YOU NEVER WALK ALONE

57- The one I fell in love with...

Inline comments would be appreciated!

AUTHOR'S POV-

The owner of the venue was talking to Rajiv as they all prepared to leave. The evening had drawn to a heavy, almost suffocating close.

Sarakshi stood quietly, wrapped tightly in Rashvik's arms, seeking solace in his embrace. Her body trembled uncontrollably, the aftershocks of everything that had happened still crashing through her. Prachi stood beside them, her hand gently stroking Sarakshi's hair, murmuring soft words of comfort.

Regret? No. Sarakshi didn't regret a single action they had taken tonight. But the sheer weight of it all-the chaos, the emotions, the memories resurfacing-was overwhelming, especially for someone like her, who carried her scars so close to the surface.

Rashvik held her closer, as if by sheer force he could protect her from the world, or perhaps from the demons within himself. His mind was a whirlwind of guilt and self-recrimination. Sarakshi had said she forgave him, and he believed her. Yet, the memories of the early days of their marriage gnawed at him-his harsh words, his cold silences, his blind arrogance. Every small cruelty he had once dismissed now came rushing back, sharper and more unbearable than ever.

Rakshit's disappointed face flashed before his eyes, and Rashvik felt that familiar, sickening churn of regret deep in his gut.

He's right, he thought bitterly. His anger is justified. It's my fault. If only I had listened, if only I had treated her with the care she deserved, none of this would have spiraled this far.

Pichu's voice, blaming him for Sarakshi's tears, echoed painfully in his mind.

He's right too, Rashvik admitted to himself, his chest tightening. A part of her pain is because of me-the biggest part, I broke her trust when she needed it most. I should have been the person for her since the beginning to rely on without doubt.

That thought stuck in his mind, looping endlessly, torturing him with its brutal honesty. It was a wound that no apology could truly heal, and no forgiveness could erase. And deep down, Rashvik knew-he had a long road ahead, not just to earn her trust again, but to learn how to forgive himself.

As the evening air whispered around them, he tightened his arms around Sarakshi, silently vowing he would spend the rest of his life making it right.

"Let's go," Rajiv said softly, patting Sarakshi's head. She looked up at him, nodding with a small smile. He gently wiped the tear off her cheek with his thumb and whispered, "It's over, don't worry." She nodded again, a little more firmly this time.

They moved out of the venue, Rashvik not letting go of her hand even for a second. He made her sit inside the car carefully, treating her as if she was made of glass, and then hopped into the driver's seat.

Sarakshi's eyes caught the sight of his bruised knuckles, blood oozing out from the raw cuts-the result of the punches he had thrown.

She held his forearm before he could start the car. Rashvik looked at her, his eyes soft, guilt visible, his face small, and his body stiff. He kept looking at her, his world blurring out, fading into nothingness. Only their eyes locked diving into each other's depths and for a moment, nothing else mattered.

Slowly, he placed his other hand on top of hers, the one resting on his forearm. The warmth of her touch pulled them back into reality.

"Mr. Singh," she breathed out, her voice barely a whisper. "Your hands are bleeding," she said, looking away and carefully taking his hands into hers. She gently rested his hands on her thigh and opened the glove compartment, pulling out the mini first aid box.