'Ishan Oberoi' - The name that echoes success, power, and resilience. A rising billionaire who carved his empire with his own hands, refusing to ride on his father's wealth. Yet, he never turned his back on his responsibilities as a son. Balancing h...
Daily updates till chapter 40 after that their reconciliation phase will start. So, we will resume target based updates.
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ISHAN'S POV :
A hope.
That’s what I felt the instant my eyes fell on her, draped in a red silk saree, standing in my room as if she didn’t belong but somehow always had. The faint fragrance of jasmine clung to the air around her, and for a heartbeat, everything else disappeared.
The way she flinched at my arrival, as though my presence had burned her. And in that same instant, the vermillion slipped from her trembling hands and she looked at me like I was her everything.
A hope.
That’s what I’d felt.
But hope is cruel when it collides with reality.
I took my watch from the dresser, refusing to let my eyes linger on her any longer, and stormed out. My heart hammered a furious rhythm against my ribcage as I rushed to the guest room. Slamming the door shut, I leaned back against it, palms flat, as if holding the whole world at bay.
“Why the hell can’t I get a grip on myself?” I muttered under my breath.
Anger. Disheartenment. Hurt. They all churned together, thick and suffocating, rising like a tide I could no longer control.
I staggered toward the bed, sitting heavily on its edge. My throat was parched, so I gulped down the water from the glass on the nightstand, the coolness doing little to ease the burn inside me. Closing my eyes, I dragged my hands down my face.
Everything.
Everything played out in my mind like a cruel film reel, the day she arrived, our stolen meetings, the engagement, the dates, the functions, the fleeting moments of happiness. Every scene flickered past, too vivid, too bright, too painful.
I drew in a deep breath and sat up straighter, my voice a whisper to the empty room.
“Maybe… maybe I should just talk to her clearly.”
Even if it meant hurting myself, even if it meant shattering whatever fragile thing still remained between us. This, this slow unraveling—was becoming unbearable.
Resolving myself, I stood up and forced my legs to move downstairs. The evening’s rasams awaited, but my heart was already miles away.
