Chapter 15
The clock struck 11:57 p.m. The haveli was silent except for the faint whisper of wind brushing against the old glass windows. Moonlight fell through the curtains, cutting through the darkness like a blade and landing softly on Aariv’s face.
He was sitting on the edge of the large mahogany bed, a book open in his lap, but his eyes hadn’t moved across the page for several minutes.
The house was too quiet the kind of quiet that had its own heartbeat.
Every now and then, he’d glance toward the door, his thumb fidgeting with the edge of the book.
He was waiting.
For him.
When the door finally opened with a soft click, Aariv’s head snapped up.
Veeransh stepped in. Tall and composed, draped in the sharp lines of a black suit that still smelled faintly of smoke and rain. His expression was unreadable that same cold mask he’d worn since the moment Aariv had first seen him at the ghat's lights.
But tonight, something in the air between them felt different.
Veeransh’s eyes moved instantly to the bed, freezing when he saw the delicate figure sitting there cross-legged, dressed in a plain white kurta, the faint glow of lamplight softening his small frame.
His jaw tightened. “Didn’t I tell you,” he said, voice calm but heavy, “to stay in the guest room?”
Aariv’s heart skipped, but he didn’t look away. Slowly, he closed the book and placed it on the bedside table. Then, with hesitant grace, he stood up. His bare feet touched the cold marble floor, and he took one small step forward until he stood just in front of Veeransh.
His voice came out quieter than he expected, yet steady almost defiant.
“We are married, Mr. Rathore,” he said softly. “It’s my right… and you can’t just take it away.”
The words hung in the air, shocking even him. He didn’t know where the courage came from perhaps from exhaustion, or the ache of being unwanted, or the shadow of fear that had been chasing him all day.
Veeransh blinked once, his jaw clenching. The air between them thickened.
He took a step forward, so close now that Aariv could see the faint stubble along his sharp jawline. His breath brushed against Aariv’s cheek as he spoke, low and controlled.
“Tumhe ek baar mein samajh nahi aata hai kya?”
Aariv’s fingers trembled at his side, but he didn’t move back. His chest rose and fell quickly. “Main kahin nahi jaane wala,” he whispered, voice shaking yet filled with quiet conviction. “Shaadi ki hai… to nibhani padegi.”
For a long moment, Veeransh only looked at him stunned, silent, and unreadable.
The room seemed to narrow, the world shrinking until only their breaths existed. Veeransh’s gaze drifted downward to the curve of Aariv’s lips, trembling slightly but bravely. His throat tightened.
He took another step closer, until the space between them vanished. Aariv’s eyes widened he could feel the man’s warmth, the soft brush of his breath ghosting over his face. His back almost grazed the bedpost now.
Aariv gasped softly, the air catching in his throat as Veeransh leaned in so close that their foreheads almost touched. The scent of sandalwood and rain clung to him, intoxicating and heavy.
But before their breaths could mix, before Aariv could decide whether to flinch or close his eyes, Veeransh stopped. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Then, without a word, he turned abruptly and walked away his footsteps hard, precise straight into the washroom. The door shut behind him with a firm click.
Aariv didn’t move for several seconds. He just stood there, his pulse racing so fast it almost hurt. Then, slowly, he exhaled, his breath shaking. His fingers brushed against his own lips unconsciously, as if to erase or confirm something that hadn’t quite happened.
He sat down again, still panting softly, the book forgotten. His gaze flicked toward the washroom door, and for a moment, he thought he saw his reflection in the mirror across the room.
The wind outside howled, pressing against the old windowpanes. Aariv swallowed, curling his knees to his chest.
“Maybe,” he whispered under his breath, “I really am losing it.”
But even as he said it, the lamps flickered once as if the house itself had heard him and then went still again.
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When Veeransh stepped out of the washroom, steam still curling faintly behind him, the room felt different. Quieter and Calmer.
He rubbed the back of his neck with a towel, droplets of water glistening along his jawline. His eyes, cold and composed as ever, instinctively sought the boy who had moments ago defied him with a trembling voice and unshaken eyes and there he was.
Aariv.
Curled up on the sofa, knees tucked close to his chest, his small frame folded neatly like he belonged there.
His head rested against the cushion, one hand loosely hanging from the edge.
The faint rhythm of his breathing filled the silence , gentle, unbothered, peaceful in a way that didn’t seem to belong in this Cursed house.
Veeransh froze in place, towel slipping slowly from his hand.
For a long moment, he just stood there, watching him the rise and fall of his chest, the soft flutter of his lashes, the way a lock of hair had fallen across his forehead.
Aariv’s lips parted slightly in sleep, the faintest curve at the corner as though he was lost in some dream too innocent for the world Veeransh lived in.
He felt something twist deep in his chest something he didn’t want to name.
Quietly, as if afraid of breaking a spell, Veeransh walked toward the sofa and knelt beside it. The wooden floor was cold beneath his knees, but he barely felt it. His eyes softened despite himself.
He reached out a hand almost, just almost to brush the strand of hair from Aariv’s face but stopped midway, his fingers curling back into a fist.
His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
“Aisa kyun kar rahe ho tum…”
His words broke into the night, tender and rough at once.
“Please, dur chale jaao mujhse. Main tumhari zindagi barbaad nahi karna chahta.”
He swallowed hard, his throat tight. The image of the curse the blood, the screams, the fire flashed behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw, forcing the memories away.
“Tum abhi kuch nahi jaante, Aariv,” he whispered again, almost pleading with the sleeping boy. “Dur chale jaoge tum mujhse, jab tumhe sachchai pata chalegi…”
He didn’t know that Aariv already knew that he had already heard the word shraap from Ridha’s lips, that the same mystery was slowly threading itself around his fragile heart.
Veeransh’s gaze lingered on him for what felt like forever.
The faint lines of exhaustion under Aariv’s eyes, the slight redness of his cheeks, the vulnerability in his small, sleeping form everything about him screamed fragility.
And yet, this boy had stood in front of him tonight, brave and steady, claiming a right he should never have had to fight for.
Something inside Veeransh cracked.
Before he could stop himself, he leaned closer. His hand large, strong, calloused slipped beneath Aariv’s knees and shoulders, lifting him effortlessly.
Aariv stirred faintly, murmuring something incoherent, his fingers brushing against Veeransh’s shirt before falling still again.
For a second, Veeransh froze staring at that small touch as if it burned him. Then, he inhaled deeply and continued, carrying Aariv across the room.
The bed looked too big, too empty as though waiting for a reason to exist. Veeransh lowered him gently, almost reverently, his every movement careful not to wake him.
The blanket whispered softly as he pulled it over Aariv, tucking it beneath his chin.
He stood there for a while, staring down at him a boy who looked as if he could be shattered by the wrong word, yet had somehow walked into the darkness Veeransh had built around himself without hesitation.
Veeransh’s lips parted slightly. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his face caught between guilt and something dangerously close to tenderness.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. His eyes remained fixed on Aariv’s sleeping face.
“Tum jaante bhi nahi,” he murmured under his breath, voice hoarse, “kis duniya mein aa gaye ho.”
The clock ticked. Somewhere in the distance, a door creaked the old mansion breathing in its sleep. Shadows wavered against the walls, the faint echo of the wind whispering secrets through the cracks.
Veeransh glanced toward the window something outside seemed to move in the reflection. A dark outline. Watching and Waiting.
His heart skipped once, but he didn’t turn. He had grown used to that presence long ago. The curse had always followed him like a shadow stitched to his soul.
He ran a hand down his face and sighed deeply, whispering one last thing before the night fully claimed the room.
“Please… stay safe from me, Aariv.”
The wind answered in silence, and the lamp beside the bed flickered once as if mocking his prayer.
Veeransh didn’t sleep that night.
He just sat there, watching the boy who had unknowingly walked into his fate, his heart aching in ways he didn’t think it still could.
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