"𝑯𝒊𝒔 Bindani "

17 . His pain is mine

Happy reading yrra's 💗✨

As he bid her goodnight, it took her a full five seconds to process his words. A lazy realization dawned on her: she was always the one falling asleep. Be it night, morning, afternoon, or even the stillness of midnight, she seemed to spend most of her time drifting off, lost in the embrace of sleep. She shrugged to herself, dismissing it as just another familiar habit. After all, what harm could it do? Sleep was simply her way of passing the time.

Raghav pov

As I entered the room next to hers, knowing that the one which used to be mine no longer belongs to me, a strange sense of loss washed over me. Her reaction caught me off guard—sometimes it feels like she’s distant, almost as if I’ve wronged her. He was her real brother, after all. But still, no one, absolutely no one, has the right to touch her, harm her, or even cast their gaze on her face. Her beautiful, beautiful face, those eyes that always seem to hold arrogance and innocence together—expressing a hundred emotions at once.

Yet, in moments like these, I feel this undeniable pull toward her, a need for her presence. Today, when she held my hand as I gently laid her on the bed, the way her fingers clung to mine—there was something so pure, so mesmerizing about it. The innocence in her touch made my heart ache and swell at the same time. I don’t know what this feeling is, but it's beautiful in its unfamiliarity. Seeing her like this makes me feel something deeper than words can express.

I crafted those bangles not because she asked for them, but because they reminded me of my mother. My maa sa always loved wearing unique bangles, ones that symbolized protection and foresight. When I saw her for the first time, I couldn’t help but draw a comparison to my mother, even though they are worlds apart. It’s not a competition, but I couldn’t stop myself from seeing the resemblance in spirit. Her small, delicate hands—always trying to grasp my larger ones, never quite succeeding, but always trying.

Maa sa always had a way of thinking beyond the present, always preparing for the future, and I admired that about her. Even when I was too young to understand fully, I remember feeling awe at her strength and foresight.

The way she holds my hand—it does something to me. There’s no real explanation for why it makes me feel good. It’s odd because happiness isn’t something I’ve ever really known, not in my life. But somehow, with her, I’m enjoying moments, even though I’ve always believed happiness wasn’t meant for me. I never had plans for a wife, never even thought about including someone in my life. But she came into it, and before I could even understand what was happening, I had already let her in.

When her brother speaks, it’s strange. His words, though meant for her, feel like they’re directed at me too, as if she’s not just his sister but someone I already consider mine. It’s unsettling how much that affects me.

Sometimes she seems happy, other times confused, and I can’t tell if she’s content with everything around her. She often brings up the idea of divorce, and I don’t oppose it, but I never agree either. My ancestors always taught me that relationships are meant to be understood and nurtured. You don’t break them when they get difficult—you learn from them, strengthen them. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, even though I don’t fully understand what’s happening between us.

But still, why does she keep asking for the one thing I’ve already said no to? Why does she want to leave me, leave this place? These questions have been spinning in my mind all this time, like a storm I can’t escape.

Even now, despite everything, as madam instructed, I didn’t touch any work today. Not a single thing. It’s strange how much control she seems to have over my actions, even when I don’t want her to.