Wounds of the Heart (दिल के घाव)💔

47

Finally arriving at their lavish condo, a testament to their band's success, Manik and Rohit stumbled through the door. The exhaustion from their world tour hung heavy on their shoulders. They collapsed onto the plush couch, sinking into the welcoming embrace of the cushions.

Dim lights cast a warm glow on the living room, their usual haven after a long day on the road. Silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the air conditioner, filled the space. It was a comfortable silence, one that spoke volumes about their bond.

Manik stretched languidly, letting out a groan that vibrated through his tired body. "Home sweet home," he mumbled, barely keeping his eyes open.

Rohit chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad that world tour is finally over."

They lay in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken questions hanging in the air.  The "relationship" they portrayed to the public was a well-oiled machine, but beneath the surface, a deeper connection had formed over the years. 

Manik, his gaze fixed on a painting on the wall, finally voiced the question that lingered in his mind.  "Do you ever think... I mean, about the whole... us thing?"

Rohit turned his head, his eyes searching Manik's.  "Us?" he echoed, a hint of amusement in his voice.  "We're the epitome of a perfect couple, remember?"

Manik scoffed, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.  "Yeah, for the cameras."  His voice softened.  "But seriously, Rohit, what if...?"

He trailed off, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air.  What if their carefully crafted performance morphed into something real?  What if the love they portrayed for the public seeped into the quiet moments they shared, like the one unfolding before them now?

Rohit shifted closer, his voice barely a whisper.  "Maybe," he began, his words carefully chosen.  "Maybe someday the lines will blur.  Maybe the act will become the truth."

A flicker of hope ignited in Manik's eyes.  He reached out, his hand hovering over Rohit's for a fleeting moment before gently intertwining their fingers.  The simple touch sent a jolt through him, a spark of something more than friendship.

They sat there, bathed in the soft glow of the room, their hands intertwined, a silent promise hanging between them.  The future remained unwritten, but for the first time, they allowed themselves to hope that the carefully constructed facade they presented to the world might pave the way for something real, something extraordinary.

A burst of laughter shattered the contemplative mood. Manik and Rohit, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten, dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

"Romantic?" Manik choked out between laughs, wiping a tear from his eye. "The thought of us together is more like a horror movie than a love story."

Rohit doubled over, clutching his stomach. "Remember that time we tried to practice a make-out scene for a music video? We looked like awkward teenagers at a middle school dance!"

The memory brought fresh peals of laughter. Their "relationship" had its perks – free rent in this luxurious condo, a shield from unwanted advances, and a built-in best friend. But any notion of romance had been hilariously extinguished during that ill-fated make-out practice session.

Manik straightened up, a grin still lingering on his face. "So," he said, "back to the drawing board then. Maybe our soulmates are still out there, waiting to be found."

Rohit nodded, a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe they are. In the meantime, we have each other, and that's pretty damn good, wouldn't you say?"

Manik bumped his shoulder playfully against Rohit's. "Absolutely. Now, how about some takeout and a movie marathon? We deserve some serious R&R after that tour."

"Sounds perfect," Rohit agreed, pulling himself up from the couch.

As they settled in for a night of greasy food and cheesy movies, a comfortable understanding settled between them. Their love story might not be a conventional one, but it was theirs. They were best friends, confidantes, partners in crime, and maybe, just maybe, something more was waiting to bloom in the fertile ground of their companionship. The future remained unwritten, but for now, they were content, two souls finding solace and support in each other's arms, ready to face whatever tomorrow held.

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🌄

A sharp peal from the doorbell shattered the peaceful morning quietude. Rohit, still bleary-eyed from the previous night's movie marathon, shuffled towards the door. He flung it open, blinking at the sight before him.

A sea of colorful bouquets filled the entrance, a veritable rainbow of blooms overflowing vases held by a sheepish-looking delivery man. Behind him stood a tall, distinguished gentleman, his face etched with a smile.

Manik, who had wandered in from the living room, caught a glimpse of the note attached to the most extravagant bouquet. His jaw dropped as he read the inscription – a message addressed specifically to him, congratulating him on the successful tour.

Rohit let out a loud whistle, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, well, well," he drawled, nudging Manik with his elbow. "Looks like someone has a secret admirer."

Manik rolled his eyes, but a blush crept up his neck. They both knew exactly who the sender was – Mr. Rathore, the enigmatic businessman with a penchant for grand gestures.

Mr. Rathore, a wealthy man with a lineage steeped in Rajasthan's royal history, was more than just a fan. He was a devoted patron, a silent cheerleader who had championed Manik's music from the very beginning. Rohit, ever the conspiracy theorist, was convinced Mr. Rathore harbored a deeper affection. Manik, however, dismissed it as mere enthusiasm.

This wasn't the first time Mr. Rathore had showered Manik with extravagant gifts. Rohit vividly recalled the overflowing studio after the release of Manik's debut album, drowning in roses and a congratulatory card signed by Mr. Rathore himself. It had been a day filled with Rohit's relentless teasing, much to Manik's annoyance.

The note, in addition to the flowers, also extended an invitation – an invitation for Manik to join Mr. Rathore for tea. As expected, Manik, with a mumbled excuse, politely declined. Rohit, his playful facade momentarily cracking, gave Manik a frown.

"Why do you always have to break his heart, Manik?" he whined.

Manik brushed him off with a laugh, a touch of nervousness lingering in his eyes. "Let it go, Rohit. It's just a friendly gesture."

Rohit shrugged, knowing he couldn't force Manik's hand. But a seed of doubt had been planted. Was Mr. Rathore's admiration purely platonic? Or was there something more brewing beneath the surface, a silent melody waiting to be played? Only time would tell.
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(Let the destiny decide 😉 or the author's mind)
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