Do Not Worry, My Sweetheart (Broken Dreams 1)

Chapter One

She wrapped coat around herself and meanwhile was compelled to cry a little for the wounds the person she loved the most in her life gave to her. At times fate gives us a harsh reality check to make us awake and free from false fantasies. We live in a world where a man is judged by his apparel, his achievements and the personality he possesses rather than his character and the traits he has to show. She was the victim of same dilemma as her husband was the capturer.

She was bound to live with the man who was her ideal and the smasher of that idealism at the same time. He used to beat her not only by his strong hands but by what he used to utter by his mouth which increased the beauty of his angular face. London had witnessed the times when he sprayed his body with the alluring scent while she smelled with blood he pulled out by making her fall from the stairs. Who was he? Was he a male chauvinist? No, or probably yes! He was the victim also. His mother brutally murdered his desires and married him to the girl who was not competent enough to face the world. He wanted a girl with whom he could make a beautiful journey, with whose steps his steps could synchronize. His dreams were rejected.

She came in his life when he was 28 and was opening his wings to fly. After four minus one years of their marriage he had established his business which was growing. He was happy but he had to find a channel to release his frustration as well and she helped him. She was drowned in his love. Reason? He was her love, simple as that. What was her hobby? It was to visualize him loving her. She had planted the seed of loyalty in her teens for her spouse to be. She kept dreaming and made huge structures of her life in future but her dreams were avulsed badly. She had to bear the torture of her husband. Her dreams disappeared in the heavy grey smoke of the city of smoke. The nights in London witnessed many hours spent by her sitting by his side and observing him and once dared to touch his eye by her index finger while he was sleeping. At times when he was planning to give her new taste of torment she brought the taste of his mother's cooked food in her kitchen. She was the type of girl who was innocent enough to bear all the pains.

Once when she was shedding silent tears for the bleeding hand he had just twisted he came in and asked her about the shirt he was to wear then. He saw her with victory in his eyes while she was finding shine in his eyes and then she sparked with a stream of blood in her face and jolted her all efforts to give him all white shirt with no stain of blood on it.