ASYA SS: Arranged Kum, Love Marriage Zyada (UPDATED Pg. 32) April 9 - Page 3

In the car, he fumbled with the radio. He was searching for some oldies station when they heard snatches of an interview with Mahendra Singh Dhoni. And that old Zoya, who had gone into hiding, turned around to him in her seat, radiant, and thrilled to pieces. "Mr. Khan! Dhoni! Please don't change it," she begged, eyes wide and lips curled in a glorious smile. In her excitement she had covered his hand with hers to stall him. He nearly drove over a cyclist forgetting to look at the road ahead. Thank god for the AC and rolled up windows. They remained oblivious to the curses and badduas that flew in their direction.

She oohed and aahed, cheered and clapped as Dhoni spoke of the team's readiness, critics and training regimen. She yelled at the donkey-faced interviewer who kept fixating on gaps in Dhoni's leadership skills and style. "Pfft! The man says it like it is. Deal with it!" she ranted.

Asad smiled and looked at her indulgently. She was so passionate about Dhoni. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. What would it be like to have her passionately defend him against a critic or naysayer? She raged on, "the man is a god, the best captain India has had. So just shut up, stupid interviewer!" She breathed fire as the program ended.

Asad grinned. "Aap Dhoni ki badi fan hain!"

"I'm his greatest fan!" She declared smugly leaning back in the seat.

"So did Aapi and Jeeju introduce you to cricket too?"

She smiled fondly. "Jeeju did. He likes Dhoni too but likes to bug me by pretending to criticize him."

"Do you like cricket Mr. Khan?" She asked softly.

"Yes." He ducked his head, "I played in school and college."

"Were you any good?"

He laughed and then shrugged. "I guess we'll never know."

"I would have loved to watch you play," she said wistfully and then blushed when she realized she'd said it aloud.

His heart lurched giddily. He would make it happen too, he decided. His staff at work played every other weekend, and had stopped issuing invitations to him because he always turned them down. Not now.

"Aapka favorite cricketer kaun hai?" She asked.

"Umm ... Tendulkar and Dravid." She made a face and he hastily added, "I like Dhoni too." She beamed, and he decided he loved Dhoni most from now.

At the theater he bought her popcorn and Diet Coke. She initially refused, shy, but he persisted and she said yes.

She was excited about the film. Her friends in the US had raved about it on Facebook. She already loved the songs, "Badtameez Dil" being her absolute favorite. And she was so thankful to phuphi, no Ammi, for suggesting this outing. Did it count as a date if your mother-in-law forced your husband to take you?

She took a deep breath. She wouldn't let stupid details like that get in the way of enjoying her husband's company. She was loving his attentiveness. He was smiling and had even put his arm around her protectively when someone had bumped into her. A nano-second of full body contact, and she had lived a lifetime.

Asad too couldn't stop smiling. Thank you Ammi. He had wanted to let his arm around Zoya's waist linger, but dropped it after she had found her footing. He wanted to punch the guy who had bumped into her, but his concern for her overrode his anger. He had flexed his arm and clenched his fist feeling useless. When she had been knocked into his chest, for a delirious second, his arms had wrapped around her and savored her softness against him.

As soon as the film started, it hit her. This was a romantic comedy and it was going to be sheer torment watching a love story with him by her side. She self-consciously moved her elbow from the armrest and huddled in her seat. The armrest sat forlorn and vacant, neither viewer on its side willing to lean on it for fear of accidentally brushing against their neighbor.

The popcorn lay forgotten in her lap. It was hard for her to swallow her Coke. Luckily as the film began rolling she became less and less self-conscious of her breathing or swallowing.

Her heart bled for Naina who had fallen irrevocably in love with an oblivious Bunny. Tell him! She wanted to scream. And Aditi's pain at having to watch Avi be with other women, stabbed her soul. Zoya moved all her hair over the shoulder next to his to hide her face. Oh god, don't make me cry. But she was a crier. She cried in the silliest of movies. She could already feel her tears gathering like an angry mob at the gate. She blinked, swallowed, and took rapid sips of her coke to wash away the growing lump in her throat. She sniffled. He passed her his handkerchief and then she really cried. She ran out, tripping over people's feet.

"Zoya!" he called after her. Brilliant! Now you call me Zoya!

She locked herself in the bathroom stall and bawled her eyes out. Why did the most clichd, overhyped and filmy commodity in the world feel so real and hurt so bad?

Asad paced outside the women's room waiting for her. He wanted to crash through the doors to ensure that she was OK, but decorum made him hesitate. He waited for all of two minutes and unable to take it anymore, bulldozed his way in. Thankfully, there was no one else inside. He could hear her sobbing in one of the stalls. "Zoya," he called softly, "are you OK?" He wanted to storm his way in, gather her in his arms and kiss her tears away. But prudence prevailed, and fear of rejection kept him firmly planted on this side of the door, walking on hot coals.

She gasped. He was in here! "Allah miyan what's wrong with you Mr. Khan? Why are you in here?"

"I was worried about you and wanted to make sure you were fine."

His concern made her cry even more. Why don't you call me Zoya all the time? If you are so worried about me why don't you hold me tight and kiss me?

Her sobs tore at him. "Zoya, please let ..." He heard a gasp behind him and saw a woman by the row of sinks. He held up his hands, "excuse me, but I was just worried about my wife." He began backing out of the restroom. The woman's gaze softened. She could hear a woman crying and this man obviously looked stricken. I'll check on her, why don't you wait outside," she offered kindly.

"Thank you."

Zoya heard this and felt mortified for him. It must have taken so much for him to step inside after her. She wiped her tears in his handkerchief and stepped out. There was a woman standing outside waiting for her. She smiled at Zoya. "Oh, so you're the one he's been worried about," she said playfully. Zoya blushed. The woman became serious, "Is everything alright, beta? Is that man bothering you?"

Zoya smiled ruefully. Yes, he's bothering me, but not in the way you think! "No, he's my husband." The other woman breathed a sigh of relief. "Aw," she sighed. "He was really worried about you. Not every man has the guts to walk into the women's room to see if his wife is OK!"

You don't know the half of it, Zoya said to herself. For her shy and quiet Akdu to do that, it was indeed a very big deal. After all, the man still called her Ms. Farooqui! Hope blazed in her. She washed her face with cold water and went to face him.

Asad meanwhile had stamped his feet in frustration, brainstorming ways to bring a smile to her face. As he was buying a bottle of water for her, he spotted a teenage couple, arm in arm, very much in love. His heart dived. What he would give to have his wife on his arm like that! He noticed the girl carrying a bouquet of flowers and couldn't help himself.

"Excuse me, where did you get those flowers from? Is there a florist's shop nearby?" he inquired of the boy.

"No, I got them from a place near my house." The boy answered looking at Asad quizzically.

He was even more surprised when the stranger asked "how much did you pay for them?"

The young boy looked the man over, up and down. He looked well-dressed, expensive shoes and watch. Not a weirdo. "About Rs. 1,200."

"I'll give you Rs. 2,000 for them."

What?" the young girl asked. "Are you mad? These are for my birthday!"

"Please. I need them for my wife. She's upset with me, and these will make her really happy. I'll give you Rs. 3,000."

When Zoya stepped out, she saw him waiting anxiously for her just outside.

"Ms. Farooqui, are you OK?" he rushed over holding out a bottle of water for her.

Great. He was back to calling her Ms. Farooqui.

"I'm fine Mr. Khan. I'm so sorry for being such a pain."

"But what happened?"

I love you and you don't love me, that's what happened. The film just made me realize that I'm such a loser.

"Umm ... I just got emotional." She tried to laugh it off.

From behind his back he pulled out the most gorgeous bouquet of two dozen red roses. She lifted delighted eyes to his. "For me?" she asked tentatively. He nodded, extending his arm out to her, watchless. She wrapped her arms around them hugging them to her and inhaling their scent. She didn't see him bewitched by her glee, his own lips curving into a satisfied and relieved smile.

"I love them! Thank you so much. But why?"

"I just wanted to see you smile," he said simply.

And he saw her smile widen and cheeks redden. Magnetized, he took a step closer, and her breath caught. Her gaze fell and the Rockettes kick-danced in her stomach. A swarm of moviegoers just exiting one of the theaters engulfed them. Asad stepped aside.

"Where would you like to eat?" He asked later in the car. She still had her face buried in the roses.

"I want to go to one of your favorite places to eat," she spoke softly.

"Umm ... I don't have one place. I like different things from different places," he said vaguely and self-consciously. Truth was, he rarely ate out. "What would you really like to eat?"

Her eyes sparkled. "You'll eat whatever I say, wherever I say?" He nodded, her excitement already infecting him.

"Without making a fuss about the mess?" His smile dipped. "Yes," he answered bravely.

And that is how he ended up eating gol guppas, papdi and aloo chaat, dahi vadas, jalebis and kulfi in the seediest hole in the wall places in Bhopal. He had never been to this part of town, shabby, crowded, and overrun by street dogs mooching for morsels, and urchins rolling cycle tires with a stick.

Initial cringing forgotten, he dug into the most deliciously spicy and savory food he'd eaten in a long time. He saw her lick the chutney off her finger and felt a jolt of desire pierce his gut. He stopped mid-way and the gol guppa water dribbled over his shirt.

"Mr. Khan!" she squealed. "You've messed up your shirt," she giggled. Just this morning she had helped him with his shirt museum. She had arranged every shirt lovingly on a hanger, smirking behind each one, and fastening the top buttons per his orders. Each soldier was organized by color, eventually passing the general's fastidious muster. Now, she pulled out his handkerchief from her pocket, and dabbed at the mess in the front of his precious shirt. He nearly keeled over with longing. Her fingertips fluttered over his heart and it thumped erratically. Any closer, he feared, and she would hear the drumming and laugh at him, or tease him about having a heart attack for spilling food on his clothes. He would have backed away, but he couldn't take his eyes off her mouth. Some chutney sat temptingly at the corner of her mouth as she relished her chaat. She still had his handkerchief clutched in one hand. He slipped it from her grasp and leaned over to wipe her mouth. She froze, and looked into his face in alarm. His eyes were on her mouth as he carefully dabbed at some chutney remnant. Her eyes drooped and she nearly swayed toward him. She cleared her throat nervously, and he backed off.

Idiot! She scolded herself. Why did you have to scare him away with your stupid throat clearing? Couldn't you have just choked to death to prolong the feel of his fingers on your mouth. Ullu ki pathhi! She squeezed her eyes shut, fit to kick herself.

When she opened her eyes she saw fresh food stains on his shirt and smiled. "Mr. Khan, I didn't know you were such a messy eater," and repossessing his handkerchief, she tried her best to remove the stubborn stains.

I'm not, or at least wasn't, till I fell in love with you, he smirked to himself. This was fun. Pretending to be clumsy seemed to be the only way to get her attention and have her lower her guard. If she smiled at him like that and came close enough to touch each time, then he would be the klutziest man alive from today.

Mind made up, he looked at her and saw her looking at him expectantly. There, on her upper lip, sat a sliver of more chutney. He groaned and rushed to rectify the damage and savor the forbidden sensation of accidentally touching her plump lips. The dedicated handkerchief, the love prop du jour, changed hands again.

Zoya lowered her gaze to hide the victorious glint in her eye. Who knew that Jahanpanah's mess-hating fetish would become her best friend.

Get all your cleaning supplies out, Mr. Khan! It's going to be a bumpy ride.