AKSHAT SINGHANIA - A literature professor in Singania Institute of Arts and Commerce. He is soft and caring person
with a tough exterior, who doesn't believe in love or marriage because of his parent's broken relationship and his ex wife's betrayal...
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I know the recent chapters might feel stretched or a bit boring, but I can’t change or rush them because this is how I’ve planned the story. If you’re finding it slow, you’re free to take a break and return once the book is complete. That way, you won’t have to wait and it won’t feel dragged for you.
And if you still want to read, you have to bear these boring chapters for some weeks.
Through the blinds, a gentle beam of sunlight crept up the bookshelves that stood tall.
Before full consciousness returned, Akshat stirred gently, his lashes fluttering as the warmth and softness beneath his cheek grounded him. The stillness surrounding him, along with the odd, enveloping comfort, prevented him from moving too quickly, even though his body felt heavy and his limbs were a little stiff from sleeping in an awkward position.
She was seated with her back against the couch's edge, her eyes closed in sound sleep, and her neck hunched at an awkward angle. Her chest rose and fell in a soft rhythm, and her breathing was steady and slow. There was something very serene about her face despite her posture, as if she had clung to him with all of her strength even when she was sleeping.
Her arms were protectively encircling him, as if she hadn't let go all night, and his head was resting in her lap. Her one hand was resting one on his chest, tightly clasped with his, and the other nestled in his hair, resting gently over his temple. His large hand encircled hers, their fingers entwined.
As he gazed up at her face from his position, Akshat's throat constricted. Not daring to move, he found himself tracing the loose strand of her hair that had fallen over her cheek with his eyes. Somewhere under his ear, he could feel her skin's warmth against his and her heart's steady rhythm. Unwilling, unable to relinquish the comfort that enveloped him like a second skin, he closed his eyes once more.
But the peace didn’t last.
The silence brought back everything that happened the night before. And this time he was fully awake and could feel how heavy it was. The book. Bezubaan. His breakdown. The fear. The overwhelming flood of old memories. His inability to breathe. To think. To deal with it.
She had held him when he fell apart. Had sung to him while he was scared. Hugging him like the pieces that were broken didn't scare her. But that wasn't all. It was her book. Her first. Her dream, which she had kept to herself for years.
Something he had known about, supported, and celebrated. He thought back to their late-night talks, when her eyes sparkled as she talked about characters, feelings, and pages that still needed to be written.
He had promised her that he would be the first person to read it. That he would be there and clap the loudest when she published her first book. He had promised to keep that dream safe as if it were holy.
