The vivid reds in wedding symbols of celebration , Happiness and Joy . But what will happen if the same red colour change into the colour of blood betrayal and the symphony of despair.
Meera sweet little innocent girl end up being the pawn in the d...
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The road stretched endlessly ahead of us, swallowed by darkness that seemed to mirror the heaviness in my chest. Outside, the world was dark and quiet. Inside this car, the silence was so thick, so suffocating, it felt like trying to breathe underwater.
I sat in the back seat, my eyes fixed on Aditya bhai's hands gripping the steering wheel. Even from here, I could see how tightly he held it, his knuckles bone-white under the faint glow of passing streetlights. Beside him, Riya stared out the window, her face a ghostly reflection against the glass. Her eyes looked hollow, empty — like someone had reached inside her and scooped out everything that made her her.
My gaze shifted to the man beside me. Arjun. My husband. His right arm rested in a sling, and his face... God, his face was a perfect mask of nothing. Blank. Emotionless. Unreachable.
But I knew better. I'd learned to read him in ways words could never capture. Behind that carefully constructed wall, I could see everything he was desperately trying to hide — the betrayal slicing through him like broken glass, the anger simmering just beneath the surface, the heartbreak slowly, mercilessly eating away at his soul.
Without thinking, I shifted closer and placed my hand gently over his. His skin was cold. He didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge the touch, but he didn't pull away either. For a second, I half-expected him to withdraw — after all, I was angry with him. Furious, even. Angry for keeping secrets, for thinking he could shoulder the weight of the world alone, for believing I was too fragile to handle the truth.
But anger could wait. Right now, in this moment filled with ghosts and grief, he needed something else. Something quieter. Something only I could give him.
Comfort.
The car hummed along the empty road, the sound filling the spaces between our breaths. Minutes passed — maybe ten, maybe twenty. Time felt strange, elastic. Then, cutting through the heavy silence like a knife, Arjun's voice emerged — low, hoarse, cracked around the edges.
"You know, Meera..." he began, still staring straight ahead into the darkness, "when I was a kid, I was closer to Chachu than to Dad."
My heart clenched. I turned my head toward him, watching as his jaw tightened, as his throat worked to swallow words that clearly hurt to speak. "He was my favourite," Arjun continued, his voice taking on a distant quality, as if he was speaking to someone who no longer existed. "He used to sneak me sweets when Dad said no. He'd pick me up from school whenever I called — didn't matter if he was busy. He taught me how to ride a bike. Held the seat until I found my balance, then let go and ran alongside me, cheering." His lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "He was... everything. And now..."
His breath hitched. I felt his fingers curl slightly under mine, gripping as if I was the only thing keeping him anchored to this world. "...and now I've killed him."
