𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝟕

I’m a powder keg about to explode. My head’s a maelstrom, every thought a jagged edge threatening to cut through me. Today has been an inferno.Today has been a crucible, testing the very limits of my endurance.
My beloved, my sanctuary, has become an enigma. Her walls, impenetrable fortresses that leave me bereft, yearning. I ache to claim her, body and soul, to mark her as mine in a primal dance as old as time itself. If only she could see the depths of my devotion, cloaked though it may be in gruff exterior.

The news of Rajput's demise should have been our shared victory. Instead, her eyes betrayed concern for that viper. A cold rage ignited within me, a desire to resurrect him solely for the pleasure of watching terror bloom in his eyes before I extinguish his miserable existence once more.

Breakfast was an exquisite torture. My father's gaze, laden with unspoken judgments, pierced me like shards of ice. His taunts, veiled in paternal concern, grate against my very being. Does he not see the man I've become, the protector, the warrior? Rajput's downfall consumes my thoughts, a singular focus that brooks no distraction.

And then, the final indignity. My father, ensconced in his study, dispensing wisdom as if I were still a child fumbling in the dark. He bids me comfort my wife, oblivious to the tempest raging within. Does he truly believe I revel in this turmoil?

I am Abhimaan Malhotra, a man who would lay down his life without hesitation for those he holds dear. Yet in this moment, I am adrift, longing for the anchor of my wife's touch.

I stormed out from my father's study , my head pounding. I need her. I need her hands in my hair, kneading away the tension. Beneath the armor, I’m a wounded animal craving her touch. We’ve created a world within a world, a sanctuary of passion and intimacy. It’s our secret, our escape. But right now, all I can feel is rage.

The weather weighs heavily on my troubled mind as August approaches, the monsoon at its relentless peak. The sun feels like a distant memory, hidden behind an impenetrable veil of clouds.when  I reach the haveli, my clothes were clinging to me from the light rain. As I open the door to our room, darkness and silence greet me. My beloved wife and son are nowhere to be seen, drawing a frustrated sigh from my lips.

My hand finds the switch, and as light floods the room, my eyes dart around frantically. Then, realization strikes me like lightning. How could I have forgotten?

There, on the bed, sits my wife. She's curled into herself, her delicate hands lightly holding her legs, her head bowed between them. The memory of that fateful night flashes through my mind - her fear of thunder and lightning, a scar left by a trauma I couldn't prevent.

"Abhimaan, you fool," I chastise myself silently. "How could you forget something so crucial?"

I discard my blazer on the couch, moving swiftly to her side. She remains motionless, but I can hear her muffled sniffles. My chest constricts painfully at the sound. She's too pure, too precious for the darkness of my world.