His Forced Bride

21. His past

Aditya's POV:

"When I was eight," I began, my gaze fixed on my hands, the memory flooding back as vividly as if it had happened yesterday, "I found out that my mom was cheating on my dad."

The silence was immediate and weighted, yet Rohini's hand slipped into mine, her touch grounding me in the present even as I was pulled into the past.

"I was just a kid, you know?" I continued, eyes still fixed downward. "I thought everything was fine, that we were happy. My dad and I... we were close. He was my hero." 

My voice caught slightly, and I fought it down. "But one night, I heard them fighting—really fighting, screaming things I didn't understand back then. My mom... she just left. She walked out without looking back."

The words were barely a whisper, but I could feel them reverberate in the room, lingering like a ghost. It was a ghost I had lived with for so long, I sometimes forgot it was there. But now, speaking it aloud, it felt real in a way I hadn't expected.

"For a long time, I thought it was my fault." I didn't know if Rohini could hear the bitterness in my voice, the years of confusion and guilt embedded in those words.

"Like maybe I wasn't enough to make her stay. My dad tried to explain, but... nothing made sense to me back then. All I knew was that the person who was supposed to love me and my dad... didn't."

I looked up then, meeting her gaze. Rohini's eyes held an unspoken understanding, and as I felt her hand squeeze mine, something in my chest loosened, if only a little.

"A few years later," I continued, feeling the story pour out of me now, unstoppable, "my dad remarried. Sonal maa—she's my stepmother—she was always kind, always patient. She tried her best. But I... I couldn't accept her."

A shadow of guilt crossed my mind, regret tugging at old wounds. "I saw her as another woman who might hurt my dad, who might walk out on us just like my mom did."

I paused, running a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of every memory crowding my mind. "I was awful to her, Rohini," I admitted, shame coloring my words.

 "I did everything I could to push her away. I'd ignore her, yell at her, and make her life as hard as possible. But no matter what I did, she never gave up on me. I think... I think she knew I was just a scared kid trying to protect myself."

As I spoke, I saw Rohini's expression shift—a glint of understanding, maybe compassion. But there was no pity. Somehow, she understood this part of me, and I felt a flicker of relief, realizing I didn't have to apologize for who I'd been.

"Even as I grew up, that part of me never really left," I admitted, my voice softer now. "I kept people at arm's length, especially women. I became colder and more guarded. It was easier to pretend I didn't care than to let anyone get close enough to hurt me."

"Aditya..." she whispered, her voice full of something that tugged at my heart, something gentle and steady.

I offered a small, sad smile, knowing I wasn't quite finished. "But with you... it's different," I said, almost to myself, feeling the words more than thinking them. "You challenge me in ways I didn't think anyone could. Sometimes, I catch myself wanting to believe that maybe... maybe I don't have to carry this alone anymore."

Her eyes softened, and I felt her hand tighten around mine. She leaned closer, resting her head on my shoulder, and for a moment, I simply breathed, feeling the warmth of her so close.

"You don't have to carry it alone, Aditya," she said quietly, her voice like a promise. "Not anymore."

Her words echoed in my mind, and I felt a wave of release, as though I'd exhaled something I'd held in for years.

In that quiet moment, with our hands entwined and our pasts laid bare, I felt something shift—a bond that felt as solid and real as anything I'd ever known. This, I realized, was what I had been running from all along.

Rohini's POV:
As Aditya's words settled over me, I felt a wave of emotions I could barely process. It wasn't just his story—it was the rawness, the vulnerability he'd shown in opening up like this. For the first time, I could see beyond the stoic, sometimes distant man I'd known.

Beneath his reserved exterior, Aditya was carrying a weight that most people never saw.

I had never thought about what could drive someone to be so guarded, so closed off, but now it made sense. His mother left, the heartbreak and betrayal of it, the childlike guilt he'd carried for years—all of it was woven into his every word, his every action.

Suddenly, his caution, his guardedness, even his cold moments with me—they weren't rejection, they were shields, built up from years of hurt.

My heart ached for the boy he'd been, for the little boy who'd watched his mother walk away. I couldn't imagine what it must have felt like to be left by someone who was supposed to love you unconditionally and to lose trust in people so early in life. 

And then, his father remarrying—no wonder he couldn't trust Sonal, couldn't let her in. He was just a kid, too young to process his grief but old enough to feel the sting of betrayal. 

And the fact that Sonal maa stayed, weathered his resentment, and still loved him despite it—it showed me just how much he was worth loving, even if he didn't fully see it himself.

Looking at him now, sitting across from me with that slight, sad smile, I felt something shift inside me. It wasn't pity—I could never pity him. It was a kind of empathy, a shared understanding of pain, and an even deeper respect.

And yes, I realized, there was love there too—a love that had been growing in quiet moments, in small exchanges, and tonight, in the way he trusted me with his deepest wound.

In that instant, I wanted to take away his hurt, to somehow ease the burden he'd carried for so long. But I also knew that he wasn't looking for pity, that he'd probably never want me to "fix" him.

What he needed was someone who saw him, who understood him, and who loved him, just as he was—scars and all. And I knew, without a doubt, that I wanted to be that person.

As his eyes met mine, I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You're not alone anymore, Aditya," I whispered, more to myself than him. And in my heart, I silently promised to help him heal, however long it might take.

"You know you can still apologize to her? You feel free. Itne saalo ke man ka bojh halka hojayega Aadi" I said. 

"Tum sahi keh rahi ho Rose, I really should apologize. Thank you. But I don't dare to tell her these things on her face... Mai kiss muh see baat karunga?" He says his inner turmoil visible.

"You can always write a letter?" I suggest and he smiles. 

We change into simple clothes and sleep with a pillow wall in between.

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