𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐊𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐫 𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢 (𝟏𝟖+) ✅

𝟐𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

The air in their bedroom hung heavy with the scent of jasmine shampoo and unspoken tension. The gentle glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the plush carpet, illuminating the lone figure of Aisha standing before the mirror. Her back was turned to Kabir as he entered, the damp tendrils of her freshly showered hair clinging to her bare shoulders.

Kabir, his face etched with exhaustion after a gruelling ten-hour workday, approached her silently. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his touch sending a familiar warmth through her. Her reflection in the mirror seemed distant, a stranger mirroring the turmoil within.

"Jaan," he murmured, his voice husky with fatigue, nuzzling his face into the fragrant dampness of her hair. Inhaling her scent, a calming lavender mixed with the jasmine, was his usual way of unwinding after a long day. In her embrace, he found solace, a sense of home amidst the chaos of his world.

His hands, usually so gentle, began a slow exploration of her waist, sending shivers down her spine despite the storm brewing within her. He nuzzled his lips against the nape of her neck, peppering it with soft kisses.

"How was your day, baby?" he asked, his voice laced with a tenderness that usually melted her heart. But today, it only amplified the hollowness echoing inside her.

Aisha remained still, her reflection a statue locked in a silent scream. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes filled with a storm of unshed tears. He cupped her cheeks, his touch feather-light, brushing away a stray strand of hair that clung to her damp skin.

He pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her waist, their bodies a stark contrast – his sharp suit against the soft silk of her saree. "I missed you so much, Jaan," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, showering her cheeks with kisses.

But the dam within Aisha had finally broken. "Take it, take it Kabir ji!" she spat, her voice laced with a venom that surprised even herself. His endearment, 'Jaan,' usually a balm to her soul, now felt like a cruel mockery.

Kabir, momentarily taken aback, stared at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. He wasn't listening to her words, his gaze snagged on the tear at the end of her saree, the delicate fabric ripped where her pallu had been carelessly pulled aside.

"Isn't this all you want?" she continued, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt.

"Which is why you have never confessed that you love me, never said I love you in front of the world, in front of media, forget about that, you never even said it to me? And here, like a fool, I was loving you, so madly, desperately, but you just work in the morning and then at night, you don't even have to make the effort to book someone because hey, a free one is waiting at home! Why should I waste my time flirting with random girls, when I can just get one submissive stupid girl who belongs to me who has nowhere to go, will always be there!! That's all I am to you right? A free whore for every night!! Actually no, even whores have some dignity, but I don't, I am just a fool!!!" she spat venomously, all the manipulations and insecurity were eating up her mind that made her blank.

"Is that what I am to you Kabir ji? Your dirty little secret?" The room seemed to shrink around them, the air itself heavy with her vulnerability. Her voice, barely a whisper, rasped out each syllable carrying the weight of a collapsing dam. Her posture, usually held with a hint of defiance, had slumped, the fight momentarily drained out of her.

He could see it in the tremor of her hands, the way her gaze flickered away from his, unable to hold the usual spark of defiance. In that moment what she craved wasn't blind reassurances, a denial of the anxieties gnawing at her. No, it was a lifeline thrown across a churning sea of doubt.

A desperate plea for him to be the anchor, to hold her steady against the current of her insecurities. Perhaps a part of her longed to hear the sweet melody of "love," a declaration to chase away the shadows. 

Kabir's world tilted on its axis. Aisha's words, delivered in that vulnerable tone, slammed into him with the force of a rogue wave. Here, the woman he called "Jaan" - his life, his soul - was questioning everything. Never, not even in the wildest corners of his imagination, did he envision this.

He had poured his heart, his very existence, at her feet. Every decision, every action, filtered through the lens of her well-being. Keeping her away from the media's glare, from the potential dangers that stalked them, stemmed from this fierce protectiveness. It was a shield, a fortress built with love, not a cage.

But her words, laced with perhaps insecurity or a misunderstanding shattered that illusion. Did she not understand? Did she not see the lengths he went to, the silent sacrifices he made for her safety? Doubt, a bitter serpent, coiled around his heart.

The sting of betrayal was sharp. All his devotion, his unwavering love, reduced to something "derogatory" in her eyes. The hurt festered, a raw wound exposed. The ever-present threat from the Italians loomed large, a constant shadow, but right now, it paled in comparison to the storm brewing within him.

He needed to act. To comfort her, to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. But his mind was a tangled mess. What words could bridge this divide? What gesture could soothe the storm in her eyes?

Across the room, wracked with sobs, Aisha sat huddled on the bed. The silence in the room was a deafening roar, a testament to the shattered communication. Kabir, his heart heavy with a burden he never expected to bear, turned and left. The weight of his love, once a source of strength, now felt like a crushing weight, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

--

"Akshat," the voice on the other end of the line was firm but laced with a hint of apprehension, "organize a press conference."

Akshat frowned. "What happened, bhai? What's the need for this all of a sudden?"

Silence stretched on the line for a moment before a curt reply came, "Just do it." The call ended abruptly.

He'd spent years scrubbing his face from every media database, becoming a ghost in the world of business. Yet, tomorrow, the Shadow would step back into the light. For Aisha, his wife, for the flicker of doubt he saw in her eyes...well, that was worth more than his carefully constructed anonymity.

"Aisha," he called out, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within.

Aisha appeared in the doorway, a question already forming on her lips.

"Please be ready by four tomorrow. There's a press conference."

"A press conference? Why?"

He didn't answer, simply turning and leaving the room. No harsh words, no explanations. The coldness in his demeanour spoke volumes.

Aisha sank onto the couch, a wave of regret washing over her. Maybe she'd gone too far. All those accusations, were fueled by a misplaced jealousy of Malishka's unwanted attention. Now, the weight of her insecurity settled heavily in her gut.