9 ~ Kartik Jiju #2
"Chahat stop calling me that!"
I was feeling weird whenever she calls me that. And I know she knows it's annoying me that's why she's doing it more often.
And the denial even after everything was blowing my mind.
My eyes boring into hers, trying to rip the truth out of her.
She's lying. I know she's lying, every instinct in me screams it.
But I...I can't prove it and that was making it worse.
Before I can say another word her phone rings.
The sharp sound cuts through the tension like a blade.
"Mumma..." she whispers, almost to herself.
And before I can react she pulls her hand free.
"Haan main aa rahi hoon." She said quickly, not even meeting my eyes properly this time as she answers the call.
(Yes, I am coming.)
And then she walked away just like that leaving me standing there with unanswered questions, with burning anger and with a bruised ego that refuses to settle.
My hands curl into fists at my sides as I watch her retreating figure, my jaw locked, my gaze dark and unrelenting.
She lied and she's still lying. She thinks she can get away with it.
Fine. If she won't tell me. I'll find out myself and when I do...
My eyes narrow slightly, fixed on her disappearing form.
She won't be calling me Jiju so casually anymore.
That I'll make sure of it.
I stepped out of the trial room, shutting the door behind me with controlled force.
The air outside felt different, colder and sharper.
My father was standing a few feet away.
Watching me coming out of the trial room after Chahat.
His eyes narrowed slightly the moment they landed on me, a silent question, a clear disapproval.
He knew I had gone somewhere I shouldn't have.
He knew but right now...I didn't care.
Not enough to explain or justify so I walked past him like nothing happened.
And then my eyes found her again like they were drawn to her, like they had no choice.
The lehenga hugged her perfectly, the fabric falling elegantly around her frame. The blouse was hugging her like a second skin but that back...it was revealing. The strings were holding the blouse together.
My jaw tightened. I looked away for a second then again at her.
She's irresistible to be honest.
She stood in front of her mother, turning slightly as if asking for approval.
"Bahut sundar lag rahi ho," her mother said, adjusting her dupatta on her shoulder and covering her exposed neck.
(You look very beautiful.)
And she smiled softly like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn't just stood inches away from me, breathing unevenly, looking at me like she was both scared and defiant at the same time.
Something in my chest tightened.
I shifted my gaze. Mukti was trying some clothes as well. Her mother was talking to her. My family was around. Everything was normal but I wasn't looking at her.
I didn't want to, as I didn't feel like it.
My attention kept going back to Chahat.
Every. Single. Time.
The way she adjusted her dupatta unconsciously.
The way her fingers brushed against the fabric.
The way she avoided looking in my direction.
Like she knew, like she could feel me watching.
And maybe she could because I wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.
I saw father looking at me with his clenched teeth.
"Kya ho raha hai ye?" He asked me silently looking at everyone as if he doesn't want anyone to witness this.
(What is going on?)
"Dad..."
"Bohot der se dekh raha hoon. Dimag to kharab nahi ho gaya tumhara." He scolded me.
(I've been watching for a long time. Have you lost your mind?)
"Aap galat samajh rahe hain..."
(You misunderstood.)
"Kya galat samajh raha hoon. Itne der se tum Chahat ko hi dekh rahe ho. Trial room mein...Main ye sab bardasht nahi karunga Kartik." He warned.
(Am I misunderstanding this? You've been staring at Chahat all this time. In the trial room...I won't tolerate this, Kartik.)
He went from there and I clutched my head.
Suddenly Dadi's phone started ringing, breaking my thoughts.
She picked it up, her expression changing slightly.
"Haan, Seema?"
(Yes, Seema?)
I barely paid attention at first until her tone shifted.
"Lekin Seema, tum toh apne maike mein ho."
(But Seema, you are at your parents' house.)
A pause.
Then a sharp voice echoed faintly through the phone.
"Aaj hi wapas aaye hain hum. Aur yahan koi hai hi nahi. Naukaron ne bataya ki aap sab shaadi ki shopping ke liye gaye ho."
(We just got back today. And there's no one here. The servants told us you all went shopping for the wedding.)
Typical.
A taunt wrapped in a complaint.
I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.
"Hum ghar aake baat karte hain," Dadi said calmly and cut the call.
(We'll talk when we get home.)
She didn't let it linger or let it ruin the moment.
She was Seema Chachi. Always complaining and finding faults in everything.
These days were really peaceful for all of us when she was at her father's place but now when she's back I can't even imagine the taunts and complaints she'll do.
Especially after this marriage thing.
"Chalo," she said, turning to us. "Ring dekhte hain."
(Let's go. Let's see the ring.)
We moved toward the jewelry section.
My eyes kept drifting to her.
She walked slightly ahead now, beside her mother, listening to something she was saying.
Her hair fell over one shoulder.
The soft movement catching my attention again.
Every small thing did, every little detail.
My gaze lingered longer than it should on her despite the scolding from my father.
And somewhere between the anger, the betrayal, the bruised ego...something else had started to creep in.
Something dangerous.
Because the more I looked at her the clearer it became.
This wasn't just about answers anymore or what she did.
This was something I didn't have control over.
And that was the most irritating part of all.