Stars Crossed | Re-writing

ᡣ𐭩 twelve

• author •

The room was dimly lit.

In the middle of the room, suspended from the ceiling by a chain, was a boxing bag. The air was filled with the smell of sweat and the sounds of punches. A man panted as he continued to hit the bag, releasing all his pent up anger.

"Argh!" He screamed in frustration, throwing a heavy punch on the bag. It swung like a pendulum, the chain rattling because of the weight. Irritated, the man ripped the gloves from his hands, exposing the safety bandages drenched in sweat, and flung them away to demonstrate his anger.

His phone was placed on a small table along with a bottle of water, a towel, and a first aid kit. Tapping on the screen, he impatiently swiped to his contacts and pressed the first name on his list: Queen♡ (1298)

A small and genuine smile appeared on Vihaan's lips on reading it. His Queen, his Mayura.

His heart beat in exhilaration. The rings went, and he grabbed the towel, wiping the sweat from his body. As the ringing continued, he felt a small hope in his heart, a small belief that she'll answer.

The ringing was cut, and an automated voice answered -

The number you are trying to reach is currently switched off. Please try again later.

- robbing him of his hope and belief. He grit his teeth, his facial features contouring to reveal extreme anger. He smashed his phone against the wall, panting for air. The phone broke into pieces and he picked his SIM, putting it in his pocket.

"Dammit!" He growled, hitting his right hand against the wall in anger and desperation. A stinging pain shot through his left hand. He looked at ring and little fingers of his hand, bandaged tightly with a plaster. All this while, he was careful not to injure those fingers against, so that when she came back she wouldn't worry.

But now, he didn't care.

A part of him told him that she'll never come back. She was gone, and all he was going to have was his big fat ego, and the pain of her absence.

He rushed back to the bag, throwing fast and heavy punches at it. Sweat trickled down his chiseled jawline, gliding down his long neck, down his sturdy chest and traced his well made six pack abs and disappeared down further his adonis V.

His abs were his pride, his muscular and healthy body his trophy. Only for one reason - Mayura loved muscles and abs. She never said so, but he often caught her staring at pictures of muscular and well-built men. It made him feel jealous. And inferior. He wanted her to look at him and him alone. No other men, just him.

His left arm ached, a numbness spreading in his arm. He took a few steps back from the bag, a sweat stain on the floor. His pants were sticky and felt heavy from all the sweat. His legs trembled from the exhaustion. He bent, his palms resting on his knees as he collected his breath.

Feeling better, he started to unravel the bandages from his left hand when a voice echoed in his head.

Your Mayura will be ravished by them, utterly destroyed and humiliated, and left for the world to see.

His dirty laugh, outrageous words, malicious intentions made his blood boil with uncontrolled rage. He stepped forward and threw a hard and painful punch at the bag. The bag swung around for a moment before collapsing on the floor, dragging the chain with it.

The bag burst open, and a realisation hit him.

I am weak, very weak. If I was stronger, no the strongest, no one would dare to look at my Mayura. I have to become more stronger, for my doll. Otherwise all these vultures will eat her to the bone and I won't be able to do anything. A chill passed down his spine at the intense realisation. He gulped the lump in his throat. "No. No, I cannot let that happen at any cost. I won't let anyone harm her. For that, I have to get better. Stronger. Faster. More manipulative. Intelligent. I have to be at the top of the world, and even if I have to sell my soul to the devil, I will do it. Only for you, Jaan."