𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬.
Love is hope for the hopeless and sin for the saint. Love makes you do things you never intended to do, but it's distinct when you hold hands and promise to behold each oth...
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The hum of the jeep's engine filled the silence, but it did nothing to drown out the screams in my mind. The special unit force, officers surrounded me like I am a fragile doll, their weapons ready, their faces hard with purpose.
They were taking me home, swaddling me in safety, while he... he was being torn apart, still getting tortured inside that hell.
The house stood still, as I went inside Chachi's voice pierced through the fog as soon as I stepped in. "Nahella! What happened? Are you okay? What did they do to you?"
I couldn't answer. Words felt like betrayal, each one slicing through the guilt choking me. Without a glance, I dashed past her, up the stairs, and into my room. I locked the door behind me, shutting out the world that demanded answers.
I threw his glove to the floor as though it carried the weight of my guilt. My steps faltered, shaky as I stumbled into the bathroom. The shower's roar drowned out everything-the silence, the pain, Chachi's desperate knocking.
The water scalded my skin, but I welcomed it. I needed it to hurt. I needed something, anything, to be louder than the screams inside me. My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor, the tiles cold against my trembling body.
Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the water. I covered my mouth to stifle the sobs, but they broke free, loud and raw, as I buried my face in my hands.
Images of him- of Rutvik- flashed before me-his defiance, his pain, the way he looked at me as they dragged him away, the pain they were forcing on him now.
They're torturing him. Just because of me.
I choked on my breath, my fists clenched so tight I could feel my nails breaking skin. It's my fault. I failed him. I promised I'd give him justice, his freedom, and yet... I slammed my fist against the wall, the impact sending a jolt up my arm. Once. Twice. Again.
"You're weak, Nahella," I spat at myself. "You couldn't help him. You couldn't-" My voice broke, and I crumbled, forehead pressing against the cold, unyielding wall.
Every scream, every blow they inflicted on him was because of me. He was enduring hell, and I was here, sheltered, surrounded by safety that felt like a curse.
I hugged my knees, as the water turned cold. "I'm sorry, Rutvik," I whispered, my voice a ghost in the steam-filled room. "I'm so sorry." But my sorry wasn't enough. It never would be.
When I finally dragged myself out of the bathroom, my body felt like lead. My eyes fell on his glove, still lying where I'd thrown it. I picked it up, clutching it to my chest. It was too big, the material rough, worn. Just like him. Just like everything he'd been through.
My gaze shifted to my desk and the book he'd given me. My hands trembled as I grabbed it, flipping it open. The front of the page have a note and a press white rose flower in it. The note says,
