Chapter 15
IRA
"Let's get married," I blurted out, the words escaping before I could second-guess myself.
Prashant's eyes snapped to mine, and I braced myself for a sarcastic laugh, a cruel joke about my family's wealth. But his face remained still, his deep eyes fixed on me. I held my breath, watching him, waiting for any hint of a flicker.
He leaned in, his gaze probing, and I knew he was trying to catch the scent of alcohol on my breath.
"Are you drunk?" he asked, his voice came out low.
He was so close now that I could smell the familiar scent of his uniform, something clean and masculine, mixed with a slight whiff of something spicy.
I wondered if he could smell the hot chocolate vanilla shake I had drunk earlier, or my usual fruity scent that he always claimed made him imagine things he shouldn't.
"I'm serious," I said, my voice a choked whisper. I took a deep breath, feeling my chin shake even though I was trying my best to stay calm. My shoulders stiffened as a desperate attempt to project a strength I didn't feel. I hated how easily he could see through my carefully constructed walls.
He stood up straight, a sharp crease appearing in his uniform. "Then marry someone else. Why me?" The sharpness of his words was like a cold shower.
"I want to marry someone I know," I said, my breath shaking.
"You don't want to marry a poor man like me, do you?" he scoffed, his voice bitter. "I don't have enough money to fulfill all your desires, Ira. I can't give you a house and expensive jewelry like Aryan."
He paused, his gaze hardening.
"We took a loan for my father's treatment, my house is on collateral security and recently, I took another for my sister's MBBS course.
I'm practically drowning in debt. Seventy-five percent of my salary goes toward repayments, and the rest toward daily expenses.
I can't fulfill your needs, we can't get married.
You should find someone who's as rich as your parents. "
His words felt like a continuous barrage of blows, each one echoing the fears I was trying so hard to suppress. He wasn't just explaining but he was building a wall between us, brick by painful brick.
"And we're not even from the same caste or state," he said, jaw tightening. "My hometown is Jammu, and yours is Rajasthan. Our families will never agree to this marriage. And..."
He looked at me again, something deep and definite in his eyes.
"My mother will never like you."
The last part hung in the air, a final and unshakable obstacle. His mother. The one person he valued above all else. He wasn't just listing problems; he was drawing a line in the sand that felt impossible to cross.
"You wanted to marry me, didn't you?" I asked suddenly, my voice stuck in my throat.
Something inside me was breaking at his harsh refusal.
How could he look so shocked, so cold? Hadn't he told me once that he wanted to marry me?
That was before his mission. Why had he changed so much? Why had he become so cruel?
"I'm sure there are many guys who would want to hold your hand for the rest of their lives," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Please don't involve me in this. And once, you told me that I was just a distraction nothing more. Now that Aryan has rejected you, you're handing yourself over to me?"
I clutched the pen in my hand so hard I thought it would break or maybe pierce my palm beyond repair. It wasn't just his words; it was the look on his face that truly twisted the knife. A mix of accusation and disgust.
"Aryan didn't reject me!" I said, though the lie sounded weak even to my own ears. My chest tightened, a sharp, familiar pain building inside.
"We... we just had a...it never worked out. And you, Prashant, never said anything about a future with me after you came back from your mission. You became a ghost, roaming our lives, touching no emotion!"
He mocked me without even a hint of humor. "And what did you expect, Ira? A red carpet and a proposal when you rejected me three years ago? You clung to me like a lifeline when your beloved Aryan was gone, and then abandoned me when he reappeared?"
"That's not fair!" My voice cracked, choked with emotion.
"You were different! You left for three months and came back... broken! I tried, Prashant. I tried to reach out to you, but you kept pushing me away. I cared about you...I always did."
"Cared?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing, flashing with a sudden, dangerous intensity.
"Is that what you call it, Ira? Because from where I was standing, it seemed so convenient. A soft landing until your real life began again." He took a step forward, his presence looming, oppressive.
"You used me to fill a void, didn't you? And now that that void is back, you think I'm a convenient solution again."
My breath caught. His words were arrows, each one hitting its target with brutal precision. He was right, in a way. The thought gripped me, ripping away the last shred of hope I'd been clinging to.
"You know nothing," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "You don't know what I felt, what I suffered."
"Oh, I think I know exactly what you felt," he retorted, his voice dripping with ice.
"You felt comfortable. You felt safe. You felt like you had a backup plan. And now that your Plan A has collapsed, you're desperately trying to activate Plan B. But guess what, Ira? I'm not a plan. I'm not a consolation prize. And I'm definitely not a rebound."
He turned his back to me, the hard line of his shoulders speaking volumes.
"Find someone else, Ira. Someone who fits into your carefully constructed life. Someone who isn't burdened by debt and family expectations. Someone who can give you mansions and jewels. Because that's what you really want, isn't it?"
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of my own heartbeat.
Every word he'd spoken was like a hammer blow, shattering the last vestiges of hope, leaving me bereft and bloodied.
The man who had once looked at me like I was the only woman in the world now looked at me with disdain.
And the pain of that the harsh, cruel reality of his rejection felt worse than any headache or hangover.
It felt like my very soul had been ripped apart.
Prashant turned, made a quick, decisive move, and left. The soft click of the door closing resounded in the sudden, cavernous silence of the room.
My gaze fell to my palm, where a thin line of red, surprisingly bright, had begun to seep into my skin.
I had pressed the pen so hard that the tip had sunk in.
A hard, raspy breath escaped my lips, and I shut my eyes briefly the physical pain a dull counterpoint to the sharp ache in my chest. His words, spoken with such cold precision, had seeped into me like ink on blotting paper, forever scarring my mind, my soul.
Prashant, the man who had once looked at me as if I held the secrets of the whole milky way had become a stranger, mean and cruel.
My fingers, still shaking slightly, fumbled for my phone. I had only one call, one decision left to solidify the new, jagged edges of my reality. I dialed my mother's number.
She finally picked up, her voice the usual mix of expectation and impatience.
"Have you made up your mind?" she asked, the question hanging in the air, full of unspoken implications of security, of a future now devoid of the complexities of a love irrevocably shattered.
"I'm ready to marry that doctor, Mom," I replied, my voice a flat, cold line, devoid of enthusiasm. It was simply a statement.
Before she could begin her usual list of congratulations or further inquiries, I hit the 'end call' button, ending the conversation ending the possibility of further questions for which I had no answers.
A single, silent tear slid down my cheek. I let out a shaky, quick breath, as if expelling the last reserves of air from my lungs.
That day, in the quiet of my office, I truly understood the meaning of rejection, not the casual dismissal of an acquaintance, but the internal, heartbreaking finality of being unwanted by the man with whom I had once dreamed of building a family. A life that now seemed impossibly distant.
The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth: I had rejected him years ago, chasing the supposed security of a life gone wrong and now he had returned the favor, with brutal interest.
I wiped my tears and shook my head angrily. There was no time for that. No room for weakness.
I turned my attention to mundane, immediate things. Work. That was the only refuge, the only place where the constant echo of his words could be silenced, even for a moment. I wished with all my being that I could erase his voice his cruel accusations from my memories.
But as I tried to immerse myself in duty, I knew with a frightening certainty that his words would haunt me for the rest of my life, constantly reminding me of what I had lost, and what I could never get back.
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