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Waheeda sat bolt upright in bed and willed her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the hotel suite. Dev sat up just as quickly as her. Of course he did; he heard everything in his sleep. She liked it and hated it, mostly because she hated when she saw him afraid.
She didn’t know what brought that horrible dream on; tonight had been so perfect. Dev had made sure it was. They were married now; just a few hours ago, they had performed the marriage ritual and now they were finally, finally together as man and wife. But despite her happiness, Waheeda knew her stupid insecurities and shyness would never go away, even though she was confident now.
“Waheeda…?” Her husband’s voice broke the silence and brought her back to Earth. She found his eyes, those dark chocolate brown eyes that she loved falling into during lovemaking or just looking at him. Right now, they searched her for any sign of harm or injury, even though he knew there was none. She was safe in bed with him where no one could touch her and if they did, he’d kill them.
“Waheedaji…?” She melted in his arms when he added the -ji at the end of her name. It was usually reserved for elders and he was older than her, but the fact that he used it for her showed her that he respected her as his wife and life partner and that floored her.
She looked into his eyes. She’d seen this look so many times in his movies; that searching look that told her that he was looking for answers.
“Dev…” she finally spoke. She put her arms on his shoulders just to have something to hold. “Dev, I…”
“Darling…” he hugged her and she could’ve melted; he had said “darling” and hugged her the same way he had in the English version of Guide. But she still was unable to form complete sentences. He probably thought she was a babbling idiot.
”Dev, I’m sorry…” was all she could say in a small child’s whisper.
He shook his head. He hated that she apologized for things she didn’t need to apologize for.
“Everyone gets bad dreams,” he held her close, then he looked down and caressed her cheek. “What was yours about?” He didn’t ask like it was funny. He was asking like he was genuinely concerned.
”I…I just…we got married and everything was perfect and…I woke up tomorrow and you were gone…not even with another woman, just gone…” Waheeda couldn’t help it; she started to cry. “And I didn’t know where you were, I didn’t know what to do…I tried to say your name, but I couldn’t say it…like something was stopping me from saying your name…” She cried and buried herself into his chest hair.
”Waheeda…” he held her so tightly. This woman that stole his heart on the set of C.I.D. was still stealing it. He was already 50, but he felt like he had the rest of his life to move heaven, hell and mountains for her and he’d do it if it took until he was 90. He made sure to keep a hold on her as he released his hug and looked into her eyes and cupped her cheeks.
”Waheedaji..I am here. Touch me and feel that I am here.”
She knew that he didn’t mean to touch him sexually. He wanted her to do the same thing that she often asked him to do to her: touch and feel and know that he was present. In her life. Forever.
Waheeda complied with his request. She started with his face, his cheeks. She moved over his eyes and his forehead. It was selfish, she knew, but her heart broke when she ran her hands through his bangs and didn’t feel his puff anymore. She had loved it; it was so much fun to bury her nose in it and smell his hair when they cuddled and it was so cute when he could tell she wanted to bury herself in it, so he dipped his head for her.
Not that he wasn’t any less handsome now, she thought as her hands wandered back down his cheeks, nose, over his mouth that she knew could make her lips swollen and her entire body quake. He was older now, but Waheeda still saw that same cute boy she had met on the set of C.I.D. That she had spent hours dreaming about and crushing on. And now he was her husband. Waheeda couldn’t believe how lucky she was.
Dev’s stare never faltered from her eyes as her hands continued their slow trek down his body. He wanted this to be about her. He wanted their marriage to be about her. He had lost her once because of his own foolishness. Now was his chance to show her that he was hers for good. The universe wanted her to be another Suraiya. Dev swore on his mother he would not let happen.
His member yearned to be hard again as his body felt her hands move on him like she was playing a piano, but Dev shoved his desires down. This wasn’t about sex unless she wanted it to be. She had had a nightmare that he was gone and though she had said that he hadn’t been with another woman in her dream, he knew that that was what she was afraid of. Would always be afraid of. And it was his fault. She was justified in being afraid of that. All he could do was continue to prove to her that she was the only one.
Waheeda’s hands went down his chin and throat and found his chest hair that she loved so much. He smiled slightly at how she bit her lip. She had memorized the forest like one of her scripts. When they made love, her hands knew exactly where to go to navigate the little black hairs. She moved down his chest. How many other women had done this with him, had touched him like this…How many other women had he comforted after a bad dream? Waheeda forced her mind to stop reminding her of this. He said she was his, he married her. That should be enough, damn it! The tears started rolling down again. As if he had Spidey sense, Dev immediately held her tightly.
”Waheedaji,” he looked at her with that firm expression. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. And I’ll never tire of telling you that. I came back into your life by choice. I married you. I will never leave you. Not for anyone else. I am your Dharamdev.”
Waheeda’s eyes widened. He hated being called by his full name. But he did it for her. And truth be told, she said it so perfectly. It was…it was as if his mother was saying it and he was a little boy again.
”Waheedaji,” he said again. “Main yahaan hoon. aap surakshit hain. I am here. You are safe. I am not leaving.” He didn’t care how long he had to convince her for. He’d do it until his dying breath.
Waheeda felt his body again. He wasn’t muscular and was even less so back in the 50s and 60s, but she loved his body now. It was solid, it was warm. It was her home; a skin-covered building that she could hold onto when she was scared or needed someone. And he made himself available to her in any way she needed him: as a friend, as a husband, as a sexual partner. If she wanted to hit him, he’d lend it to her. If she wanted his body to love her until the first rays of Indian sun hit the sky, he’d lend it to her. If she needed something to hold when she was scared or insecure, he’d lend it to her. In a way, how in love he was with this woman scared him. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Waheeda wrapped her arms around him and cocooned herself into his body and brought them down to the pillows. Dev’s heart melted; it showed her that she was hearing him and wanted him to protect her, to keep her safe. And he would gladly do so. He felt her lips curve into a smile against his heart.
”Waheeda Anand.”
He smiled against her ear. “Has a nice ring to it.”
”Dev?”
”Mm?”
”I’m sorry for being such a needy bitch.”
Dev chuckled. She loved when it reverberated in his throat.
”I’m the neediest bitch in Bollywood.”
Waheeda burst out laughing and turned back to him and grew thoughtful. “I love you.”
He smiled back at her. “More.”
”Most.”
And as if they’d never stopped lovemaking, their lips intertwined, reveling in each other being the other’s safe haven.