I don't dote over him and ask silly questions all the time, but that doesn't mean I don't care about my brother.

"These are the latest reports from his doctor. His diabetes levels are shooting through the roof and if he continues his ungodly regimen of eating whenever, no sleeping and drinking that ghastly black coffee of his, he will very soon be spending his last days in the VIP section of the hospital his foundation owns."

Shyam was amused. This was a monthly occurrence. His brother-in-law, Arnav Singh Raizada, was a juvenile diabetic, a condition they found out about when he was 15 years old, right after their parents' death. Since then, his blood sugar levels had been closely monitored. While initially, they were showing healthy levels, his pancreas started playing havoc when Arnav began working at breakneck speed, ignoring his health, to build AR. Initially, before Anjali started paying attention, Arnav would go for months without monitoring his blood sugar levels.

Then one day Anjali found out about it and threatened the doctor with dire consequences if the check-up didn't happen every month and she didn't get a copy of the report in her mail.

Every month the report was pretty much the same. Arnav's health was constantly on the decline. Every month, Anjali would rant about the situation, promising and threatening different things. Every month nothing would get done. The same drama would repeat again the following month.

"So what do you propose to do this time?" he asked, chucking her under the chin. He loved her, even more, when she was frustrated.

"Don't make fun of me Shyam. I am genuinely concerned about that boy."

"You've tried everything Anjali. From informing his secretary to putting reminders on his phone, to checking on him unannounced, to having that Bansal tag him for a while. None of it has worked."

"I know," Anjali mused. "I wish there could be a permanent solution to this."

"There is."

"What?"

"Think."

"Don't talk in riddles," frustrated with her husband for mocking her circumstances.

"Think Anjali," said Shyam, this time genuine concern evident in his eyes. "What is the only way to ensure that someone is with him all the time to take care of his needs, to take care of his health and be there for him when he needs them."

When she looked at him quizzically, Shyam chuckled. For all her "scary" reputation, his wife was still a child.

"Marriage, Anjali" he stated as if it was the most logical answer to the problem.

"Really?", stated Anjali, raising a single eyebrow to emphasize her sarcasm. "Chhote and marriage? You know Shyam what his views are on this topic. How am I going to get him to agree to it?

"That's for you to figure out!"

****

It was a rare occurrence when Khushi Kumari Gupta had headaches. But right now, Arnav Singh Raizada's behavior was causing a terrible one. From the time she had stepped into his office at Sheesh Mahal to discuss changes to her design, he had been nothing but curt and rude. He had ignored her suggestions, belittled her ideas and even sarcastically referred to her background.

What Khushi couldn't understand was the sudden change in Arnav Singh Raizada, especially when he had played a kind and caring mentor just over 72 hours ago. She had seen many facets of this human being - the brutal businessman, the caring brother, the kind mentor, but this she just couldn't fathom. Arnav could be immoral, his anger could be irrational, and even his decisions sometimes illogical, but she had never seen him behave in an immature fashion. And that is precisely what he was doing today. If he had been a five-year-old boy, Khushi would have concluded he was throwing a tantrum, but he was not. And that was the real problem.

"Gupta, are you listening to me?" he snapped.

Looking outside the french windows that decorated his office, his back to Khushi, Arnav continued: "If your attention is elsewhere, should I assign this project to someone else?"

That was the last straw for Khushi, whose arms were currently hurting from non-stop note-taking for the last three hours. Arnav's unjustified anger further aggravated her raw nerves. She decided, she had had enough for the day.

Arnav didn't see Khushi standing up. He did, however, hear the creak of the chair as it slid past the wooden floors in his office. When he turned, Khushi was standing, her face tired, her hair arranged in an unruly mess on top of her hair, collecting her things from his desk.

"That actually might be a good idea Arnavji," concentrating on gathering her things, avoiding his eyes. "After all, if I'm correct, you're not really looking for a designer, you're looking for a punching bag, someone who can deal with your tantrums. And I don't seem to remember applying for that role."

Just as she was about to pack the last of her color pencils, Arnav turned her around roughly, twisting her arm at her back, strewing them all over his office floor, in the process. His eyes were blazing daggers inches away from her face.

"That is not the nicest way to talk to your boss", he bit out.

"Yes it is," she shouted, her temper threatening to break out at his unreasonable anger. "Especially if the boss chooses to behave the way you are.

And because she didn't get a response from him for her accusations, she continued: "Why are you upset with me? What have I done to anger you this time? Did I break something? Or did I come late to a meeting? Oh no, I know what I did wrong. I accepted a job offer from Ravan Singh Raizada, who never needs a reason for telling people off."

She stopped to take a breath. It was all getting too much for her. Calming her nerves, she took a few deep breaths and continued: "I honestly think you should have someone else replace me as your trainee designer on the Milan project. I don't think I can do this anymore."

"You can't do it, or you don't want to do it?" anger evident in his speech.

"What do you mean?", she barked, her temper rising yet again.

"I mean, you just want to sit and enjoy the fruits of your husband's labor now that you're getting married, Ms. Khushi...Kumari...Gupta..."

"Married?"

"Yes, that too, with someone whose way above your social standing."

Dread flooded through her limbs. She remembered Ashokji's words. "I don't know how Saab finds things out... News always finds its way to him."

Had he discovered her Buaji's intentions? But who would tell him about it, other than Aman himself? Had Buaji been spying around to try and get hold of Aman?

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

But Arnav didn't think her question merited an answer. He released her hand, turned around and was about to make his way to the door when she pulled on his hand demanding an answer, but her foot accidentally landed on a strewn pencil. She slipped and closed her eyes, awaiting the impact of the fall that never came. Instead, she felt securely nestled in strong muscled arms. When she opened her eyes, she was staring into those of Arnav Singh Raizada. But unlike always, this time, the eyes sported confusion and defeat.

*****

It had been three hours since Khushi Kumari Gupta had left the offices of Arnav Singh Raizada and he had had the opportunity to calmly sit down and think about his behavior with Khushi.

"Well," his conscience quipped. "That was a nice way to behave."

His rational brain decided to remain silent. Even that couldn't justify the unleash of temper on Khushi Kumari Gupta.

"So?" the conscience prodded. "What next? Don't you want to say sorry?"

"Sorry, for what?"

"For not being nice to her. For being unjustly angry? For not wishing her well in her future married life?"

That thought prompted more thoughts about Khushi's marriage with Aman and Arnav's fervent imagination drew images of their wedding rituals, Aman filling Khushi's parting, Khushi and Aman on holiday together, Khushi as the mother of Aman's children and he let out a huge growl. He was angry and upset and the dealt with both those emotions in the only way he knew how. He picked up the closest object he could see - a beautiful paperweight that lay on his table - and tried to crush it in his palm. The weight, unfortunately, refused to get intimidated.

His conscience questioned. "Why is Khushi's marriage with Aman bothering you?"

"He is not the right guy for her. By marrying Bansal, Khushi is definitely ruining her life," he told his conscience.

"Why?" it asked. "He likes her, he takes care of her, he treats her well, he makes her smile."

"He's still not the right guy. He doesn't...", his voice trailed. He couldn't voice the emotion he didn't believe in.

"He's perfect for her," the conscience prodded. "Especially after all that you put her through. Remember your original deal with Khushi, Raizada?"

There was nothing more to be discussed. His conscience had told him in no uncertain terms that he didn't deserve Khushi Kumari Gupta. And yet his heart, another organ he didn't know existed within his ecosystem, nudged.

"Don't listen to your conscience," it murmured, albeit faintly.

Arnav stood still, then put the paperweight down, back on his table and opened the antique rosewood cupboard. He pulled out the signature edition of a single malt whiskey. He was saving it for a celebration. Today, he would celebrate the engagement of Aman Bansal and Khushi Gupta.

He took out his prized Waterford crystal and poured himself a generous splash. Admiring the glass and his contents, Arnav smiled. But it wasn't one of victory. Although he still couldn't figure out what was bothering him, it was time he admitted to himself that Khushi had managed to get under his skin.

He finished his glass in one gulp and poured himself another generous splash. His past came to haunt him, yet again.

"Di, why did Amma and Baba leave us?" asked a teenage Arnav, one night sitting with his sister on the steps of their cottage.

"They didn't Chhote. They just became stars so they can take care of us better," replied a grief-stricken Anjali.

"Di, I'm not five, I'm 15."

"What do you want me to say Chhote," Anjali asked.

Arnav was silent.

"Di, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For taking Amma and Baba away from you."

"Oh Chhote", Anjali cried hugging her brother. It was not his fault. It was fate.

The tinkling sound of ice in the glass brought him back to reality. Another gulp. And then another splash. He believed he saw his mother's silhouette. And as imaginary that was, he clung to it as if it were a lifeline.

"Amma, can I please put my head on your lap?" he spoke to his imagination. "Can you pat me to sleep?" His absurd wish was followed by a strangled laugh. "Amma, can I too become a star and stay with you?"

And because he wanted his mother to know about Khushi, he told her. "Amma, I have never met someone like Khushi before. She is so full of life and zest, even though she is adopted. How can she be like that?"

He knew he was losing consciousness but still didn't want to help himself. He was seeing his mother and talking to her after a long time. "When I first met Khushi, I thought she was like the rest of them I knew. But she isn't Amma. There is a quiet pride in her and determination that helps her get through even the most difficult of circumstances. And no one ever knows what she's been through. Amma, when I first met her, I was challenged and intrigued by her, but as I got to know her better, I began to respect her and then..." and at that moment, with consciousness ebbing away, he admitted to himself what he never could wide awake "and then love her."

He thought of Khushi once more and whispered the name with reverence before he passed out in his office.

And that's how Khushi found him, at the stroke of midnight. Except, when she got closer, she discovered his body had turned ice-cold.