Whispers of Fate

38.

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T H I R D  P E R S O N

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A sleek, luxurious car glided through the gates of the Raichand Mansion, coming to a smooth halt at the entrance. The door opened, and Atharva stepped out, entering his expansive mansion, his gaze immediately scanning the house for Anisha.

A faint, mischievous smile tugged at his lips—he had planned to surprise her. Prakash had dutifully, on his command, fed her the lie that he wouldn't return until night, but here he was, hours earlier, in the afternoon itself, eager to see her reaction.

And even more eager to see her.

It had only been a day, yet the wait felt unbearable. A wry chuckle echoed in his mind. There was a time when days, even months, used to pass without a single glimpse of her.

And now? Even an hour spent without her felt like a lifetime, as though each moment without her was a cloud blocking the sun, leaving everything dull and cold.

He walked through the grand living room, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor. It was oddly quiet, as if no one was there.

But Atharva didn't care. The silence didn't bother him.

He knew Anisha was here. He'd asked the watchman on his way in, and the man had confirmed—Anisha had just returned from somewhere a little while ago.

Nothing else mattered, except her.

All his anger from the night before he left had faded, as if it had never existed. There was only the pull to be near her, to see her, to feel her presence.

And if she was angry, he was ready to appease her—in any way she wished. If she wanted an apology, he would drop to both knees, or hold his ears and say sorry—however she wanted. If she wanted Aparna back, then damn it, Aparna would be back. For him, there was nothing above her, nothing. His heart was completely hers, and he was willing to do whatever it took to see her smile, to ease whatever hurt she carried from their clash.

Thinking she would be in their bedroom, he hurried up the stairs, his steps quick with anticipation. He had barely turned the corner, still smiling to himself, when suddenly—like a gust of wind—Anisha came running toward him. And before he could even process it, she hugged him.

His breath hitched.

What was happening? This wasn't something he had expected—it wasn't something he had even dared to hope for.

Anisha crashed into him with such force that he staggered back a step, her arms tightening around him in a desperate grip, as if afraid he might push her away—as if he could ever do that, as if there existed a force in this world strong enough to make him let her go.

For a second, he froze. But then, instinct took over. And, his arms came around her, steadying her, pulling her closer, the warmth of her body seeping into his own.

"Anisha," he asked, his voice thick with concern.

And then, he heard it.

That sound.

That damn sound.

The sound that tormented him, that twisted his insides with a fury or helplessness he could barely contain. The sound he hated more than anything, the sound he couldn't tolerate, not from her, not ever.

Her whimper.

A soft, choked sound, muffled against his chest.

She was crying.