𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝟏: 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
"What?" she said, she couldn't believe her ears, that her Kabir ji would say something like that when he had been showering his whole life at her feet.
"Kabir ji, if it's abo...
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The late-night moon bled through the canopy of the mango orchard, dappling the ground with a mosaic of light and shadow. The air hung heavy with the scent of ripening fruit and the distant hum of cicadas. Here, amidst the verdant embrace of the Oberoi gardens, sat Kabir.
His usual posture, ramrod straight and commanding, was slumped. His broad shoulders, usually radiating strength, seemed to cave inwards under an invisible weight. His gaze, normally sharp and focused, was fixed on a distant point in the sky, a million miles away. Gone was the easy confidence that usually surrounded him, replaced by a mask of worry that etched lines onto his youthful face.
A rustle in the nearby rose bushes broke the silence. Aisha emerged, her slender frame dwarfed by the vibrant blooms. Her eyes, usually sparkling with life, were red-rimmed and swollen from tears. Her normally vibrant dupatta, the colour of a summer sky, hung limply around her shoulders, mirroring the dejection in her posture. As she approached Kabir, her steps faltered, each one hesitant and heavy with unspoken fear.
"Kabir ji..." she began, her voice a mere whisper choked by a sob. Her lower lip trembled, threatening to spill over with another wave of tears.
He didn't turn towards her. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Finally, he spoke, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. "What?"
Undeterred by his coldness, Aisha sank down beside him on the weathered wooden bench. Reaching out, she tentatively placed her hand on his arm, a gesture that had always been met with a reassuring squeeze. This time, her touch remained unanswered. His arm stayed rigid, a physical manifestation of the emotional wall he'd erected around himself.
Desperation tinged with a flicker of defiance flickered in Aisha's eyes. She inched closer, her small frame dwarfed by his imposing physique. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his waist, her touch barely registering against the thick fabric of her kurta. He felt like a mountain to her, unyielding and immovable.
A frustrated sob escaped her lips. "What do you want, Aisha?" he finally asked, his voice laced with a barely suppressed irritation.
"Aap...aap aise kyu baat kar rahe hai, please na hold me!" she pleaded, her voice shaking.
(Why are you talking like this, please hold me)
There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a fleeting moment of vulnerability. For a heartbeat, his arm came around her, a silent acknowledgement of her pain. But just as quickly, the warmth receded, replaced by the chilling distance that had settled between them.
