I CANNOT FIX ON THE EXACT HOUR or the spot or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago.* But it was sometime during that wet December of twenty-eleven when I realized that I had fallen irrevocably in love with Khushi Kumari Gupta. Her spirit, her integrity, her resilience—her refusal to be anything other than who she was—had became a standard of Heroineship for me.
And at the risk of having my fidelity questioned, I confess, Sisters, that I stopped watching Khushi months before she left the stage. For me, her story was complete once she rescued her kidnapped husband, who by then had finally—finally!—realized that she was entirely innocent and that he was entirely in love.
That was enough for me.
The richest stories are those which leave me just short of satiation; stories which leave room for my own imagination to expand. I left our Beloved Heroine before the curtain call, confident that whatever challenge she would encounter thereafter would be resolved, by her own power and united with the force of Arnav Singh Raizada’s love.
You may imagine how grieved I was to discover that within days of Arnav’s rescue, he and Khushi parted.
A full year would pass before they would see each other again.
This is that story.