Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
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I sat in my office, staring at the empty glass on my desk, the whiskey still lingering in the air. The city lights twinkled beyond the massive windows, but they offered no comfort. Nandini—my Little Swan—wasn't here, and nothing felt right. A gnawing restlessness had taken hold of me, growing with each passing hour.
She should be here. With me.
I slammed my fist down on the desk, the wood creaking under the force. The dark energy within me stirred, a beast chained in the depths of my soul, responding to my fury. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch and darken, feeding off my anger. I needed to calm down, but how could I when she was out there, away from me?
I could barely focus on the reports Rakshit had brought in. Everything blurred into meaningless text. I tossed the papers aside, rising abruptly from my chair. The energy in the room shifted, the temperature dropping as the shadows quivered in anticipation. I closed my eyes, willing myself to control it, to pull back from the brink.
But her absence gnawed at me like a wound that wouldn't heal.
I paced the length of the room, every step echoing in the silence. My fists clenched and unclenched as I tried to steady my breathing. But the more I tried to calm down, the more the anger surged. The beast inside me roared, demanding release.
"Damn it!" I growled, my voice echoing in the empty room. The shadows coiled tighter around me, almost tangible, like a second skin.
Why did she have to leave? Why couldn’t she understand how much I needed her here?
My thoughts spiraled, and with them, the dark energy swelled, feeding off my frustration. It was as if the darkness inside me had a life of its own, thriving on my anger, pushing me to the edge of losing control. I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles whitening as I fought the urge to let the darkness consume me.
A sudden, sharp pain shot through my head, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out. The anger was like a wildfire, threatening to burn everything in its path.
She had to come back. She was the only one who could calm this storm.
I thought of her face, the way she looked at me with those sharp, intelligent eyes. The way her lips curved into a smile when she was amused. The softness of her touch that could bring me back from the edge. I needed that. I needed her.
But she wasn’t here.
I turned sharply, sweeping the whiskey glass off the desk. It shattered against the wall, the sound ringing in the silence. The shadows danced in response, dark tendrils reaching out as if to consume everything in the room.
This wasn’t me. I was in control. I had always been in control. But tonight, everything was slipping.
With a deep breath, I forced the shadows back, reigning in the dark power that threatened to consume me. I couldn’t let it win.
