[FEATURED IN WATTPAD INDIA PROFILE]
❝Pioneering the art of constructing love, my Kanmani.❞
Xavier teased her skin, slowly caressing her cheeks and her lips trembled.
❝You don't dare!❞
And he kissed her.
------
When he had compromised his dreams and...
♬ waqt bhi thehara hai, kaise kyun ye hua... kaash tu aise aaye, jaise koi duaa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Xavier, Subhadra called..."
His eyes shot open, dispelling any hope that this might be just a figment of his mind. No, this was real—his reality. He gripped his phone tightly. "She called you?" he asked, disbelief coloring his voice.
Why would Subhadra reach out to Satya?
"No, not me. I had your calls redirected," Satya's voice broke through the haze of his confusion.
Oh.
"She... mentioned she'd be meeting you today," she continued, her voice softening, almost hesitant, as if the words themselves were fragile things.
Damn.
"Alright," he murmured, feeling the gravity of it settle over him like a stone in his chest. Subhadra Kumari Singh wanted to meet him. After years of silence—years in which he'd tried to erase her from his mind—she was now resurfacing. "Did she say where?"
"No."
"Alright. I probably know where."
"Xav, are you okay?"
"Peachy, Satya. Just peachy," he scoffed, a feigned lightness masking the turmoil within. "Anyway, I've got to go. Time to prepare for a meeting with the devil incarnate."
"Xavier..." Satya's voice softened, concern lacing her words.
"I'm fine, Satya. I just need this done. Over with. The sooner, the better."
"Hmm."
"Goodbye."
He moved swiftly to the bathroom, propelled by adrenaline. His ex-wife had summoned him, after all. He stood beneath the scalding water, the heat grounding him, as if it could somehow steel him for what was to come. With deliberate care, he began trimming his beard, intent on presenting himself as polished, every detail in place, as though to prove he was no longer the man she once deemed a failure.
In the mirror, his reflection held him captive, dredging up memories he'd worked so hard to bury. He remembered the day it all began, the day he'd come home to tell her he'd decided to abandon his idea and accept a secure offer from a respected MNC.
Because that's what people did, wasn't it? They compromised, adapted, survived.
"You're such a loser, Xavier," she'd sneered, her words laced with venom that struck right where he was most vulnerable.
The memory jolted him so forcefully that he accidentally nicked his chin. A thin line of blood appeared, and he smirked bitterly. Irony, he thought, for Subhadra had left cuts far deeper than any razor. Her scorn, her relentless mocking—it had left wounds that had never truly healed.
They'd shared a small apartment in Mumbai—a modest yet beautiful home. Subhadra was the sole breadwinner, pushing herself tirelessly to support them both, while he struggled to pitch his ideas to investors who showed no interest. He had watched her exhaust herself, and it had only made him feel more hopeless.
He'd been ready to give up his dreams for her, believing she deserved better, a life free from struggle. But she had mocked him instead, her disdain cutting deeper than he'd ever imagined. Every barb she threw, every sneer, every poisoned word had slowly chipped away at his pride, filling the void with a simmering anger he didn't know how to express. The final blow had come in the form of divorce papers—her last, damning judgment.
The doorbell broke his reverie. He washed his face, dabbing his bleeding chin with a towel. "Ponnamma's unusually early today," he muttered absently.
His chef was never early, often late, but never early.
He tugged on a clean pair of track pants, still distracted, and clicked the button on his automated door system, unlocking it from his bedroom. Drying his hair, he walked toward the front to greet her, only to be met with silence. Odd, as Ponnamma usually filled the room with her cheerful broken English.
He noticed the door was slightly ajar and reached out to close it. But his gaze caught on a figure standing just outside.
Damn.
"Subhadra!" he breathed, the air seizing in his lungs as though a thousand pounds pressed against his chest. His heart thudded painfully, its ache sharper than he'd felt in years.
"Didn't your friend inform you?" Subhadra asked with unnerving calm. "What was her name? Ah, Satya."
If there existed a form sculpted by the gods, Subhadra wore it. She stood with an effortless elegance that bordered on arrogance, her gaze laced with a hundred arrows of seduction.
Five years had passed since their separation—five years in which he'd seen her only in fragmented torturing dreams. Five years of yearning, of anger, of helpless memories, and now she was here, more striking than ever.
Her fingers brushed his chin. "You cut yourself," she murmured, her thumb sweeping away the thin streak of blood. "You haven't changed."
When her fingers left his skin, a hollow ache lingered. The scent of wild roses clung to her, intoxicating his senses. "I thought you'd be here in the evening," he managed, the words barely coherent. "You're early."
Their eyes met—hers unwavering and resolute, his shadowed by pain.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Do tell me what you feel about this and the upcoming chapters, always open to positive criticism.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
