Kshitij got Kritika

CHAPTER ~ 44

POV :~ KRITIKA

I was laying bare in his arms, both with my soul and my body. The fact that he had given me a shower laid me bare by my body, and the fact that he knew about my mental state and my numbness laid me bare by my soul.

"When did you first found out about my —"

I didn't even have to complete the sentence when he replied, "A month ago. New year."

"The time when you said that I said you I was feeling sleepy was the very time I would have went numb, right?"

He hummed, "I thought you didn't knew about... these...episodes and that's why I lied to you."

"You told ...my friends about this?"

"They — kind of ..figured out on their own, today."

I chuckled humourlessly.

He has been stroking my bare belly, lightly, since the time he climbed with me on the bed.

"Why didn't you .. approach to a doctor when you knew what you were going through?"

I inhaled deeply. I cannot keep him unaware now, can I?

"It started when I was a kid," I began silently.

He held my arm, and turned me towards himself, "Don't look away from me when you talk to me about yourself."

I gave him a nod, upon which he placed a long kiss on my forehead.

I inhaled in deeply.

"It began because I used to see children along with both their parents.. and only my mother used to be with me. I didn't knew what my father's name or identity was."

I gulped.

"When I was a kid, not having a father was always this... this gaping hole in my life. Everywhere I looked, other kids had their dads. They'd talk about the games they played, the places they went, the things their dads taught them. But for me... there was just silence."

Kshitij's hand gently stroked my hair, his touch grounding me as I ventured into painful territory.

"At school, it was the worst," I continued, my voice breaking.

"The other children, they could be so cruel. They'd tease me relentlessly, asking why ...my father never came to pick me up, why ...he wasn’t at the parent-teacher meetings, why he... wasn’t at the school functions. Oh wait, primarily, why don't I know my father's name. I remember one day, a boy... he said something so mean. He said I didn’t have a father because no one wanted me. That’s when it started."

Kshitij’s breath hitched, but he remained silent, allowing me to pour out my heart.

"That’s when the attacks started. The numbness. The overwhelming feeling that I was alone, completely and utterly alone. Then they even started talking shits about my mother with growing age, like you know— what they say when you don't have a father's name to give them." I chuckled.

"I would freeze up, unable to move, unable to breathe. It felt like drowning, like being trapped in a dark, suffocating void. I was just a child, Kshitij. I didn’t understand what was happening to me."

I felt tears streaming down my face, mingling with the moisture of Kshitij's naked chest.

"My mother... she tried so hard. She did everything she could to make up for the absence of my father. She was both mother and father to me, but even her love couldn’t fill that void. I was angry at him for leaving us, for leaving me. I didn’t even know him, and yet, his absence shaped my entire childhood."