𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊
In a world where love can be both. Beautiful or destructive force, the Raghuvanshi brothers hide behind the cold facade guarding their heart from the pain of love.
"Just because you are my wife and we share a bed d...
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28 October 1994
I didn't even see my mother for the last time. I did not get to say goodbye, hold her hand, or tell her I loved her for the last time. Instead, I lay unconscious in a sterile bed, my world crumbled around me. My father didn’t wait. He didn’t let me say my farewell. He decided it was best not to disturb me, not to let me feel that final moment of closure. Abhimaan agreed, of course. They both thought they knew what was best for me, while my life fell apart.
And so, it was Abhimaan who lit her pyre. Not her daughter, not me, her blood, but the man I despise. He was the one who got to stand there, to witness her body turning to ash, while I lay in a hospital room because of this ugly child.
I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to cry for her, to hold her hand one last time. No, I was left in the cold, sterile silence, unconscious and robbed of my grief. And for what? For this thing, this child that I never wanted, that ruined everything. My mother died, and I was too broken, too torn apart, to even be there.
And while I lay there, that monster Abhimaan stood where I should have been. He burned her body, her memory, while I slept. It was my right. Mine. And it was stolen from me, just like everything else.
This child is a wretched being. I hate it. I hate it more than words can express, more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life. Because it took her from me. Because it made sure I’d never see her again.
I should have been there. But I wasn’t.
Malaika Raghuvanshi - A woman who carried her last name like a burden.
2 November 1994
After ten days, I was discharged.
I stepped out of that hospital, but it felt like a piece of me had never left the room. The world outside was still moving, but inside, I was frozen in time. Numb. Empty.
I should’ve felt relief, right? I was finally free of that place. Free of the needles, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the nurses with their fake smiles, pretending to care. But no. There was nothing freeing about it.
Abhimaan was there, of course. Hovering. Smiling that pitiful smile of his, like he thought he could fix me. Like a new house and flowers on the doorstep would somehow erase everything that had been taken from me. But nothing could. Nothing could fill the void of losing my mother, of being trapped in that hospital bed, of watching that child—the child I can’t even bear to look at—take everything from me.
They handed me the baby as we left. I didn’t want to hold him. I didn’t even want to touch him. But I had no choice. Always no choice. I carried him because it was expected of me. Just like I married Abhimaan. Just like I’m supposed to be a mother. Supposed to care. Supposed to love.
