✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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I knew the script. I knew the man. It wasn't love. It was rage. His pronouncements were fueled by a possessive fury that had nothing to do with me as a person and everything to do with me as a claim. I was the one thing in his world that wasn't bought, yet now he was fiercely branding me as his. It was the thrill of the chase, the pride of possession, the strategic defense of the status quo he had publicly announced.
He never did, and would never, love me the way I loved him. My love was an irreversible, agonizing commitment. It was a policy document.
Shaking my head and attempting to forget the dangerous, whispered promises of a man whose trauma forbade him from true feeling, I continued down the corridor. I needed space to breathe after the intensity of the announcement. I needed a moment away from his gravitational pull.
Clash.
I certainly required glasses. My clumsy momentum carried me straight into someone solid, and a startled gasp escaped me.
"Sorry." "Sorry." We both apologized simultaneously, and I looked up, ready to offer a quick, professional smile.
The smile froze on my lips.
I strained my brows a little, trying to place the familiar, kind features, but my eyes opened wide when recognition hit. "Ada?" I mouthed the name instinctively.
Sidharth Roy Kapoor.
What the heck was he doing here? What, after so many years?
The floor felt suddenly unstable. Sidharth. Dr. Sidharth Roy Kapoor. We used to be excellent friends—he was my senior in the hospital, and he had helped me through the grueling first years of my academics, offering intellectual sanctuary and genuine kindness. He was my respite. It was only for two years that I felt truly at peace, finally free of the ever-present, monstrous shadow of my father's abuse and control.
I will never forget those two years. But the peace ended when I discovered he regarded me as more than a friend.
He hadn't been subtle in his intentions, but he had been overwhelmingly sweet. I remember the day vividly: a rooftop garden overlooking the city, not flowers or expensive jewelry, but a carefully curated meal he had cooked himself, and the simple, heart-stopping words, "Ada, you are the most brilliant and beautiful chaos I have ever encountered. I love you, and I want to spend every day balancing your energy with my calm. Will you marry me someday?"
