Niharika Verma is a stunning semi-classical dancer who wants nothing more than to travel the world, but the shackles of her dreadful past keep her grounded. On the other end, Asia's well-known businessman and CEO of Rajvanshi Industries, "The Maanve...
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Author's POV:-
As darkness descended, the sound of crickets chirped softly outside the window. Maanveer, tall and broad-shouldered, stood at the edge of his bed, mechanically folding his clothes and placing them into the open suitcase in front of him. His movements were precise, almost robotic, betraying none of the inner turmoil simmering beneath the surface. He’d made his decision, and he wasn’t the type to look back.
Dinner had been a silent affair. He hadn't said much, keeping his eyes trained on his plate as the conversation between family members floated around him like a distant hum. His mother, Shreya, had tried to draw him into the conversation a couple of times, but Maanveer was in no mood to humor anyone. His mind was already made up.
As he packed his things, the door creaked open with a soft knock. Maanveer's gaze flickered to the doorway, and there stood his mother, Shreya, her eyes soft with concern but her posture resolute. She was a small woman, yet her presence filled the room with a comforting warmth that Maanveer had long grown used to.
“May I come in?” she asked, her voice gentle, but probing.
Maanveer let out a small sigh, shaking his head slightly. "Mom, why are you asking? You never need my permission. Please, come in." His voice was firm but respectful.
Shreya gave him a faint smile, stepping into the room with grace. "You know I don't want to impose." She glanced at the half-packed suitcase, the clothes strewn about the bed, and her eyes darkened with worry. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"
Maanveer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned back to his suitcase, folding another shirt, his brow furrowed as if the action alone required all his focus. He hummed an acknowledgment, not willing to get into this conversation again.
Shreya sighed and moved closer, her hands deftly picking up a pair of trousers and folding them neatly before placing them into the suitcase beside him. For a few moments, they worked in silence, the only sounds being the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional creak of the bed frame.
As the silence grew too thick, Shreya finally spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want to take her with you? It’s a big move, and... she’s your wife, after all.”
Maanveer’s jaw tightened, his hands freezing mid-fold. "I already told everyone," he replied, his voice cold and clipped. "There’s no need to ask me again. She’s staying here."
“Hmmm... and you’re sure you won’t regret this decision?” Shreya pressed, though her tone was soft, almost pleading. She had always been the one to try to keep peace, to nurture. Maanveer’s hardened demeanor pained her, but she wasn’t about to give up easily.
Maanveer straightened, dropping the shirt he had been holding into the suitcase with a little more force than necessary. "Why would I regret it, Mom?" His voice was sharp now, a defensive edge creeping into his words. "It's my own decision. It’s better this way. I don’t want to see her face every day."
