Claimed

Abhay

I closed the door behind me, the click of the latch reverberating in the emptiness, a final, hollow sound that echoed through the silent void of my life. It was like the last note of a song that had once filled my world with joy and meaning, now faded into nothingness.

My chest tightened, as if the very walls around me were collapsing, squeezing the air from my lungs. The weight of it all was too much to bear, and my legs gave way beneath me. I slumped into the corner, my back against the cold, unyielding wall, as if seeking some form of comfort from the hardness, something solid to anchor me.

But there was no comfort, no solace. Only the tears—hot, unstoppable, relentless. They welled up, blurring my vision, spilling over despite my desperate attempts to contain them. Each drop was a testament to the storm raging within me, soaking my shirt, leaving dark stains that matched the ones spreading across my soul.

Shattered. Disappointed. Hurt. Angry.

The emotions tore through me like jagged shards of glass, each one cutting deeper than the last. I clenched my fists, the anger bubbling over until it was uncontrollable. With a raw, primal scream, I slammed my hand against the wall. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through my knuckles, the skin splitting, blood trickling from the wound. But I barely noticed. The physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache inside me, the emptiness that consumed every part of my being.

"Samaira!"

Her name escaped my lips in a broken whisper, more a curse than a call. The girl I had loved with every fiber of my being, the one I had proudly announced to the world as my fiancée, was gone. The memory of her haunted me—those eyes, filled with a silent apology, her lips forming words that had shattered my world in an instant.

I had sensed it, deep down. That bastard Virat. He had always been there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The way he looked at her when she was with me on stage, the hesitation in her eyes when she stood beside me—it was all there, staring me in the face, but I had been blind. Blind and foolish, telling myself it was nothing.

But it was everything. And now, she was his.

The moment she left, everything unraveled. The composure I had fought so hard to maintain in front of her crumbled to dust. Her absence was a gaping wound, an emptiness I couldn't fill.

How could she?

How could she not tell me everything before I announced it to all?

Our bond, the trust I had placed in her—it was all a lie, a beautiful illusion I had built in my mind.

I hated him. Virat. The man who had made her fall for him, who had stolen her from me. But the worst part was the helplessness—the realization that there was nothing I could do. I was powerless, a mere spectator as my life crumbled around me.

The world would know soon enough. Our engagement had been no secret. Everyone knew we were to marry, and the thought of facing them, explaining this, filled me with dread.

But I had to find the courage, had to stand and face the truth before everything fell apart. I didn't want a situation where my parents would be forced to hide their faces, unable to answer anyone because of me.

I still couldn't believe Samaira had just left my life like this, leaving behind all our dreams, our promises, our plans for the future.

And yet, amidst the crushing despair, there was a small, bitter sense of relief. At least she had confessed before we got married. I couldn't imagine her telling me she had no feelings for me after we had exchanged vows. That would have destroyed me.