In a bid to save the man she loves, Amrit ends up making a deal with the uncompromising Kuwar Veer Pratap Singh. Bound by mutual weaknesses and wounds they hide from the world the two goes from unwilling pretenders to unlikely allies. Sometimes, it...
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Summary: You have killed any sympathy I had - over and over again.
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Flowers strung between them stir with breeze scattering scent of fresh plucked jasmine into air heavy with blessings.
Amrit sits beside the bride doused in a cloud of scented water and good – natured chatter. Veer sits behind the groom on the opposite, flanked by Hader and Omar, half hidden behind Anwar’s shoulder. Yet he catches her eye and the blessings being read fades into a background hum as their gazes pick up a paused conversation from before.
When her gaze trails Veer flexes his hand as if recalling a lingering sense of her fingers holding on to him, or curbing an urge to hold her back from following through a particular course of action. He knows better however. He knows her better.
“I want her to make an attempt.”
“Attempt?”
“On my life.”
A fragile silence hang between them for a minute before Amrit shakes her head, a retort at the tip of her tongue.
“Her sins have grown old, frayed with time. To punish her we must re – new them,” he explains briefly and wills her to agree. “I have no intention of looking the other way anymore.”
Begrudgingly, Amrit sees the sense in such dangerous course of action. But she does not let it go without a condition of her own.
“Then you must let me play my part.”
“Biwi sahab..” he begins only to be deterred by the determination sparkling in her eyes. Her eyes bore into his unwavering as she steps closer.
“Har sukh, har duk, aadha aadha..!”
Shadowed against the sun his eyes grow tender, mellowed with a wonder that tightens her throat.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Amrit adds softly, Veer’s question is merely a gesture of his eyes. “Like you can’t believe I’m real.”
She steps closer, arm wrapped around his and rests her chin on his shoulder. What Amrit loved the most about their embraces is how it seemed as if each of them had been made with the other in mind, so that they would fit like two pieces of a puzzle.
This angle affords her the necessary support to tilt her head and look into his eyes with all that she left unsaid.
“Dekhlijiye,” she says. “Jee bhar ke. Yahi hoon. Yahi rahungi. Kahi nahi jaane wali.”
Veer smiles despite his own reservations and drops a tender kiss on her hair. Into their familiar fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood a note of camphor has seeped in. Just as how he had seeped into her and she into him, faint but distinct and inseverable.
