Chapter -62
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The phone rang.
Her stomach was churning now.
"Pick up" Aarushi whispered under her breath, worry settling like a storm in her chest.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
And then—click.
The call connected.
She froze.
Mid-step, barefoot on the cold marble floor, the phone pressed to her ear. Her lips parted.
The tension in her chest exploded in a rush of breath as her mind spun with possibilities.
Her voice caught in her throat.
She didn’t speak.
She couldn’t.
Because suddenly, someone was on the other side.
There was silence for few seconds but then a sound came
Low. Raspy. Almost broken.
"Jaan…?"
A whisper.
Desperate. Relieved. Soft like a prayer.
Aarushi's heart clenched painfully. She closed her eyes, the familiarity of his voice washing over her like the first rain after a drought.
"Hello, baby, are you listening?" he asked again, this time a little more urgently.
She blinked rapidly, her lashes damp with unshed emotions as she forced herself to clear her throat and swallow the lump that had formed there.
"I… where are you?" she managed, her voice almost trembling but laced with a quiet demand.
There was a small pause, then his voice answered gently, "At a birthday party… you remember Meera, the lawyer?"
Aarushi stayed quiet, her gaze fixed on the wall but her mind whirring fast.
Abhimanyu’s voice tried to bridge the silence again. "She invited Rudra and me… she insisted. And Rudra, as usual, wouldn’t take no for an answer. You know how he is. She was also in our college, so…"
He trailed off, unsure if he was explaining too much. Her silence made him nervous.
Aarushi muttered softly, her voice barely more than a breath. "Oh…"
A heavy pause followed. Dense with all the things left unsaid. The silence stretched, thick and charged, holding the weight of days spent apart — the ache, the questions, the longing.
From his end, faint sounds of music bled through, the echo of a party still alive in the background. On hers, only the sound of her steady, quiet breathing.
Then, Abhimanyu’s voice came again — low, laced with hope and vulnerability.
"You finally called me…"
A sigh escaped him. Soft. Unsteady.
"I missed you. So much. Baby, I’m sorry. Please… forgive me. I—"
He didn’t get to finish.
"Come here," she said suddenly. Her voice was quiet, but it held a calm authority that stilled the air between them.
"Now."
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t desperation.
It was something else entirely.
A quiet demand born not out of rage, but out of everything she had buried inside — longing, hurt, and the fragile thread of hope still tying her to him
Abhimanyu stilled on the other end, his brows knitting in surprise. "N-Now?"
"Yes,"she said, looking at the clock and then instantly second-guessing herself, "Or… never mind, it’s late, almost midnight. Just leave it—"
"No, no.Wait!" he interrupted her this time, urgency rushing into his tone. "Just give me ten minutes. I’ll be there. Don’t sleep, okay? Please. I’m coming right now."
And before she could say anything more, the call ended.
Aarushi stood there, phone still in hand, her pulse roaring in her ears.
Then—
"Aaaahhhhhh!!"
A muffled squeal escaped her lips as she dropped onto the bed, her face hidden behind her palms.
Her legs curled up, knees against her chest.
"What did I just do?" she muttered to herself, peeking through her fingers. "I just called him this late… like a jealous psycho. Who does that?!"
She rolled onto her back, covering her face with the pillow dramatically. "Here I couldn’t even speak to him properly on the phone and now I’ve asked him to come over at midnight?! What is wrong with me?"
She sat up, hugging the pillow to her chest now, her expression torn between excitement and sheer panic.
"Stupid. Good job, Aarushi. Act like a jealous bitch. Nice. Excellent," she muttered sarcastically. "Very classy. Could’ve just said I miss you, but no… you had to go full possessive wife mode instead."
She glanced at the clock again.
The seconds ticked louder.
She tossed her phone on the bed, stood up, then sat back down, then stood again.
"Ughhh" she groaned, burying her face in her hands. But deep in her chest, where the anxiety swirled… something else bloomed too.
A flutter.
A thrill.
A hint of a smile.
But suddenly her mind jolted with another realization.
"Wait… how will he enter?"
A soft gasp left her lips as she remembered at the closed door. Panic nudged at her ribs. Without wasting a breath, she quickly typed a message and sent it to Abhimanyu.
"I’ve opened the door. Come quietly."
She slipped out of her room like a whisper. The house around her was cloaked in silence, the kind that only came this late into the night.
Each step down the stairs felt amplified, her heart thudding louder than her feet. Her fingers brushed the railing, steadying herself.
When she reached the small wooden shelf on the wall near the entrance—the one where keys were always kept—her hand moved on instinct.
She grasped the key, her palm cold against the metal, and crept towards the door. Her breathing had turned shallow.
Click.
The lock turned. She opened the door just slightly, enough to peek through, the night air brushing past her skin.
The world outside was still. Street lamps cast sleepy pools of golden light across the pavement.
Leaves rustled lazily in the wind, and the soft hum of a distant vehicle made her ears perk.
Then—
Headlights.
Her breath caught.
A black car rolled slowly into the driveway, its tires barely making a sound.
The car eased to a stop, and a figure quickly stepped out in hurry. Tall, broad-shouldered, backlit by the faint glow of his headlights.
Aarushi’s fingers tightened around the edge of the door.
She didn’t know what she expected. But it wasn’t this. Not him looking like that. Like a man who hadn’t slept in days. His shirt was half-tucked, sleeves rolled up, collar slightly loosened. His hair was messier than usual, falling across his forehead like it had been run through a hundred times.
His eyes swept the darkness until they found her face peeking from the crack of the door.
Their eyes met.
And something shifted in the stillness of the night.
Abhimanyu stood still—completely still. Like the wind had been knocked out of him. His lips parted slightly, chest visibly rising and falling. His eyes…. There was something so raw in them. As if he had been surviving on the hope of this moment alone.
Aarushi swallowed the knot rising in her throat. With a tiny, urgent motion of her hand, she signaled him to come quickly.
Abhimanyu’s feet finally moved. Slowly at first. Almost unsure. But his eyes never left hers. With every step closer, his gaze grew more intense—like he was trying to imprint her face into his memory.
And she… she couldn’t breathe properly.
As he reached the gate, her hand instinctively reached for his.
Warm. Strong. Trembling just slightly.
She tugged him inside without a word, like she was pulling him out of some nightmare and into safety.
He didn’t resist.
In fact, he held her hand tighter. His fingers laced with hers with a quiet desperation. His grip said what his mouth couldn’t—She is here. She is real. Don’t let go.
Aarushi softly shut the door behind him and turned, pressing a finger to her lips. He gave a barely-there nod, his expression unreadable, his eyes stormy.
She led him up the stairs with their fingers still entwined. Her touch was warm, grounding. And his mind—chaotic.
He was looking at her like she was something fragile and beautiful, something he didn’t deserve to touch but couldn’t stay away from either.
With each step they took, a silent current passed between them. His thumb brushed the side of her hand every few seconds, as if to make sure she was real.
By the time they reached the room, Abhimanyu felt like he was holding back a tidal wave behind his ribs.
Aarushi pushed the door open gently and stepped inside with him. Once they were both in, she turned and quietly shut it. The soft click of the door seemed to echo around them.
Silence fell again.
Aarushi leaned her back against the door and turned to face him.
And he was already looking at her. Staring.
His expression—God, it was breaking.
His jaw was clenched, but his eyes were swollen, rimmed with the exhaustion of days he’d spent pretending he was okay.
His hands hung stiffly by his sides, but his knuckles were pale, as if he was still holding onto something invisible. His lips trembled slightly—so unlike the composed, sharp man the world knew.
He looked at her like she was the only thing whose thoughts had kept him alive these past few days.
And for a moment… he didn’t speak.
Because words would shatter the fragile peace of this stolen moment.
Because if he spoke, he might just fall to his knees and or will cry.
Because this—being here, in front of her—felt like coming up for air after drowning.
His eyes wandered across her face—her flushed cheeks, her fluttering lashes, the soft tremble in her lips, the way her chest rose and fell with nerves.
He wanted to say everything.
But all he could do was look.
Aarushi stood still too, arms behind her pressed against the door, her heart pounding loud in her ears.
She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She hadn’t imagined how intense it would feel to have him here—this close. To see his pain. To see the way he was drinking in her presence like he hadn’t eaten in days.
Because she had been his peace once. And now, she was his storm too — not the kind that destroyed, but the kind that shook everything loose.
A peaceful storm. Gentle in its arrival, but impossible to ignore.
They stood suspended in silence, the world falling away around them — two souls tangled in a thousand unsaid things, drowning in the weight of what had been, and what still could be.
And then, finally, Aarushi moved.
Just one step — small, trembling, but powerful.
A surrender. A beginning. A choice.
While he stood utterly still—barely breathing, barely blinking—as if the slightest movement might shatter the fragile remnants of his restraint.
And she saw it.
She saw the storm in his eyes long before it broke.
Those eyes—always sharp, calculating, commanding—now shimmered with a heartbreak that made her chest ache. The confident gleam was gone. The cold fire replaced by a glimmering sorrow, raw and exposed.
His pupils trembled like he was holding back an ocean behind them.
She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t.
Her heart was a warzone—battling every hurt he’d caused her, and every ache she still carried for him. But in that moment, all she saw was a man on the edge. Her man.
Her Abhi.....
Her breath hitched as she took one slow, uncertain step forward again. And then another.
And another.
Until the space between them could be crossed by a whisper.
Abhimanyu’s chest was rising in uneven bursts, each inhale shallow and sharp, like breathing had become a burden too heavy to carry.
He clenched his fists by his side, knuckles turning white.
But his eyes… they begged for something.
Forgiveness. Closeness. Her.
Aarushi’s hand rose, trembling as it hovered near his face—uncertain, fragile, suspended in hesitation.
She stopped a few inches short, Unsure if she could handle what that touch might unravel.
But he didn’t move away.
So, she did the only thing her heart knew.She placed her palm gently against his cheek.
A soft, reverent touch. The kind you offer to something sacred.
Her thumb brushed just beneath his eye, the skin cold beneath her fingers. And for one suspended moment, it felt like time itself paused.
And that single touch… was enough to break him.It undid him.....
His walls—so carefully built, so cruelly necessary—crumbled with the quiet collapse of a man who had held on too long.
A single tear traced a lonely path down his cheek.
Then another.
Then they fell freely—silently at first, as if he was still trying to hide even now.
Then came the shudder in his breath, the way his lips parted to catch air that wouldn’t come. His whole body shook, and in the next breath—he unraveled.
His knees gave way slightly, but before she could reach to steady him, he reached first—grabbing hold of her like a man starved for warmth.
His arms wrapped around her tightly, desperately. As if she were his last anchor.
And then—he broke.
Not just into tears.
He sobbed.
The kind of deep, soul-wrenching sobs that tore through his chest and came out in gasps. The kind of cry that isn’t just sadness—it’s guilt, longing, love, and unbearable grief all at once.
His face buried into the crook of her neck, hot tears soaking her skin as his body trembled in her arms.
Aarushi froze at first—not from hesitation, but from sheer heartbreak.
She had never seen him like this.
Abhimanyu Rathore—stoic, powerful, unshakable—was falling apart in her arms like a broken child.
And yet, somehow, it made her love him even more.
Her arms wrapped around him instinctively, protectively. She cradled the back of his head, her fingers threading into his hair, holding him close like she was trying to shield him.
Her own tears fell freely now, quiet and endless, soaking into his shoulder.
He clung to her like a drowning man would cling to the last breath of air.
His sobs tore through the silence of the room, deep and guttural, shaking his entire frame as he held her tighter—so tight that it felt like he was trying to merge his soul with hers.
Aarushi could barely speak, her heart shattering with every ragged breath he took, every desperate sound that escaped his lips.
"Please… please forgive me," he kept repeating, his voice hoarse, broken, drenched in guilt. "Baby… I didn’t mean to—I never wanted to hurt you… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…I will––"
His words collapsed over themselves, stumbling through his sobs as his hands trembled against her back.
Her arms wrapped around him tighter, her palms trying to soothe the tremors wracking his body. She ran her hand gently over his back, up to his neck, fingers curling into his hair, whispering soft, broken shushes into the chaos of his sobs.
"Abhi…" she murmured through her own tears. "It’s okay… breathe… please just breathe…"
But he couldn’t.
He shook his head wildly, as though he couldn’t allow himself to believe her words. His breath grew uneven again, catching in his throat, as he gasped out another broken plea—
"I’m sorry, baby.… I can’t live like this… please, Aarushi....it's hurts so much.Don't h-hate me"
"Shhh," she whispered again, pulling him even closer, even though her heart was breaking into a thousand splinters. "I don’t hate you… I could never…"
Her voice cracked, her throat burning from the sobs she was trying to swallow.
She didn’t even realize she was crying as hard as he was, until her breath started to hitch. Her tears mixed with his, falling down both their faces like a silent surrender.
Minutes passed.
And slowly—bit by bit—his cries began to soften. His body still trembled against hers, but the intensity faded, giving way to the quiet aftermath of an emotional storm.
His breath slowed.
His arms, though still tight, grew less frantic.
But he didn’t move.
He didn’t let go.
And Aarushi felt it—the raw fear in his touch. The deep, unspeakable ache of someone who was terrified this moment would end. That she would slip away.
"Abhi…" she said softly, gently shifting against him. "Abhi, let me go now…"
But his arms only tightened again, his face still buried in the crook of her neck. He didn’t speak—he only shook his head like a stubborn child, like someone who had waited too long to feel her like this.
"Please," she said again, her voice a little firmer this time, though still heavy with emotion. "I… I can’t breathe fully…"
That made him pause.
His arms slowly loosened—reluctantly, painfully—as if every inch of distance between them was cutting him open again.
Finally, she pulled away.
The hug broke.
But not the connection. Not the ache.
They stood inches apart, both of them a mess of tears and silence. Aarushi’s eyes were swollen, cheeks streaked with tears. Abhimanyu looked wrecked—completely wrecked.
His face was still wet, his lips parted slightly like he still wanted to say something but couldn’t.
Their gazes locked with eachother, Abhimanyu took a step forward.
He reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out a neatly folded white handkerchief.
Without saying a word, he gently raised it to Aarushi’s face. His fingers trembled slightly as he dabbed at the tears on her cheeks, careful, reverent.
Aarushi’s lips quivered into the softest smile. And then a chuckle escaped her lips—light and sudden, like a flicker of warmth in the heavy air.
Abhimanyu blinked, startled. "What?" he asked, genuinely confused.
She smiled through her tears, tilting her head. "Your nose," she whispered, biting her lip to suppress another laugh. "It’s all red and puffed up. You look… cute. Like a grumpy, sleepy bear."
Abhimanyu frowned immediately, his voice gruff and low. "I do not," he grumbled, wiping his own tears quickly.
Aarushi laughed softly again, and he narrowed his eyes at her playful tone, but even he couldn’t hold onto the pout for long.
Especially not when her laugh was like music he hadn’t heard in weeks. His expression softened, then dropped altogether into something far more vulnerable.
His voice came low, barely above a whisper.
"I’m sorry, jaan"
Her smile faded, lips parting slightly.
"I know I’ve said it a hundred times but… I mean it. With everything in me. I didn’t want to leave you alone in this mess. I didn’t want to stay away. I thought it would protect you. But—" his voice cracked again, "it destroyed us, it destroyed me"
Her breath caught.
"I couldn't sleep. I couldn't able to think normally. I kept watching my phone… waiting for just one message, waiting for you. One sign that you still… you still cared. That you hadn’t given up on me. At that moment I realised what you had gone through and how hard it was to survive"
Aarushi blinked hard, fresh tears forming again, but she remained quiet—letting him pour his heart out.
"I’m sorry I made you feel alone. I’m sorry I made you doubt us," Abhimanyu whispered , His voice was trembling, full of guilt.
"I got panicked and made mistake. I thought I was keeping you safe.That maybe… if I stayed away, you’d be safe. But it just tore me apart. Every day without you was like bleeding quietly. I hated myself for staying away."
"Abhi…." she whispered, her voice breaking now.
"I swear to you, I swear on us baby" he said, stepping closer, his eyes burning with sincerity, "never again. Never. I will never choose to leave you again. I will never think distance is the answer. Even if the whole world turns against us—I won’t. I can’t.
I love you too much to survive losing you again. "
Aarushi moved forward and clutched his hands in hers, her eyes glistening, her voice trembling.
"I missed you," she confessed, her voice thick with unshed pain. "I missed you every second. It was like breathing in emptiness. I kept pretending I was angry or hurt—but beneath all that, I was just… scared."
"I’ve never been this vulnerable with anyone before," she whispered. "And it terrifies me. Because in your case… the smallest hurt feels like a wound. I’ve seen it all. But not this. Not losing you. Not feeling like I’ve lost us."
"I don’t want to ever feel that again. I can handle the world’s hate. But not that feeling again"
Abhimanyu squeezed her hands tighter.
Her voice trembled more as she continued. "Even if something goes wrong between us… just promise me, don’t walk away. Don’t shut me out. We can fight, we can yell… but stay. Stay with me. We’ll fight together, cry together, laugh like idiots—but just… don’t ever leave me thinking I lost you."
Her voice broke fully on the last word, and she lowered her eyes, her thumb unconsciously brushing over his.
Abhimanyu exhaled shakily. His hands rose to cup her cheeks, thumbs wiping away her tears again, more gently than before.
"I promise," he whispered, leaning closer, their foreheads touching. "I swear on everything I am… I will never leave you again. Not even for a second. I’d rather burn than go through that again. You’re my world,"
They stood like that—foreheads resting together, eyes closed, breathing each other in. The kind of silence that followed wasn’t heavy or broken anymore.
It was sacred.
Like two souls finding their way back home after being lost for too long.
And in that stillness, neither of them moved. Because, for the first time in weeks, they weren’t afraid anymore.
Finally stitched themselves back together in that fragile, trembling embrace.
Because love wasn’t about perfection. It was about survival. And they had survived—for each other.
Half an hour later, the storm of emotions had settled into something soft—like the hush that follows heavy rain.
The room was warm and dim, the world outside utterly still, as if it too had stopped to watch two people find their way back to each other.
They were sitting on the bed, not saying much now, because sometimes love doesn’t need words.
Abhimanyu sat propped against the headboard, legs stretched out lazily, one arm draped protectively around Aarushi.
She was nestled in his lap, curled against his chest, her side resting comfortably against his. Her body fit so perfectly into his arms that it made him wonder how he had survived the days without this—without her.
He kept pressing soft, lingering kisses against her—on her palm, on the crown of her head, on her cheek—almost like a ritual.
As if he was grounding himself in the feel of her, memorizing her anew. Every now and then, she’d smile faintly, eyes closed, letting herself melt into him. But her fingers told a different story.
She couldn’t stop fidgeting.
Aarushi’s slender fingers kept intertwining with his, playing with his palm, twisting and turning their hands like she was afraid of letting go even for a second.
She kept squeezing his hand tightly, then loosening it, then wrapping her hand back around his.
And he let her.
Because he understood what that quiet fidget meant. It wasn’t restlessness—it was reassurance. The kind you seek after being torn apart and stitched back together with hope.
Aarushi tilted her face upward, her cheek brushing against his chin. She studied his face, and what she saw made her still.
Abhimanyu’s face looked calm—no trace of the usual tension he carried on his shoulders. No sharpness in his jaw, no lines of worry on his forehead. He looked like he was at peace.
And he was. With her here, in his arms, nothing else mattered.
A soft smile formed on his lips as he caught her gaze.
"My hand felt empty," she whispered, breaking the silence, lifting her left hand and looking at it with a quiet ache.
His eyes followed hers. And without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small.
Her eyes widened the moment she saw it. "Abhi…" she gasped softly, "you were carrying it all this time?"
Abhimanyu nodded, not shy or ashamed. "Yeah,"
He said simply."I don’t know why. I guess I just… couldn’t leave it behind. So I was carrying it from two days with me everywhere I go....Every time I stepped out, I kept it with me. Felt like I was carrying a piece of you."
Aarushi’s heart clenched, her throat tightening. She stared at him, overwhelmed by how even in silence, he had never really let go.
She held out her hand. "To phir Pehna bhi aap hi do."
(Fine then, you put it on me yourself)
He smiled, eyes gentle. "Gladly."
Taking her hand in his, he slid the ring back onto her finger, just like he had the first time.
But this time, there was something different—something more deeper, from both sides. A vow remade.
Aarushi looked at her hand, eyes misting. "Now it looks perfect," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Abhimanyu kissed her hand, lingering there. Then their eyes met again. A look passed between them—one of unspoken longing and quiet ache. A moment where the world slowed down.
Their gazes dropped to each other’s lips and then they leaned in.
The kiss was slow, deep, and infinitely tender. It wasn’t rushed or fierce. It was soft, full of emotion, like their souls were pressing into each other.
His lips moved against hers like they were trying to remember the rhythm, the feel, the warmth they had missed. Her hand slipped behind his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.
When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts thudding loud and fast in their chests.
But before she could say a word, he leaned in again.
This time, the kiss was raw. It was all the pain, all the sleepless nights, all the love he had held back pouring out.
He kissed her like he had been dying to breathe and had only now found air again. His hand cupped her jaw as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
She let out a soft whimper against his mouth—part surprise, part surrender.
When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged. He looked at her lips again, ready to dive back in—but Aarushi quickly covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head.
Abhimanyu frowned. "Why?"
She chuckled breathlessly. "Let me breathe first."
He chuckled, kissing her forehead. "Okay, okay. No more kisses… for now."
She smiled, resting her head against his chest again and took some deep breaths.
His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, like a lullaby. The silence between them was no longer heavy—it was comforting.
Her eyes wandered lazily to the clock.
1:27 AM.
Her eyebrows raised slightly. "It’s almost 1:30… you should go," she murmured, her voice drowsy.
Abhimanyu looked down at her, confused. "Go where?"
She sat up slightly and gave him a look. "What do you mean where? Go home, obviously. Rathore Mansion."
He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "But my home is here."
"Ugh, Mr. Cheesy Rathore strikes again," she muttered, trying to sit up further. "I want to sleep.Go"
"So do I," he said, and before she could move, he pulled her down with him and laid flat on the bed, dragging her along until he was resting against her chest, cuddling her.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Abhi. What are you doing?"
"Sleeping," he mumbled, already making himself comfortable, arms around her. "Finally. Peacefully."
"Abhi, no! What if Papa find out? He will freak out"
"I don’t care," he said, stubbornly."Let him. I’ll handle it. I want to sleep here tonight. I’m your husband, I can sleep with you and it feels so good with you let me"
"But—"
"Baby," he said, looking into her eyes, "please."
Her heart melted. How could she say no to that face? That voice?
She sighed, defeated. "Fine."
A victorious smile stretched across Abhimanyu’s face as he pulled her into him, hugging her tightly like a child clinging to his favorite pillow.
She relaxed into him, her hand gently caressing his hair, her fingers moving in slow, comforting circles on his scalp.
Abhimanyu let out a satisfied sigh, burying his face in her neck and pressing a kiss there.
"I love you," he whispered.
Aarushi closed her eyes, smiling against his chest.
"I love you too," she whispered back. "Good night"
"Good night, meri jaan."
The night cradled them gently, wrapping their love in a quiet kind of forever. They didn’t need stars or promises. They just needed each other.