His Apricity

24. Inner Turmoil.

Jeeva's POV

As I come upstairs after meeting Krishav, I hesitate before entering my room. Opening the door, I find my parents sitting on my bed, worry etched in their eyes.

 My mother, with a furrowed brow, asks gently, "Why did he come?"

I force a small smile and reply, "He came to give me the medicines I forgot in his car." My mother simply nods, not saying anything further, but the concern in her eyes doesn't fade.

Excusing myself, I go into the washroom, shutting the door behind me. Leaning against the door, I put my hand over my heart, feeling its rapid beats. Warm tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision. 

I think about when he said, "I will wait for you." Those words echo in my mind, stirring a mix of happiness and fear within me.

I'm happy because someone cares for me deeply, but looking at my parents, my happiness transforms into a heavy sense of responsibility. 

They have so many expectations for me—they believe I will be successful, that I will never disappoint them, that I won't indulge in relationships and all. And now, I feel like I have betrayed their trust by developing feelings for Rish.

My heart aches as I realize that, even though I hadn't come here with the intention of growing close to him, it happened naturally. 

My heart led me to him. Now, even after admitting my feelings to him, I feel trapped. 

When he said he would wait for me, it was both a comfort and a burden.

I whisper to myself, "I can't let him wait for me. I can't continue this closeness."

The fear of disappointing my parents weighs heavily on me. I don't want to hurt them by doing things they wouldn't approve of behind their backs. 

I also don't want to leave Rish hanging, waiting for a future I can't promise. I don't know what the future holds, and the uncertainty gnaws at me.

As the tears flow freely, I sink to the floor, hugging my knees. I whisper, "I'm so sorry, Rish I don't want to hurt you, but I can't go against my parents' wishes. I can't let you wait for something I can't guarantee."

In the silence of the washroom, I feel the weight of my conflicting emotions, torn between the love I feel for Rish and the duty I owe to my parents.

After 25 minutes, I come out of the washroom, having washed my face and changed into comfortable clothes. I see that only my mother is lying on the bed; my father is nowhere to be seen. "Papa kahan gaye?" I ask.

(where is papa?)

"Woh hostel ke ground floor wale guest room mein hai," she replies.

("He is in the guest room at the ground floor of the hostel,)

I nod, understanding that he will sleep in the guest room.

 Guilt churns in my mind and heart for disappointing my father again. Despite all these years of hard work to make my parents, especially my father, believe that I wouldn't do anything against his will, today, that one picture almost shattered everything. 

All that respect I had built in their hearts was on the verge of vanishing if I didn't clear the misunderstanding that had arisen from that one bloody picture—Rish holding me in his arms bridal style after I hurt my foot, taken when we were leaving the juice shop that day.

I ask my mother to show me the contact from which the picture was sent. She hands me her phone, and I check the number. 

My heart sinks as I realize it's the same person who sent me those strange messages. Anger bubbles inside me. Why is this man targeting me? Why is he doing all this?