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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• Y U V I K A •
The night felt colder and it wasn't even midnight yet. I opened the diary again. I knew I was going to sleepless the whole night when I picked up her diary, but I just wanted this to end. I wanted to know everything. So with determination I turned it to the next page.
23 December 1995
I never thought I’d find myself in this place again, wrestling with the thought of another child. After everything that happened with Abhimaan's son, I should feel complete aversion to the idea of motherhood. Yet, here I am, imagining a daughter.
It’s odd, isn’t it? How can I crave a child when I still feel such a deep-seated resentment toward my son? He came into this world with the weight of my mother’s death on his tiny shoulders. I see him as a reminder of everything that went wrong in my life, of the chains that bind me to Abhimaan and this relentless cycle of misery. I should hate him for that, yet I find my heart aching for something more.
Maybe it’s the desire for redemption. I wish I could experience the joy of motherhood in a way that feels fulfilling. A daughter could be my chance to create a bond built on love and understanding, something I never had with my son. Sometimes I wonder if I want a daughter to right the wrongs I’ve committed in this life. I want her to be everything I couldn’t be, to break free from the suffocating expectations that have held me captive. I envision raising her to be strong, independent, and unapologetically herself—everything I wish I could have been.
It’s silly, perhaps, to think that I could do things differently this time. I keep telling myself that if I have a daughter, I can shape her future. I could give her the love I felt was stolen from me. In my mind, she wouldn’t be like him. She’d be my little muse, my chance to rewrite my story.
But what if I’m just repeating the same cycle? What if I’m only setting her up for disappointment and pain? The truth is, I don’t want to resent her as I do my son. The idea of a daughter pulls at my heartstrings, offering hope and warmth in a life that feels cold and dark.
Maybe having a daughter would help me heal from the scars I carry. Maybe she could help me remember what love feels like. Or maybe it’s just a fantasy—a beautiful illusion I cling to, hoping it might save me from my reality.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but the thought of a daughter lingers, a whisper of hope in the silence of my despair. I can’t shake the feeling that she could be the light I’ve been searching for, even as I grapple with the shadows of my past.
For now, I’ll let this dream breathe. Perhaps it’s the only thing keeping me from drowning in the bitterness that surrounds me.
Malaika Raghuvanshi - A woman who carried her last name like a burden.
26 December 1995
That night, I dressed myself for him—for the man I hated, the man who had taken so much from me. I didn’t do it for love, or even for reconciliation. I did it for a reason that was mine alone.
