Chapter 7
Ranbir
Finally, after what felt like weeks, my schedule was surprisingly light.
Most of my meetings had been postponed because one of our international clients had requested a different date, leaving me with an unusually free morning. It wasn't something that happened often, and instead of heading straight to the office, I decided to make the most of it.
As Surbhi walked into the living room with her handbag slung over one shoulder, I picked up my car keys.
"I'll drop you at the café today."
She looked at me, clearly surprised.
"You don't have to. I can take a cab."
"I know you can," I replied with a smile, "but since I'm free this morning, I'd rather drive you."
She hesitated for a moment before nodding.
"Alright."
The drive began in comfortable silence.
A few weeks ago, that silence would have felt awkward. Now, it had become familiar. Neither of us felt the need to fill every moment with conversation, and strangely enough, I liked that about us.
As I waited at a traffic signal, I glanced toward the passenger seat.
Surbhi wasn't looking out of the window or scrolling through her phone.
She was reading.
The book I had gifted her a few nights ago rested in her hands, and she looked so absorbed in the story that she hadn't even noticed the traffic light had turned green.
I smiled to myself before starting the car again.
"So," I asked after a few minutes, "are you enjoying the book?"
She looked up, blinking as though I had pulled her out of another world.
"Oh... yes."
"That doesn't sound very convincing."
She closed the book with a dramatic sigh.
"I was enjoying it."
I couldn't help laughing.
"What changed?"
"The hero."
"What did he do?"
She folded her arms across her chest, looking genuinely annoyed.
"He's behaving like an absolute idiot."
I raised an eyebrow.
"That's a strong opinion."
"It is."
"What exactly did this fictional man do to deserve such criticism?"
"He keeps making decisions without talking to the heroine first. Instead of communicating, he assumes he knows what's best for her, and now everything is falling apart because of him."
I nodded thoughtfully.
"That does sound foolish."
"It is."
She looked almost personally offended by the character's actions.
"If he had just spoken to her honestly, half the problems in the story wouldn't even exist."
I chuckled.
"I didn't know you became this invested in books."
"I always do."
"I can see that."
She looked down at the novel again before muttering, almost to herself, "Sometimes I wonder why authors write intelligent heroines and then pair them with such impossible men."
I laughed, and for a brief moment, she laughed with me.
It was a soft sound, but genuine.
Moments like these had become more frequent over the past couple of weeks.
She still wasn't completely comfortable around me, but the hesitation in her voice had slowly begun to disappear.
She smiled more often, spoke a little more freely, and every now and then, I caught glimpses of the cheerful person she must have been before life taught her to be so guarded.
Those small changes meant more to me than she probably realized.
A few minutes later, I pulled the car to a stop outside Yasha's café.
"I'll pick you up this evening," I said.
"You don't have to. I can—"
"Surbhi."
She looked at me.
"I'll pick you up."
A small smile appeared on her face.
"Okay."
She stepped out of the car, and I walked around to join her. We had barely reached the entrance when a familiar voice called out from behind us.
"Surbhi?"
She turned instinctively.
A man in his early fifties was walking toward us with a broad smile on his face.
"Surbhi, beta! What a surprise."
Before she could answer, he reached us.
I recognized him after a moment.
Lalit Sharma.
I had met him once during one of the wedding functions. If I remembered correctly, he was related to Surbhi's family—her maternal uncle.
He smiled warmly.
"I heard you got married, but we couldn't meet properly after the wedding."
His tone was affectionate.
Completely normal.
Yet the moment he came closer, I felt Surbhi stiffen beside me.
Her smile disappeared.
The color drained from her face so quickly that it startled me.
"How are you?" Lalit asked kindly.
"I'm... fine."
Her voice was barely audible.
"You've become so thin," he continued. "Are they taking good care of you?"
She nodded without looking at him.
"Yes."
I looked at her carefully.
Her breathing had become shallow.
Tiny beads of sweat had formed on her forehead despite the pleasant morning weather.
Her hands were trembling.
The book she had been carrying slipped slightly in her grip, and she tightened her fingers around it as though she were trying to steady herself.
Something wasn't right.
Lalit hadn't said anything inappropriate.
In fact, he seemed genuinely happy to see her.
Then why did she suddenly look terrified?
He continued speaking, completely unaware of the effect he was having on her.
"You should visit your parents soon. Your mother was saying—"
"Surbhi."
I interrupted as gently as I could.
She looked at me immediately.
Her eyes met mine for only a second, but it was enough.
There was fear in them.
Real fear.
Without saying another word, I stepped closer and lightly held her hand.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, her fingers instinctively tightened around mine.
I turned toward Lalit with a polite smile.
"I'm sorry, Uncle. She's running a little late, and Yasha is waiting for her inside."
"Of course," he said warmly. "We'll talk another day."
"Certainly."
I led Surbhi toward the café entrance without rushing her.
The moment we stepped inside, away from the crowd outside, I guided her to one of the quieter corners near the kitchen.
She was still trembling.
I crouched slightly so I could look at her without making her feel cornered.
"Surbhi."
She didn't answer.
"Look at me."
Slowly, she raised her eyes.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded automatically.
The answer came too quickly.
"No," I said gently. "You're not."
She lowered her gaze again.
I didn't press her.
Instead, I continued in the calmest voice I could manage.
"You don't have to explain anything to me today."
She remained silent.
"You don't have to tell me why you were scared, and you don't have to pretend that everything is fine just because I'm asking."
Her grip on my hand hadn't loosened.
"If there's ever a day when you need help, or you simply don't know what to do, I want you to remember one thing."
She finally looked at me again.
"You are not alone anymore."
I spoke slowly, making sure she understood every word.
"No matter what happens, I'll always be on your side. If you're ever uncomfortable, frightened, or simply need someone to come and get you, all you have to do is call me. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing. I'll come."
For a long moment, she simply stared at me.
Her eyes had filled with tears, but she quickly blinked them away.
"Thank you," she whispered.
I gave her hand one reassuring squeeze before letting go.
"Go inside. Yasha must be wondering where you are."
She nodded and walked toward the kitchen, her steps still slower than usual.
I remained standing where I was, watching until she disappeared from sight.
Everything about that encounter replayed itself in my mind.
Lalit Sharma hadn't threatened her.
He hadn't raised his voice.
He had spoken like any affectionate relative would.
Yet Surbhi had reacted as though she wanted to disappear.
The fear I'd seen in her wasn't ordinary discomfort.
It was instinctive.
The kind of fear that came from somewhere deep within.
As I walked back toward my car, a heavy feeling settled in my chest.
I still didn't know what had happened in Surbhi's past, but for the first time since our marriage, I was certain of one thing.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
The days following our encounter outside Yasha's café were nothing like the peaceful routine Surbhi and I had slowly built together.
Almost overnight, she withdrew into herself again.
She stopped going to the café.
When I asked her about it, she simply said she wasn't feeling well and that Yasha understood. I didn't press her because I could see she wasn't lying about feeling unwell, even if that wasn't the whole truth.
She barely left her room except when absolutely necessary.
The dinners we had started sharing every evening quietly came to an end. By the time I returned from work, she would already be inside her room, and a message would usually be waiting on my phone.
I've eaten. Good night.
It was always the same.
Short.
Polite.
Distant.
The little progress we had made over the past few weeks seemed to have disappeared in a single day.
I knew exactly when it had started.
The moment she had seen Lalit Sharma.
That encounter had changed something inside her.
I just didn't know what.
For nearly four days, I tried giving her space, convincing myself that she would come to me when she felt ready. But every time I caught a glimpse of her, she looked paler than before. The dark circles beneath her eyes became more prominent, and she had stopped smiling altogether.
It frightened me.
That evening, I returned home earlier than usual after wrapping up a client meeting ahead of schedule.
The penthouse was unusually quiet.
I loosened my tie as I walked toward my room, intending to change before checking on Surbhi.
As I crossed the hallway, I heard it.
A muffled sob.
I stopped walking.
Another sob followed, louder this time.
It was coming from her room.
Without wasting another second, I knocked on the door.
"Surbhi?"
There was no answer.
The crying continued.
My heartbeat quickened.
"Surbhi, I'm coming in."
I opened the door carefully.
The sight in front of me made my chest tighten.
She wasn't on the bed.
She was sitting on the floor beside it, her knees drawn tightly against her chest. Her hair had come loose, her face was streaked with tears, and her entire body was shaking with silent sobs.
A wastebasket lay beside her.
It didn't take long to realize she had been sick.
There were tissues scattered across the floor, and it looked as though she had cried for a very long time before I found her.
"Surbhi..."
I hurried toward her and knelt beside her.
She didn't even seem to notice I had entered.
I gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
She flinched.
"It's me," I said softly. "It's Ranbir."
Slowly, she looked up.
Her eyes were swollen from crying.
I had never seen anyone look so completely broken.
"What happened?" I asked, keeping my voice as calm as possible. "Talk to me."
She only cried harder.
I reached for a glass of water from the bedside table and held it out to her.
She couldn't even hold it steadily.
Without thinking, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her from collapsing.
She didn't resist.
Instead, she leaned into me as though she no longer had the strength to hold herself together.
"It's alright," I whispered. "You're safe."
The words seemed to break whatever little control she had left.
She buried her face against my chest and cried with a desperation that made my heart ache.
I simply held her.
I didn't ask questions.
I didn't tell her to calm down.
I just let her cry.
Several minutes passed before her sobs became quieter.
Then, in a trembling voice, she spoke.
"Please..."
I looked down at her.
"Please protect me."
Those three words hit me harder than I could have imagined.
I tightened my arms around her instinctively.
"I will," I said immediately. "I promise."
She shook her head frantically.
"He... he knows where I work now."
My entire body went still.
"He might..."
She couldn't finish the sentence.
"It's alright," I said gently. "Take your time."
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.
"I'm scared."
"I know."
"I've always been scared."
I brushed a few strands of hair away from her face.
"Tell me who you're talking about."
For several seconds, she remained silent.
Then she whispered a name that made my stomach knot.
"Lalit."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"My uncle."
I didn't interrupt.
"I was twelve."
Her voice was barely audible.
"I didn't even understand what was happening at first."
She stopped speaking, struggling to breathe.
I held her hand a little more firmly, silently telling her she didn't have to rush.
"When my parents weren't home..." she continued, "...he would come into my room."
Every word she spoke felt heavier than the last.
"He touched me."
I felt something inside me snap.
"He told me that if I ever told anyone..." Her voice broke completely. "...he would kill my mother and father."
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything except the sound of my own heartbeat.
The room seemed unbearably quiet.
I had dealt with ruthless businessmen.
Dishonest competitors.
People capable of incredible greed.
But nothing had prepared me for hearing the woman sitting in my arms tell me that she had spent years carrying something this horrifying completely alone.
She had been twelve.
A child.
My hands clenched into fists before I consciously forced myself to relax.
This wasn't about my anger.
This was about her.
I gently cupped the back of her head and held her against me.
"Listen to me carefully, Surbhi."
She looked up with tear-filled eyes.
"That man is never going to touch you again."
My voice was calm, but every word carried a certainty I had never felt more strongly.
"As long as I'm alive, he won't even be able to come near you."
She searched my face as though trying to decide whether she could believe me.
"I promise you," I continued, "he will never lay a finger on you again."
For the first time since I had entered the room, I saw the slightest change in her expression.
Not relief.
Not yet.
But hope.
A fragile, uncertain hope.
She slowly rested her head against my shoulder once more.
Her breathing gradually became steadier.
The tears eventually stopped.
Exhaustion had replaced them.
When I felt she had finally calmed down, I carefully shifted, intending to help her onto the bed before giving her some time to rest.
The moment I tried to move, she held onto my shirt.
"Please..."
I looked at her.
"Don't go."
The quiet plea broke something inside me.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said softly.
She tightened her arms around me, still half-asleep, as though letting go would somehow make everything she feared return.
I adjusted the pillows behind us and remained beside her until her breathing settled into the slow rhythm of sleep.
She never loosened her grip.
I looked down at the woman sleeping against me, carrying wounds that should never have been inflicted on any child.
A cold fury settled deep inside my chest.
Lalit Sharma had stolen years of her peace, her confidence, and her sense of safety.
He had made her believe that fear was something she had to live with.
As I gently brushed a strand of hair away from Surbhi's face, I made myself one final promise.
For every year that man had made her life a nightmare, I would make sure he answered for it.
And before I was done, Lalit Sharma would learn exactly what it meant to lose the peace he had stolen from someone else.