Apricity

Part 12

Ranveer Dhoopar felt like a caged animal, desperately trying to escape the crowd of polite and prosperous elites. His heart pounded faster as he felt the air become heavier with anticipation of something sinister lurking beyond his dark thoughts. With each second that passed, a whirlwind of possibilities spun within his head, plunging deeper into despair as the worst ideas seemed more likely than the last.

The air grew thick as dread coiled around his throat, and he was unable to contain the fear that began to mount within him. His purple tie felt like a vice grip against his neck as he frantically attempted to loosen it, trying desperately to keep up appearances for the other guests in attendance. Terror sent shivers racing down his spine and his breath hitched in his chest. He was moments away from collapsing head first when he managed to catch himself at the last moment. Excusing himself hastily, he stumbled away into the shadows of the banquet hall, clutching his chest as if an invisible hand was squeezing away at his heart.

His trembling form rested against the wall and his tremulous eyes peeked at the bustling traffic on the road visible from the closed window. The benumbed man closed his eyes and focused on his erratic breathing to ground himself.

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

The voice of the reason behind his upheaval forced his eyes open. The stupefied woman eyed him with squinted eyes and took a step closer to him. "Are you okay? You are sweating."

The conflicted man ran his fingers over his forehead, wiping away the beads of perspiration, failing at his attempts to conceal his anguish from her. Linear grooves appeared between her eyebrows and a frown contorted her soft features.

"No, I, uh, I had met my investor," he said, following his words with a nervous chuckle. "She... she grilled me for a while. It did not differ from the time I pitched to her."

Ms. Namrata Singh was one of the key investors in his startup and an intimidating woman with a perpetual menacing sternness in her eyes. The meet with her, that evening, was a blur, for it had happened after the daunting conversation with Yukti Malhotra.

But Ranveer took refuge under the popular perception of the capitalist to veil the real reason behind his disheveled state. How could he add to the hill of worries that she carried on her shoulders after witnessing a glimpse at the unimaginable horrors that plagued her?

"Ms. Namrata, right?" The bedraggled man nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, she is tough. Blunt in her criticism and stiff with the compliments. Don't take any of her disparagement to heart!"

The tenderness in her voice evoked fresh waves of helplessness. How he wished he could shower her with fervent compassion!

Neither did he possess the will to demand the truth from her, nor did he boast of a heart uncaring enough to shrug away. Torn from both sides, what remained of his heart was unrelenting powerlessness. "Are... are you okay?"

Not even her experience of years could hinder the flicker of melancholy from kissing her eyes and leaving behind a blurring film of tears. But it was not long before her practice kicked in and a shaky chuckle escaped her lips.

"You are the one standing away from the rest, and you are asking me if I'm okay? You amuse me."

The playful glimmer in her eyes made the edges of his lips curve into an elegant bow. "You were welcoming the guests without a moment's rest in the one and half hour since I came. So, are you okay?"

The growl of his voice sent shivers down her spine as he whispered words of concern with a force that seemed to crack the walls of security she had so carefully built. His gaze pierced through her outward display and exposed the delicate fabric of protection she had kept hidden away. Her chest heaved with surprise and fear at the realization of how close he was.

"Well, uh, someone has to do it, right?" She gave a noncommittal shrug. The man who rattled her pushed himself off the wall and took a step towards her. His penetrating gaze rooted her to her place and the surrounding noise faded away.

"That someone doesn't have to be you every time, Suhani. I remember I told this once before, but I'll say it again. You don't have to do it alone," he pointed out, gazing into her eyes, which swirled with tears she did not allow herself to shed.

"And what would we tell everyone if you stood welcoming them with me?" she asked, morphing her features into a teasing smirk to detract him from noting the storminess of her eyes.

A pained smile crossed his lips as he felt the lump in his throat grow ever larger. He didn't want to press her on the wounds that had yet to heal, but neither could he find a reason not to show his continued support for her. No matter how difficult it seemed.

"I'll leave you to worry about their opinions, because only your opinion matters to me. If you had asked for my company, if you had wanted my presence, there wasn't a person whose opinion could have stopped me."

Her frantic heart skipped a beat, listening to his earnest and explicit ardor.

Mohit Malhotra had always been a man of few words. His words had turned scarcer than the visibility of the clear sky during the monsoon after the death of Suhani's mother during the birth of the couple's second child - a stillborn son - and over the years her yearning to listen to someone's heartfelt affection for her had receded.

But listening to the frenzied words of an unexpected ally in Ranveer Dhoopar had reinvigorated the dormant desires of pouring her heart out into a listening ear and allowing someone to refill the void left in her heart with their affection.

As her heart was filled with joy for the fulfillment of her desires, her mind remained clouded in doubt. She questioned whether she could trust this newfound ally and what his intentions truly were. Though she wanted to believe it all, her wounds from the past refused to let her believe in anything good.

The number of those who had betrayed her trust was a blur, but the anguish from each of those experiences was seared deeply in her memory. It seemed as if all hope had been obliterated when she tried to pick up the pieces of her broken dreams only to cut herself on their jagged edges. Each time she repeated this futile exercise, her spirit became weaker and weaker, until it felt like it was being crushed under an unbearable weight.

"Mr. Sherlock, I won't share my favorite main dish, no matter how much you try."

And she deflected. Like she always did.

His smile widened, and he took another step towards her. Unlike her experiences, his proximity did not intimidate her. She, instead, gravitated towards him. "You will, Suhani. You will share, and I will wait for that day."