Wounds of the Heart (दिल के घाव)💔

69

Rohit lounged by the glistening pool, the warm Rajasthani sun painting his skin a light gold. The opulent surroundings of Mr. Rathore's palace were a far cry from their usual London haunts, but Rohit couldn't deny the appeal of luxury and sunshine.

A shadow flickered across the pool deck. He looked up to see Mr. Rathore approaching, his usual booming voice subdued. A frown creased the businessman's face, a stark contrast to the carefree smiles Rohit was used to seeing.

"Mr. Rathore, everything alright?" Rohit asked, concern lacing his voice. 

Mr. Rathore forced a smile, the gesture strained and unconvincing. "Just a slight misunderstanding, Rohit. Nothing to trouble yourself with."

Rohit wasn't convinced. He knew Mr. Rathore too well.  "Is it Manik? Did something happen?"

Mr. Rathore sighed, the facade crumbling. "He… he lashed out, expressed his frustration about all the arrangements.  He said he needs space, needs to breathe."

A flicker of anger sparked in Rohit's eyes.  "Manik can be a real… handful sometimes," he muttered. "He doesn't appreciate what you're doing for him. All this – the music, the palace, it's all for him." 

Mr. Rathore held up a placating hand. "It's alright, Rohit. I understand where he's coming from.  He craves freedom, and perhaps I've been too controlling, too eager to please."

Rohit felt a pang of sympathy for the lovesick businessman.  Manik's frustration was understandable, but Mr. Rathore's genuine affection was undeniable. He needed a way to bridge the gap, a way to give Manik the freedom he craved while still nurturing his passion for music.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in Rohit's mind.  He leaned closer, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes.  He whispered his plan into Mr. Rathore's ear. The businessman listened intently, his frown slowly giving way to a surprised smile.

"That's… brilliant, Rohit!" he exclaimed, a hint of his usual enthusiasm returning. "Why didn't I think of that myself?"

A slow grin spread across Rohit's face. "Because sometimes, Mr. Rathore," he said, "even the most powerful men need a little help navigating the delicate world of music and emotions." 

Mr. Rathore chuckled, a genuine sound that echoed across the pool deck. "Indeed, Rohit, indeed.  Perhaps with your help, we can find a way to give Manik the freedom he craves, while reigniting the fire in his soul."

With a newfound sense of purpose, Rohit and Mr. Rathore shared a conspiratorial look.  Manik might be pushing for freedom, but they were determined to give him a kind he wouldn't be able to resist – the freedom to create, to express, and maybe, just maybe, to find something more in the heart of the Rajasthani desert.
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In the bustling heart of Mumbai, a million miles away from the serene deserts of Rajasthan,

a different story unfolded. The clock on the wall chimed twelve, its solemn tone echoing through the vast mansion. Inside, Mrs. Khurana, Kunj's mother, paced restlessly, worry etched deep on her face. Kunj, her only son, was far past his usual curfew.

"Where could he be?" she muttered to herself, her voice laced with concern. "It's not like him to stay out so late."

Just as despair began to creep in, the front door creaked open. Kunj stumbled in, his hair ruffled and a sheepish grin plastered on his face. The sight of him, safe and sound, washed away Mrs. Khurana's worries in a wave of relief.

"Kunj!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and exasperation. "There you are! Do you know what time it is? Almost two in the morning! Where have you been?"

Kunj winced at the scolding tone, a familiar warmth blossoming in his chest despite his predicament. "Sorry, Ma," he mumbled, hanging his head. "I, uh, got caught up with some work. Lost track of time."

Leela wasn't entirely convinced, but the weariness in Kunj's eyes told her own story. She crossed her arms, a stern look on her face.

"Lost track of time, huh? You better not be making a habit of this, young man. You have meeting in the morning, remember?"

Kunj hung his head lower. "Yes, Ma. I promise, no more late nights."

Mrs. Khurana softened, a hint of a smile gracing her lips. "Alright, alright. Go get some sleep. You look exhausted."

Kunj nodded gratefully. He mumbled another apology and retreated to his room, the weight of his secret outing heavy on his heart.

As he changed into his pajamas, a glance in the mirror revealed the tell-tale signs of his night – a constellation of red hickeys adorning his neck.

A blush crept up his cheeks as he remembered Abhimanyu, his rooftop rendezvous, and the exhilarating rush of stolen kisses.

A soft giggle escaped his lips. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he crawled into bed. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, his phone buzzed. He squinted at the screen, a wide smile spreading across his face as he saw the sender: Abhimanyu.

The message was simple: "Good night love with a kiss emoji."

Kunj's heart skipped a beat. He typed a quick reply, his fingers fumbling with excitement: "Good night ;)"

With a secret smile playing on his lips and a heart brimming with newfound joy, Kunj finally drifted off to sleep, the echo of his adventure intertwining with the gentle murmurs of his concerned mother, a comforting melody that spoke of love and a life on the cusp of exciting new beginnings.

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