Bound by Hearts

32. Who am I?

(Warning: Suicide mentioned)
Abhimanyu's pov.

In the dimly lit corner of the club, I sat perched on a barstool, surrounded by a haze of neon lights that pulsed to the beat of the music.

The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, perfume, and alcohol, a heady concoction that blurred my senses and dulled my thoughts. I clutched a half-empty glass of whisky in my hand, the amber liquid swirling gently as I lifted it to my lips.

The sharp scent of alcohol stung my nostrils, yet it promised a temporary escape from the relentless tug of memories that plagued me.

Around me, the dance floor throbbed with bodies moving in sync to the pounding bass. Streaks of colored lights swept across the room, casting fleeting patterns on the walls and floor. Each flash of light seemed to fragment my thoughts further, scattering them like shards of glass.

When a random girl approached me, her figure illuminated in flashes of blue and pink, it momentarily disrupted my thoughts. She wore a dress that shimmered under the club lights, and her eyes held a playful invitation. She swayed to the music, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

"Hey," she said, leaning closer to be heard over the music. "Wanna dance?"

My gaze flickered to her, my mind clouded by the alcohol coursing through my veins. Her features seemed to blur and meld with the swirling colors around us.
And for a moment, I swear...

I saw Amara's face.

I hesitated for a moment, caught between the desire to lose myself in the rhythm and the ache of memories that threatened to resurface. Without waiting for my response, the girl took my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor.

The music enveloped us in its pulsating embrace, the bass reverberating through my chest. I moved mechanically, my body following the rhythm while my mind drifted in a haze. The lights continued to dance around us, casting a kaleidoscope of colors that painted the room in shades of electric blue, fiery red, and deep purple. The scent of alcohol hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sweat of dancers and the faint hint of perfume.

As we danced, I felt myself slipping further into the numbing embrace of the night. The girl pressed closer to me, her hands exploring my back. But even in my intoxicated state, I could only think how this didn't feel like Amara.

My princess—the warmth of her touch, the sound of her laughter.

Abruptly, I pulled away from the girl, stumbling slightly as I broke free from her grasp. The music seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the echo of my own thoughts. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that clouded my mind.

With unsteady steps, I made my way toward the exit, leaving behind the pulsating heart of the club. The cool night air hit me like a slap in the face, momentarily clearing my senses.

But the weight of guilt and regret settled back on my shoulders as I stumbled into the solitary darkness of the Melbourne night.

The streets were alive with the usual late-night chaos. Laughter, the hum of traffic, distant sirens. But for me, the world was a blur, a spinning carousel of guilt and regret.

I leaned against a graffiti-covered wall, the cold concrete biting through my thin jacket. My breath came in ragged gasps, the alcohol and smoke churning in my stomach. I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself, but the memories came rushing back with a vengeance.

It always did—killing me over and over again. How could I love her so much and still ruin us every time?

Amara. Amara Roy was never the problem.