My enemy looks a promising companion!
Amba looked at Devrat, and not Bhishm. The man behind that armour, who had flashed a fiery, but then a helpless glare in her direction. He doesn't know what love is. But she does.
Limerence. It's just that.
No, It isn't. Not when she stands here completely dishevelled.
'You will pay for it, Devvrat!' Amba's lungs breathed heavily. Was she going to call him Dev?.
'I shall, maybe. I don't decide it, neither do you.' Bhishma stood cold and demure.
Amba could not decipher the enigma she felt in her enraging heart.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
Then why do I want to marry him?
'If I decide, would you oblige?' Amba announced, asking a question at the least.
'I would!' Bhishma shook his head. Did he just smile? Is he making fun of me?- or did he just hide it?
'Marry me. Accept your destruction. Accept your mistake!' Amba screamed. She had wanted to cry, but all her tears had already dried. Her lover had rejected her- just because of the man, she couldn't take her eyes off at the moment.
'Mistake? pardon me lady! But what is use of that love, that could not stand the test of time.' Bhishma's remark made Amba bleed. 'Words! Keep your words at the tip of your tongue, when I shall go and pray for your destruction, Devrat! I shall call Mahamahim Parshuram!' Amba warned.
Bhishm's expressions were a mixture of modesty and disappointment. Was he loosing his calm?
Amba moved ahead. She came closer to this rigid warrior, looking like a demon for a second and her solace the other. He didn't move. She raised her palm, to touch his armour against his chest-his heart.
'You asked for this.' Amba mumbled, and felt the crumbling man, under the visage of a lifeless statue.
-------
Ayyeyeyye.
I don't know what's this.
don't ask.
just tell! (Please!)
