Lawfully Yours - Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Dalhousie – Hotel – Same Night
Kushal lay wide awake, tossing and turning in his bed, but it wasn’t the cold that kept him up. It was the image of her.
Arundhati.
Kushal recalled how she looked a while ago, standing at the connecting door between their rooms, like she had no idea what she’d done to him. In that barely-there, house-cotton nightie, she’d looked innocent and sinful all at once.
She’d been startled at first when she opened that door, becoming instantly aware of what she wore and what he had seen. But the damage was already done. That tiny scrap of fabric, those bare legs, the hint of her collarbone…God, she had no idea what it did to him.
She never wore anything like that when they were under the same roof. Back then, it had been all cotton pajamas or silk robes. But tonight, she had let down her guard, not intentionally, perhaps, but enough to make every nerve in his body tense.
And then there was the jacket.
His jacket.
Lying right there on her bed like it belonged. And not neatly folded either. It was wrinkled. As if she’d curled around it, seeking comfort. Seeking him.
That image had branded itself into his brain. That she could want his warmth enough to reach for something of his, but still wouldn’t reach for him. He would have given her the real thing without hesitation. Would have pulled her into his arms and held her the entire night, if she let him. But no. She was still Mrs. Egoistic Arundhati Nair, and these days her pride outran even his.
He sighed heavily, turning over again, his eyes inevitably finding the connecting door which was still open between their rooms.
Here he was restless, burning, enduring the cruel irony of having her so close and yet out of reach. And there she was probably sleeping like a rock, dreaming about legal wins while he suffered a slow, sleepless demise. The night couldn’t be cruel than this he thought.
But just as he was about to turn again in frustration, something caught his attention.
The faint glow of a bedside lamp and a soft movement. Was she awake? Slowly, carefully, he got up and padded silently toward the door. He told himself that he wasn’t going there to intrude but just to make sure she was alright. That was it. Nothing more.
And then he saw her.
Arundhati was standing at the edge of her bed, barefoot, still in that infuriatingly tiny nightie, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to make her way to the closet. But she was moving too slowly like baby steps. And that’s when he realized her body was shaking… actually shivering.
The next second, she swayed losing balance because the shivering turned intense.
He didn’t think.
He rushed in.
“Aru?” He caught her before she could stumble.
She startled slightly but didn’t resist his hold. Her lips trembled, her eyes wide and glassy.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern darkening his tone.
She took a shivering breath and whispered, “I am cold. Wanted the extra quilt.”
He cursed softly under his breath, his hold tightening around her as he guided her back to the bed. “Lie down. I’ll get it.”
She didn’t argue. She was too cold and shivering to pretend she didn’t need him.
He helped her lie down on the bed again and pulled the existing comforter over her, tucking it around her shoulders, before crossing the room with purpose. He opened the closet and pulled out the thick, folded blanket she’d been heading for, then returned to her bed.
“This is what happens when you go out there in a cardigan like it’s spring in Mumbai,” he muttered, spreading the blanket over her. He was talking about the scene after dinner when she had been enjoying the cold breeze at the back of the resort and he had draped his jacket over her to protect her from the cold.
“No scarf. No proper coat. You know the cold doesn’t suit you,” he added angrily.
She watched him in silence, still shivering, eyes wide as he fussed around her like a man possessed…not by anger, but by the sheer need to make sure she was warm and safe.
But he wasn’t done.
He turned around, vanished into his room for a few seconds, and returned with his own duvet in hand. Without saying anything, he added it to the growing pile of covers over her.
“There,” he said, almost breathless now. “That should do it.”
She didn’t stop him.
She couldn’t.
She just lay there, blinking up at him, overwhelmed by the contrast between how far apart they were… and how intimately he still knew her. His gestures were wordless, but they spoke louder than anything he could have said.
This was him. The man who remembered that she hated cold air in her lungs, who knew her limits better than she admitted them herself. The same man who was hurt just hours ago, but was still here, without hesitation, when she needed him.
“You didn’t have to,” she murmured finally, her voice small.
He looked down at her. “Yes, I did.”
There was no arrogance in his reply. No flirtation. Just honesty.
As Arundhati lay beneath the pile of blankets, still shivering, her mind betrayed her by pulling her back to another winter’s night.
It was in Delhi, not long after their wedding. She had gone out for dinner with a college friend. Her car had broken down right outside the restaurant. Her friend had offered to drop her home on a scooty. It was only three kilometers. It had felt harmless at the time.
But that ride had sliced the wind through her like needles. The icy Delhi air had cut into her ears and skin, and by the time she reached their home, she was trembling uncontrollably. Kushal had panicked, although he never showed it with words. That was never his way. Instead, he had responded with instinct. He’d piled one blanket after another over her. But when nothing helped, then, without a word, he had climbed into bed with her, pulled her into his arms, and wrapped his body around hers. She remembered how shocked she had been. Not because of the intimacy. They had been sharing a bed since the wedding. But because of the urgency. The care. His bare skin against her chilled limbs, the way he had rubbed her back, her arms, her thighs, his legs tangled with hers, creating friction, transferring every ounce of his warmth into her like she was the last ember he refused to let die.