❝𝐀 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.❞
~•~
Obsession is a dangerous game, but for him, it's the only game worth playing. Abhiman Singh Rathore, a ruthless underworld king with the face of a savior and the heart of a devil...
If I gather all the pieces, can I make them whole? Can I trust that man to mend my soul?
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Too much.
That's what I'm feeling right now-too much love, too much warmth, too much acceptance. It's overwhelming, and I don't know how to process any of it. Why do these people care about me so much? What have I done to deserve this? I am a stranger in their midst, a mere stranger to their world. Yet, they treat me like their own, and it feels suffocating. Not because they're doing anything wrong, but because I've forgotten what it feels like to be loved without conditions. And the weight of that realization is crushing me from the inside out.
His mother-Meera aunty-called me daughter. Her voice soft, kind, as though the word itself was sacred. The way her hands cupped my face, the warmth of her touch as if she were cradling something fragile, broke something deep inside me. She looked at me like I belonged here, like I was part of her family. No hesitation. No doubt. How can she be so selfless, so open-hearted? In that moment, I felt seen-truly seen-but it also made me painfully aware of how much I've lost.
I don't deserve this.
And then there's his father. Stern on the outside but kind beneath it all. His palm rested gently on my head, the way my father used to, with pride and tenderness. It's been years since I've felt that touch. The way his eyes softened as he said, "We're glad to have you in our home beta," almost broke me entirely. The kindness in his words wrapped around my heart like a tight fist, squeezing until I could barely breathe. He didn't have to say much, just that simple gesture, and I found myself wishing for the impossible-that this could be real. That this love, this acceptance, could be mine.
But how could it be? What have I done to earn their affection? I've come into their lives through deceit, with secrets lurking in the shadows, secrets I'm terrified will come to light.
And dadima, her love was the final straw. As I went to bend down to touch her feet-a gesture of respect, the only way I knew how to express my gratitude for the warmth she was showing me-she stopped me. Her wrinkled hand, soft with age and experience, caught mine in midair, and she shook her head.
"बेटियाँ पैर नहीं छूती, गले लगा करती हैं |" she whispered, her voice soft and filled with so much affection.
(Daughters don't touch elders feet, they hug them.)
That was it. I felt the dam inside me crack.
Tears that I had held back for years came pouring down like a torrent, my body trembling as I clung to the last thread of my composure. I didn't even realize how badly I needed that hug until she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close, her frail form comforting me in ways I never imagined possible. Her heart beat steadily against mine, and she whispered, "It's okay, beta, this is your home too now."
