ISHQ-E-MOHABBAT

13. Anklets

Third person's pov:

Mayura's eyes widened in horror as she took in the sight of Abhimaan standing before her, his hands covered in blood, his knuckles raw and bleeding. A chill ran down her spine as she struggled to process what she was seeing. Abhimaan's usual calm and composed demeanor was replaced by a fierce intensity, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and guilt.

"Abhimaan, whose blood is this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart racing with fear.

Abhimaan didn't answer. He stood there, his gaze fixed on a point beyond her, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

Mayura took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching out instinctively. She hesitated, unsure if she should get closer. "Abhimaan, please, tell me what happened," she pleaded, her voice trembling with concern.

But Abhimaan remained silent, his eyes locked on some distant point.

Her mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Who was hurt? Who was bleeding? A name flashed in her mind, a name that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Abhimaan, is Rajveer alive?" she asked, her voice barely audible, her eyes fixed on his face, searching for any sign of truth.

Abhimaan’s expression shifted abruptly. His eyes snapped back into focus, meeting hers with a mixture of shock and surprise. He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

Mayura’s eyes widened in disbelief. "He's alive?" she repeated, her voice laced with astonishment.

Abhimaan’s gaze dropped to his bloodstained hands, his shoulders squaring as if preparing for a blow .

He had been consumed by his rage, and now he was afraid she would be repulsed by him.

"You thought I would be scared of you," Mayura said firmly, her eyes locked onto his face. "You thought I would turn away, but I won’t."

Abhimaan's gaze snapped up, searching her face with a mix of guilt and surprise. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t anticipated that Mayura would stand by him, facing the darkness within him.

Mayura’s gentle touch and calm demeanor seemed to soothe Abhimaan’s frayed nerves. Without a word, she led him to the washroom. His eyes never left her face, searching for any sign of fear or disgust, but Mayura’s expression remained serene, her eyes filled with deep understanding and compassion.
She took him to bathroom.
She turned on the tap and began to clean the blood from his hands, her touch gentle and soothing. Each stroke was tender, as if she were washing away not just the physical evidence of his brutality but also the emotional scars. Abhimaan’s gaze remained locked on her face, seeking redemption and forgiveness in her eyes.

As she finished cleaning his hands, Mayura looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. "Take a bath, Abhimaan," she said softly. "You need to wash away the blood and the pain."

Abhimaan nodded, his eyes still fixed on hers. He began to undress, his movements mechanical, as if he were in a trance. Mayura helped him, her touch gentle and careful, her eyes never leaving his face.

As he stepped into the bath, Mayura turned to leave, but Abhimaan’s voice stopped her. "Mayura," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She turned back to him, her eyes locking onto his. "Yes, Abhimaan?"

Abhimaan’s gaze searched hers, filled with deep sadness. "Thank you," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you for not leaving me and for not calling me Mr. Shekhawat."

Mayura’s face softened, tears welling in her eyes. "Abhimaan," she said softly.

With that, she turned and walked out of the washroom, leaving Abhimaan alone with his thoughts.