Revenge or Love

~Twenty-Two~

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Rishabh's POV

I hurried to the early morning meeting, neglecting to inform Aradhana. As an apology, I dispatched flowers in the morning and had her favorite chocolates delivered to her office at lunchtime.

When I asked in the evening if she was free, she mentioned meeting her friend Tanvi at the XYZ Cafe. I suggested we go home together after she finished, and she agreed.

Moments later, Manish called, requesting a meeting to discuss something important. Assuming Aradhana would take some time, I agreed and messaged him that I'd meet him in half an hour at the Rose Cafe.

As I arrived at Rose Cafe, the sight that met my eyes infuriated me. I saw Aradhana embracing a man. Jealousy and anger surged through me.

Aradhana pulled away from the hug and started towards the exit. Spotting me, she approached and attempted to say something, but I gripped her hand tightly and led her toward the car.

At the car, I opened the passenger door for Aradhana and took the driver's seat. She tried to speak again, but I cut her off, saying, "Not now, Aradhana."

I was too furious to say anything that I might regret. Instead, I decided to maintain silence for a while.

We drove home in silence. I didn't like the tense atmosphere. It wasn't that I didn't trust Aradhana; over the past few months, I had begun to. But the scars of my past haunted me, making me fearful of losing her.

When we reached home, I opened the car door for Aradhana. She spoke again, "I... I don't understand, Rishabh."

I remained silent and took her hand, leading her to our room.

I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the sparsely furnished room. Aradhana stood frozen, her eyes wide with surprise. I pinned her against the wall, my hands gripping her arms and my body pressing against hers. My breath hitched in my throat, the air thrumming with a feverish intensity.

"Rishabh, what's wrong?" she gasped, her voice trembling.

I didn't answer her. Instead, I surged forward, capturing her lips with mine. The kiss was rough and driven by my tempestuous feelings—a clash of fury and desire. I didn't give her time to process what was happening, nor did I care. I wanted to drown out everything—the doubts, the insecurities, all of it—under the fervor of this moment.

As I pressed against her, I felt my fingers dig into the softness of her waist, pinching gently at first. It was almost like a silent plea—a desperate urge for her to respond, to fight me in this raw display of passion. Aradhana's lips parted slightly in surprise, and I took that opportunity, diving into her mouth and exploring every inch as if it were forbidden terrain. My tongue danced with hers, mapping the warm, damp cavern as I lost myself in her taste and essence.

I felt her body stiffen at first, a mix of confusion and curiosity warring within her, but soon the tension faded as she surrendered to the moment. Breathless, she pulled back just enough to tap my shoulder, a small gesture that broke the trance we were in. I immediately released her, resting my forehead against hers, sharing the quickened rhythm of our breaths.

"I'm sorry, Aradhana," I murmured, my voice low and strained. I wanted to explain, to elaborate on the whirlwind of emotions that had spiraled out of control at that moment, but before I could find the right words, my phone vibrated insistently in my pocket.

When I saw my PA's name flashing on the screen, irritation flared up inside me again, but I answered anyway. As I listened to his hurried words, I felt my anger boil over once more.

Without sparing another look at Aradhana, I turned on my heel and stormed out, the door swinging shut behind me.

Aradhana's POV

I was numb for a moment. I stood there, frozen in time, replaying what had just happened like a broken record. Rishabh kissed me. The thought bounced around in my head, overwhelming me. A rush of emotions coursed through my veins like an electric shock. It was my first kiss, and frankly, I never wanted it to happen like this.

Did I regret it? No. I couldn't bring myself to regret that fleeting moment, despite the circumstances. Yet, the echoes of Rishabh's words haunted me: "I'm sorry, Aradhana." Why was he sorry? Did he regret kissing me? A wave of insecurity washed over me. Rishabh didn't like me; he couldn't possibly feel anything for me.

My mind spiraled, overthinking every detail, and before I knew it, a tear slid down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, chastising myself for being weak. I was overreacting. I needed to know what was going on.

Resolutely, I decided to call Rishabh. Maybe he had just stepped outside for a moment. I dialed his number, my heart hammering in my chest, but he cut the call before I could even manage to say hello.

"Fine, maybe he's busy," I reasoned, trying to quell the rising tide of anxiety. I changed into my comfiest clothes, hoping they would provide some comfort. A pair of soft pajamas and an old, oversized t-shirt felt like a hug on a tough night. I scrolled through my phone, looking for some diversion—an old movie, funny memes, anything to distract myself. But as the clock turned to 1 a.m., my heart sank. Rishabh still hadn't come back, hadn't called, hadn't even sent a message.

My patience wore thin. I called him again, but just as before, he cut me off. After the fifth attempt, he picked up, but there was no warmth in his voice—only anger. "WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?" he snapped. "If I disconnect your call again and again, it means I'm busy. Don't you dare call me again!" With that, he hung up.

His words pierced through my confusion and settled into a cold pit of despair in my stomach. I suddenly felt so small and unimportant. I couldn't wrap my mind around why he was behaving like this. Hadn't we shared something special? Was it really nothing to him?

The tears spilled down my cheeks, unchecked now. I clutched my phone tighter, willing it to light up with a message or a call, hoping he'd apologize, maybe even laugh, and say it was all a misunderstanding. But the silence grew louder, amplifying my hurt.

"Let him come," I thought defiantly, though a part of me felt crushed. "I won't even talk to him. What does he think of himself? When he feels good, he's kind; when he doesn't, he rips me apart." My thoughts spiraled further, each one more unfavorable than the last.

Finally, fatigue overtook me; the emotional rollercoaster was wearing me down. I climbed into bed, pulling the covers tightly around me, but sleep didn't come easily. The image of that kiss danced in my mind, flickering between thrill and disappointment like a dimming flame. As my eyelids grew heavy, I breathed in the scent of my warm pillow, trying to escape the tumult in my heart. 

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