" 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡 "
Advait Agnihotry... He was my pride.
My heart.
The reason I breathed.
But now... now for the first time in my life-I qu...
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" Is this the beginning of love or ruin? "
♡* ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ✧｡*♡
Advait stood motionless on the balcony of his bedroom, a faint breeze tugging at the loose strands of his hair.
The night stretched endlessly before him, dark and unyielding, yet not nearly as suffocating as the shadows that lived inside his mind.
Memories—those cruel, persistent phantoms—rose unbidden, flooding his senses until the present blurred.
No matter how far he ran, no matter how high he built his walls, his demons always found a way back.
They crept into his thoughts when he least expected it, dragging him down into the blackened corridors of his past.
There was a time—a lifetime ago—when Advait Agnihotry had been a little different.
A little Softer.
A man who dared to dream. who was reckless, who had been willing to hand over his heart without hesitation if forced a little.
But life had a way of teaching harsh lessons, and he had learned his well. The man who now stood here was a different breed entirely.
Detached.
Guarded.
A man who had no qualms about risking his life if it meant shielding his family, yet who trusted no one enough to let them inside his fortress.
Marriage.
The very word tasted foreign to him now. Once, the idea had been intoxicating—spending a lifetime with the woman he had loved.
But betrayal, heartbreak, and the slow erosion of trust had shattered that part of him.
What remained was a man who didn’t dare feel too deeply. A man who would rather face a thousand enemies than reopen old wounds.
His jaw tightened as he raked a hand through his hair, pressing the other against the side of his neck to ground himself. His breathing was uneven, shallow.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, willing the pressure in his chest to ease. But peace… peace was elusive.
So, in a moment of weakness, he reached for a temporary escape.
He pulled out the familiar pack from his drawer, tapped a cigarette free, and pressed it between his lips. The metallic click of the lighter was almost too loud in the quiet room.
Flame met paper, and with a deep drag, the poison filled his lungs. The burn was harsh, yet oddly comforting—a slow exhale carrying the weight of his unrest into the cold night air.
( Smoking is injurious to health. Avoid smoking.)
The sharp rap of knuckles against the door broke his stillness. Advait didn’t move to hide the cigarette; instead, he strode toward the door, expecting the familiar mischief of the twins. With a swift, almost impatient pull, he opened it.
