Chapter 14 Safe
The soft melody from the music box continued filling the room quietly.
Gentle.
Painfully gentle.
Nothing about it matched the man sitting beside Aarohi Mehra.
Ekansh Rathore sat motionless, the tiny photograph still trembling slightly in his hand.
His mother's smile stared back at him from another lifetime.
Another version of himself.
One that had still known softness.
The tears on his face seemed to infuriate him.
Aarohi noticed immediately.
The moment emotion escaped, his body tried shutting it down again.
Jaw tightening.
Breathing flattening.
Walls rebuilding.
Like vulnerability itself felt dangerous.
Slowly, he moved to close the music box.
Aarohi's hand stopped him gently.
"Don't."
His eyes lifted toward her instantly.
Dark.
Raw.
"I hate this," he said quietly.
"What?"
"This."
The crack in his voice hurt more than the tears themselves.
Aarohi looked at him carefully.
"You hate grieving?"
"I hate feeling weak."
The sentence came immediately.
Conditioned belief.
Years of emotional suppression wrapped into one response.
Aarohi shook her head softly.
"Crying over your mother doesn't make you weak."
"It does in my world."
There it was again.
That underworld logic.
Emotion equals vulnerability.
Vulnerability equals survival risk.
Aarohi's chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because she realized something heartbreaking—
Nobody had ever taught him healthy emotional safety after his mother died.
Everything afterward was violence.
Control.
Punishment.
Fear.
Even his grief had probably been treated like inconvenience.
The room remained quiet for a while.
Then suddenly Ekansh spoke again.
"She used to sing this song."
Aarohi glanced toward the music box.
"When I couldn't sleep," he continued softly, gaze fixed downward, "she'd play it beside my bed."
His voice sounded distant now.
Lost somewhere years away.
"She'd stay until I slept."
The similarity hit Aarohi instantly.
Stay until I sleep.
That's why he asked her to stay.
Not manipulation.
Memory.
Comfort linked to safety.
His mother used to remain beside him during nights.
And now subconsciously, he was recreating the same emotional security with her.
The realization hit hard.
Because it made his attachment feel even more fragile.
Aarohi's voice softened unconsciously.
"You loved her a lot."
For the first time, genuine emotion crossed his face openly.
Not rage.
Not coldness.
Love.
Pure.
Devastating.
"She was the only person who never looked scared of me."
The sentence nearly shattered her.
Because now she understood completely why he reacted to her the way he did.
It wasn't just attraction.
Or dependency.
It was recognition.
She treated him the way his mother once had—
calmly.
without fear.
without treating him like a monster.
And somewhere deep inside his traumatized mind, that safety became precious instantly.
Ekansh leaned back slowly against the couch, exhaustion finally showing fully.
The emotional breakdown had drained whatever energy remained.
His fingers still held the tiny photo carefully.
Like something sacred.
Aarohi studied him quietly.
No wonder the world feared him.
Men who buried grief this deeply became dangerous.
Because eventually pain turned into violence when it had nowhere else to go.
Then unexpectedly, Ekansh looked toward her and asked quietly—
"Do you think she would've hated me?"
The question hit like a blade.
Not because of the words.
Because underneath all the rage, power, and brutality...
He still cared.
Still feared disappointing his dead mother.
Still wanted her approval.
Aarohi answered honestly.
"I think she would've hated what happened to you."
Silence.
His gaze stayed fixed on hers.
"You don't know what I've done."
"No," Aarohi admitted softly. "But I know trauma changes people."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
"That's a nice way to describe murder."
The room stilled again.
Aarohi didn't respond immediately.
Not because she was shocked.
But because she knew this moment mattered.
If she judged him now, he'd shut down permanently.
If she excused everything blindly, she'd lose objectivity.
So she chose honesty.
"You've done terrible things."
No denial.
No sugarcoating.
Ekansh looked away immediately.
Expected.
But Aarohi continued quietly—
"And you were also failed terribly."
His breathing paused for half a second.
Aarohi leaned slightly closer.
"Those two truths can exist together."
That made him look at her again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like nobody had ever separated the monster from the wounded boy before.
The silence between them deepened.
Then, almost hesitantly, Ekansh asked—
"Why are you still here?"
Aarohi could've given professional answers.
Duty.
Responsibility.
Patient care.
But none would've been completely true anymore.
So instead she answered softly—
"Because everyone else in your life leaves when you break."
Something inside him visibly cracked at those words.
Before Aarohi could react, Ekansh suddenly reached for her hand again.
Not rough.
Not demanding.
Almost careful this time.
Like he feared she might disappear too.
His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles once.
Then quietly—
"Stay tonight."
The vulnerability in his voice this time was impossible to ignore.
And maybe the most dangerous part?
Aarohi realized she wanted to stay too.