Veiled Affection: Secrets Of Heart.

Chapter-7.

Murugan

My mother and father named me Murugan because, on my paternal side, every male child has always been named after Lord Murugan. My father's name is Karthikeyan, and my grandfather's name is Senthil.

"Murug-" means beauty. My father wanted to name me Senthil Kumaran after his father, but my mother chose Murugan. Since they both had plans to name me after Lord Murugan, they agreed on the name.

I never really seemed to have any fascination for the things other men my age did. When I was young, boys, especially, played cricket and other games, but I always found solace in reading books—and in Radha.

As a teenager, while others went after girls, movies, and had large groups of friends, I didn’t have any of those things. Solitude and silence were my best companions back then.

I grew up and went to college. While others indulged in everything except studies, I completed my undergraduate degree with flying colors.

Then, my father fell ill with heart disease, and I had to leave everything behind to take care of him and my family. I had two sisters and an ill father—the responsibility was huge, but I never turned away from it.

Gayatri got married after finishing her degree to a good man, Chandru. He was really supportive when he worked in Chennai. When I struggled with responsibility, being older, he usually gave me advice that helped.

When Kalyani married my best friend, Manivanan, I was really happy because I knew no man would take care of her the way he does.

Then, when it came time for me to get married, I had to face a cruel reality. The woman who was supposed to marry me didn’t even bat an eye before leaving me on the stage to marry the man she truly loved. I felt detached from everyone and everything. The one person who would have stood by me, even when I pushed her away, left as well. Radha left because I asked her to—completely out of my life. That was the day I realized how lonely I was without her, how lost I was without her.

My father passed away. I knew he struggled to handle my grief, but in the end, he too left me hanging, barely alive.

My grandmother Kamatchi gave me an ultimatum when I broke down in front of her. She decided I should marry her daughter's daughter, Radha—my father's sister's daughter.

Where do I even start with Radha? Radha has been everything to me since childhood. I knew her like the back of my hand—what she liked, what she disliked, her pet peeves—everything. I saw her grow up, and I grew up alongside her.

I was always considered a lonely kid, but she made me feel at home. When others thought I was weird, she made me understand that weird was what she needed. She made me feel wanted. In the process, I didn’t even notice when she transformed into the woman she is today—until the night she proposed to me.

There she was, standing and confessing her unrequited love for me. That was when I realized she was a woman, and that realization irritated me. How could I be the man to recognize her as a woman? I was about to marry another girl, and all I could think about was Radha and her confession.

I let her go. After that fiasco, she never spoke to me again, never looked me in the eye. Everything went downhill. I knew that, on the night of my father’s funeral, she came to see me. She thought I was asleep, but I felt her gently take my father’s photo from my tight grip and place it on the table. Then, she kissed my forehead and left.

A tear rolled down my face that night. That was when I knew—we were husband and wife; there just wasn’t any romance yet.

I sighed, thinking about it. Now, she’s back in my life as my wife, but I’m afraid that if I cross any lines, everything will go back to how it was before—when I was alone. The possibility terrifies me.

I don’t even know who Radha really is anymore. It’s been five years, and to think a person would stay the same over that many years would be foolish. Does she still love the color blue? Does she still eat late-night ice cream? How were her college days? Did she make any other friends besides Mythili? Was there another boy in her life besides me? Did she like someone? I have so many questions, but I know I don’t deserve the answers. I threw her away like she didn’t matter when I found someone else to marry. I could have handled that night so much better.

When she apologized, it broke my heart. That’s my Radha—someone who doesn’t want to hurt even the people who hurt her.

She was a teenage girl—maybe she was afraid to speak up before knowing the circumstances. And at the end of it all, things played out as they did. I sighed again.

I wish things were different.

That’s when I heard a knock. She had gone to change in the other room. When she entered, I gasped at what she was wearing: a t-shirt and a skirt. The t-shirt hugged her, and I felt something stir inside me.

She looked ethereal with her open wet hair, the plain red t-shirt, and the black skirt. She looked much younger than her age, reminding me of the eighteen-year-old girl who had confessed her love to me.

I walked toward her, and she slowly looked at me through the mirror, noticing my presence behind her. She turned to face me.

I slowly took the towel from her hands and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Then, I leaned down and rested my forehead on her right shoulder.

“You’re making my days harder, Radha, just by being you,” I whispered. She looked at me, confused.

“You’re making my days harder by making me fall for you, by loving me, by smiling at me even when I don’t deserve it for the things I said. You’re making it harder to resist you,” I said, my voice full of emotion as I looked into her questioning eyes.

I gently kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. As I leaned toward her lips, a knock startled us both.

“Radha, dinner is ready,” Muthaiyya sir called out. I gulped, turning back to look at her. She was blushing, avoiding eye contact with me.

“I’ll be there, sir,” she called back, then quickly ran out of the room. I sat down in the chair, chuckling to myself. She had seen different sides of me before, but she was about to see a side she had never seen.