CHAPTER III INSURMOUNTABLE GRIEF
A week slid by like a breath that had been held too long and finally let go-slow, shaky and incomplete.
The bruises on Ishaani's body softened from violent purples into sickly yellows, blooming and fading like something ashamed of its own existence.
Pain didn't leave; it simply learned how to whisper.
It settled into her ribs, her shoulder, the quiet spaces between movement and breath.
Ishaani did what she always did-she wrapped herself tight, taped herself together with stubbornness and denial, and went back to pretending she was indestructible.
It was her favorite lie. Right after boxing.
Right after telling herself she didn't need anyone.
The open-mic was held in a bar that smelled like old wood, sweat, and spilled beer.
The mic was sticky, the lights too bright, the crowd restless in that half-drunk, half-curious way.
Ishaani stepped onto the stage anyway, ribs bound tight under her shirt, shoulder screaming its quiet objections. She took the mic.
And she read.
Her voice didn't shake. Not once. It came out clean, sharp, edged with humor that cut just deep enough to draw blood.
Her words landed like punches-measured, brutal, precise.
The crowd laughed when they were supposed to.
Someone snapped their fingers. Someone muttered a reverent "damn" under their breath like a prayer gone wrong.
At the back of the room, Amaya stood with her arms crossed and her chin lifted, eyes bright. She looked like a proud older sister watching her feral, brilliant baby sister light a match and grin at the fire.
When it was over, the applause came loud and unrestrained.
Amaya whooped, her voice slicing through the room.
"BABY POET GOES HARD," she yelled, completely unashamed.
Ishaani flipped her off from the stage, smiling wide and unapologetic.
Outside, the night clung to them-humid, sticky, alive.
The city pressed close, breathing down their necks.
Streetlights smeared gold across wet asphalt, reflections trembling with passing cars.
Amaya handed Ishaani her helmet, nudging it into place like she always did, fingers careful, lingering just a second too long.
She pretended it was nothing. Ishaani noticed anyway.
Before climbing on, Ishaani pulled out her phone. Her hands were still buzzing with adrenaline, chest warm with something dangerously close to joy. She opened Tara's contact, heart thudding like it had somewhere urgent to be.
All the poems. All the nights. All the words she'd bent and broken so she wouldn't have to say them out loud.
Tonight, she wanted to say them.
'I love you, Tara Kapoor.'
The words sat there, glowing and terrifying. Ishaani blushed-mentally, physically, catastrophically-as she typed.
→ Tara ??: Take care, jaan.
→ Ishaani ?: I have a surprise for you!!
It wasn't extravagant. Just a small bundle of poems-bound and intentionally fragile.
Every word centered around Tara, her gravity, her presence.
Ishaani planned to give it to her like an offering.
Like proof of her undying love for the one woman who made her courageous enough to feel and heal.
Like trust, that Tara endowed on Ishaani to guard her heart and her sanity.
And maybe-finally-the chance to say what she'd rehearsed a hundred times in her head.
Amaya smacked the back of her helmet lightly.
"Phone away, Shakespeare. Sit."
"Hold tight," Amaya added as Ishaani climbed on. "You're still injured."
"I'm not glass," Ishaani muttered, though her arms wrapped around Amaya's waist without hesitation.
The bike roared to life.
Wind tore through sweat and adrenaline, clean and sharp.
Ishaani rested her forehead between Amaya's shoulder blades, eyes slipping half-closed.
For one fragile, perfect moment, the world felt big instead of predatory.
The city hummed beneath them. Everything felt possible, because no matter how much of a menace Amaya was, she was the good older sister, and her safety had always kept Ishaani coming in for support and refuge.
But The universe is practically your toxic ex, that never goes way, because headlights exploded into their peripheral vision.
Too fast.
Too close.
"No-AMAYA-"
The impact was more sound than sensation. Metal screamed. Bone met road. The bike skidded and shrieked like something dying. Ishaani flew, rolled, felt skin tear and breath punch out of her chest in a brutal rush.
Silence hit first.
Then ringing.
Then pain arrived-late, furious, everywhere. Everything started to hurt all at once.
"Ishi-ISHI-fuck-"
Amaya's voice cut through the haze. Ishaani tried to answer. Only a broken sound came out.
A car door slammed followed by another, as heavy boots crunched against gravel.
"Get up," a man said. Calm and bored, Like he was ordering coffee.
Amaya pushed herself upright. Blood streamed from her eyebrow. Her knee bent wrong, screamed wrong. She stood anyway. She always stood, when she was supposed to be the adult in a situation concerning her ego and dignity.
"Back the fuck away," she snarled. "You hit us."
Someone laughed.
Another voice followed, lazy and cruel. "Yeah. That was the point."
Ishaani's vision swam. Shapes formed under the streetlights-three, four men. One of them kicked the bike aside like it was trash.
Amaya lunged.
She didn't hesitate. Not for a heartbeat.
Her fist drove into a man's throat with everything she had. He went down choking. Another grabbed her hair and smashed her face into the car. Once. Twice.
"AMAYA-"
Ishaani forced herself up, ribs screaming, fists clenching on instinct. She swung blindly, felt bone connect, teeth slice into her knuckles.
Someone hit her from behind.
The world snapped white.
She dropped to her knees, gasping. A boot pressed hard into her spine.
"Fighty little bitch," someone said, almost impressed.
Amaya was still moving. Still fighting. Blood streaked her mouth, eyes wild, feral. She swung like she could take them all if she just didn't stop.
"Ishi-run-"
Hands grabbed Ishaani's arms and yanked her upright. Pain tore through her shoulder like fire.
"Let her go!" Amaya screamed. "LET HER FUCKING GO-"
A fist crashed into Amaya's face. She went down hard.
Didn't get back up.
Something inside Ishaani shattered.
She screamed-a raw, animal sound. She bit the hand clamped over her mouth, tasted blood. Someone swore. Someone slapped her hard enough to make stars explode behind her eyes.
"Enough," a voice said. Cold and controlled. "Take her."
They dragged her.
Ishaani kicked and thrashed, nails raking, head slamming back. She screamed names-Amaya, Tara, Vedika, Devika-like prayers, like spells. It didn't matter.
A door opened.
She was thrown into the back of the car.
The door slammed.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
She punched the window until her knuckles split, sobbing as the car lurched forward. Tires screeched.
"No," she whispered. Then louder. "No no no-"
Up front, someone lit a cigarette. Smoke flooded the car.
"Relax," the driver said without looking back. "If we wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
"That's not comforting for her," another voice laughed.
Ishaani curled in on herself, breath ragged, body screaming. Every bump sent pain ricocheting through her bones. She forced herself to look out the back window.
Amaya lay twisted on the road, barely moving.
The sight ripped something out of her chest.
"STOP," Ishaani screamed. "Please-she's hurt-please-"
The car turned.
Amaya disappeared.
Ishaani broke.
Back on the road, Amaya dragged herself upright inch by inch. Her hands shook. Her leg burned. Glass glittered like stars around her. She crawled, forced her eyes open, burned the number plate into her memory.
"Fuck," she whispered. "Fuck fuck fuck."
Her phone slipped from bloody fingers, cracked when it hit the ground. She sobbed once, then growled, wiped her face, and tried again.
When Vedika answered, Amaya didn't waste breath.
"They took her. They hit us. They took her. I saw the plate-"
She repeated it until it stuck.
"I'm on my way," Vedika said sharply. "Stay awake."
Amaya laughed, hysterical and breathless. "I don't think that's optional."
She collapsed onto the road, staring up at the sky.
Somewhere else, Ishaani pressed her forehead to cold glass, tears sliding soundlessly into her hair. Her body hurt.
Her heart hurt worse.
She thought of Amaya bleeding on asphalt. Of her sisters. Of Tara's steady hands. Of all the words she hadn't said.
She swallowed her fear and let something darker rise.
If they thought she was just some girl they could take and break-
They were about to learn exactly how wrong they were, and Ishaani had complete faith that Devika di and Vedika di would raise hell.
There was a dull, persistent throb at the back of her head, the kind that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Every beat felt like a small, deliberate punishment. A reminder that her body had already paid once-and might be asked to pay again.
The room smelled like damp concrete and stale cigarettes, like neglect that had learned how to linger.
A single bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying gently, its weak light carving shadows that refused to stay still.
Every creak of the wire made her stomach tighten, muscles bracing for something worse.
Ishaani tested the ropes again. Barely a movement.
Big mistake.
Pain flared through her ribs, sharp and blinding. She hissed through clenched teeth, chin dropping involuntarily to her chest. For half a second, the room tilted. For half a second, her body begged.
She straightened immediately.
No slouching. No collapsing. No weakness.
People smelled it. She'd learned that young.
"Still got some fight in you," a man said.
The voice wasn't loud. Wasn't cruel in tone. It was calm. Almost conversational. Like this was a late-night chat over tea, not a hostage situation in a concrete box.
Footsteps followed. Leather soles against the floor. Slow. Measured. Unhurried.
Like he owned the fucking air.
Ishaani lifted her head.
He stepped into the light.
Mid-forties. Maybe early fifties. Salt-and-pepper hair, neatly combed.
A crisp shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest ease without ever being careless.
No blood on him. No sweat. He didn't look like the others-the ones who laughed too loudly, stood too close, reeked of cheap alcohol and unchecked cruelty.
This man looked curated.
That alone made her blood boil.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said mildly, stopping a few feet away. "Really. It was unnecessary."
Ishaani laughed. It scraped its way out of her throat, hoarse and ugly. "Oh, fuck off."
A hand cracked against the back of her head.
Hard.
Her vision burst white. Pain detonated behind her eyes. She bit down hard enough to taste blood, refusing to give them the scream clawing up her throat.
"Easy," the man said, lifting a hand without turning. "We're talking."
Talking.
The fucking audacity.
She spat blood onto the concrete. "You kidnapped me, you spineless cunt. Don't dress it up."
A few men snorted. One laughed outright.
The man sighed, slow and patient, like a disappointed teacher dealing with a particularly stubborn student. He crouched in front of her, lowering himself until they were eye level. His gaze was dark. Assessing. Familiar in a way that made her skin crawl.
"I'm trying to explain something to you," he said evenly. "But you keep acting like a bitch in heat."
Something in her snapped.
She surged forward in the chair, ropes creaking under the strain, muscles screaming in protest. Pain tore through her ribs as the movement dragged her chest forward, hair falling loose around her face. The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"Say that again," she snarled. "I fucking dare you."
The men laughed-real laughs now. Belly-deep.
One whistled. "She's got fire."
"Fire gets people burned," another said.
The man didn't laugh.
He watched her struggle, eyes flicking-just for a moment-to the way her body strained against the restraints, the way her breathing went uneven from pain and fury tangled together.
Then he stood.
"See?" he said, gesturing to her like she was an exhibit. "This. This is the problem. You think you can react your way out of everything. Swing fists. Play protector."
Her jaw tightened, molars grinding.
Images flashed without permission-Amaya on the road. Blood on her face. Nayonica shaking. Men laughing.
"You beat my boys," he continued calmly. "You embarrassed them. In public. Over a woman who wasn't even your responsibility."
"She was," Ishaani shot back. "That's how it works when you're not a fucking animal."
The blow came fast. Brutal. Her shoulder screamed as pain exploded through it, sharp enough to rip a sound out of her before she could stop it. Her body folded forward, breath stuttering.
The man clicked his tongue. "Such language. I'm starting to see why people struggle with you."
Her blood roared in her ears.
"You don't know shit about me."
"Oh, but I do," he replied, unbothered. "You're reckless. Emotional. You attach yourself too deeply. You think being strong means throwing yourself into danger without thinking about consequences."
Her laugh broke in half. "You stalking me now? Is that your kink, you fucking creep?"
The laughter returned, louder.
One of the men nudged the chair with his boot. It tipped just enough to make her stomach lurch.
The man lifted one finger.
Silence fell instantly.
That did it. That absolute obedience sent a chill straight down her spine.
"You see," he said, pacing slowly now, "women like you don't understand limits. You see a boundary and crash through it headfirst. Then you act surprised when the world pushes back."
She stared at him, chest heaving.
"And the worst part?" he continued. "You think you're righteous. You think the people who care about you will always clean up the mess."
Her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.
Tara's face flickered in her mind-arms crossed, eyes sharp. Vedika's voice, clipped and furious. Devika's hands, always steady, always gentle.
Her fists curled uselessly behind her back.
"Say their names," she said quietly. "I fucking dare you."
His lips twitched. Not a smile. Something thinner. Sharper.
"So you do know," he murmured. "Good."
Her stomach dropped.
"You mentioned them earlier," he went on, stopping behind her. "The lawyer. The other one. Impressive women. Powerful. Protective."
Her spine went rigid.
"But even they can't save you from your own stupidity," he said softly, close to her ear. "Not this time."
She jerked violently against the ropes, rage burning reckless and bright. The chair scraped, tipped, nearly went over before someone caught it, laughing.
"Careful," a man said. "She's enjoying herself too much."
Her face burned-humiliation and fury twisting together until she could barely breathe.
And then it hit her.
Not the voice. Not the face alone.
The context.
Late nights. Files spread across tables. Vedika muttering curses. Tara standing still, jaw tight, eyes scanning photographs.
Her breath stuttered.
She looked at him again. Really looked.
The jawline. The faint scar near his left eyebrow. The way he held himself-quiet authority without noise.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
No.
Another memory crashed in-Nayonica, curled on her bed, scrolling through her phone. Family photos. Old birthdays. A wedding picture.
Her sister.
Beautiful. Composed. Smiling beside a man in a tailored suit.
The same eyes.
The room tilted.
"You," Ishaani said slowly, the word tasting like glass. "You're-"
He turned back to her, brows lifting slightly. "Yes?"
Her mind raced, horror crystallizing.
"You're Ishicka Malhotra Sen's-" Her voice cracked despite her. "You're her husband."
Silence dropped like a blade.
The men stopped laughing.
The man held her gaze.
Then he smiled.
Slow. Cold. Satisfied.
"Well," he said softly. "Took you long enough."
Her blood turned to ice.
"Oh fuck," she whispered.
Rajveer Malhotra straightened his cuffs, immaculate even here. "Now," he said pleasantly, "we can talk properly."