Wounds of the Heart (दिल के घाव)💔

65

London 📍

The London night pulsed with a dying echo as Manik stumbled back to their hotel room, his steps haphazard and laughter slurred. The remnants of a wild night clung to him like a cheap perfume, the telltale marks of rouge lipstick staining his cheek like a neon badge of shame.

Reaching their door, he fumbled with the keycard, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. A string of nonsensical mumbles escaped his lips, punctuated by frustrated grunts. Finally, giving up on the keycard, he resorted to the most primal method – banging on the door.

"Rohit! Ro...hit!" he slurred, his voice thick with intoxication.

The door swung open, revealing a concerned Rohit. Before Manik could topple over like a domino about to lose its game, Rohit caught him with a practiced ease.

"Woah, there, Casanova," Rohit said, his voice laced with a tired amusement. "Looks like you had a bit too much fun."

Manik, his face plastered with a goofy grin, leaned heavily against Rohit. "Funniest night ever, Ro!" he declared, his voice barely above a whisper. "Met these stunning girls... partied like rockstars..."

Rohit sighed, guiding Manik towards the bed. The carefree facade Manik presented was a flimsy veil tonight, barely masking the underlying exhaustion.

As he helped Manik onto the bed, he couldn't help but notice the faint lipstick stain on his collar. A pang of something akin to jealousy – or maybe it was protectiveness – flickered within him, but he pushed it down.

Manik, oblivious to the silent turmoil within Rohit, mumbled something incoherent, his grip tightening on Rohit's wrist. Rohit leaned closer, straining to decipher his words.

"Why are people so mean, Ro?" Manik mumbled, his voice thick with a childlike vulnerability. "Don't they understand me? All they want is music their way... why can't I make music I love anymore? Why, Ro, why?"

The weight of Manik's words hung heavy in the air. Rohit knew exactly what he meant. The music industry, once a playground of creativity, had become a relentless machine, churning out hits based on market trends and algorithms, with little regard for the artistic soul of the musician. Manik, the free-spirited boy who once poured his heart and soul into every note, was now a cog in this very machine, his passion slowly being suffocated.

A wave of sympathy washed over Rohit. He squeezed Manik's hand gently, a silent promise of understanding. "I know, Manik," he whispered, his voice thick with empathy. "I know."

Manik's eyelids fluttered shut, his grip slackening. The carefree facade had finally crumbled, revealing the raw ache beneath. As Rohit watched him slip into a restless sleep, a fierce determination settled within him. He wouldn't let the music industry break Manik. He would find a way, somehow, to reignite the spark in his friend's eyes, to remind him of the joy of creating music that resonated with his soul, not with market demands.

With a heavy sigh, Rohit rose from the bed. There were battles to be fought, and he wouldn't let Manik face them alone. He would be his anchor, his confidante, and maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to navigate the music industry's treacherous waters and reclaim the music that was rightfully theirs.
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Mumbai 📍

The once vibrant apartment felt suffocating. Twinkle paced back and forth, her arms crossed tightly, her face a mask of simmering anger. Niya sat on the couch, her shoulders slumped, her eyes red-rimmed from unshed tears.

"Seriously, Niya?" Twinkle spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Another promotion? Another 'friendly' lunch with your handsome CEO?"

Niya flinched at the accusation. "Twinkle, it wasn't like that! We just discussed the new campaign."

"Oh, right," Twinkle scoffed. "And I suppose the lingering handshakes and those bedroom eyes he gives you are just part of the 'campaign strategy' too?"

Niya stood up, her voice trembling slightly. "That's not fair, Twinkle. You know I love you. You're the only one I have."

"Love?" Twinkle echoed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Love doesn't mean keeping secrets, Niya. Love doesn't mean throwing your girlfriend's insecurities in her face every other day."

Niya's heart ached at the hurt in Twinkle's voice. "I'm not keeping secrets, Twinkle! You're just… insecure. This new job, it's a good thing. A chance for me to grow."

"Grow? Or a chance to grow closer to your charming new boss?" Twinkle countered, her voice laced with suspicion.

"Twinkle, please!" Niya pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes. "Don't do this. This isn't me. This isn't us."

Twinkle stared at her, the anger slowly giving way to a flicker of doubt. Was she overreacting? Was her insecurity clouding her judgment? But the image of Sidharth's hand lingering on Niya's back flashed in her mind, fanning the flames of jealousy once more.

"I don't know, Niya," Twinkle mumbled, her voice thick with emotion. "This whole situation… it scares me. What if things change? What if you…" she faltered, unable to voice her deepest fear.

Niya reached out, her hand hovering in the air before gently cupping Twinkle's face. "Twinkle, look at me," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "Nothing will ever change my love for you. You're my home, my best friend, my everything. Give me a chance to prove it. Let me show you that you're the only one I see, the only one I want."

Twinkle stared into Niya's eyes, searching for a flicker of deception, but all she saw was raw love and vulnerability. A sigh escaped her lips, the tension slowly draining from her body.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'll try to trust you. But Niya, please, don't give me any reason not to."

Niya's face broke into a radiant smile. She pulled Twinkle into a tight embrace, the warmth of their bodies offering a fragile comfort. The storm hadn't passed yet, but for now, they were weathering it together.

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