CHAPTER 57
ADITI
The air in the room feels heavy. Not the kind of heavy that comes from heat or lack of ventilation—no, this is the weight of tension, the kind that clings to your skin and seeps into your lungs until every breath feels labored.
We step inside, and the first thing I see is Harsh.
He’s sitting against the far wall, his back pressed to the peeling paint, one knee bent, the other stretched out.
There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, his usually sharp expression dulled by pain.
His shirt is gone—well, not gone exactly.
It’s wrapped tightly around Anil’s wrists, binding them behind his back in a makeshift restraint.
Anil, in contrast, is seated in a chair, posture deceptively relaxed, as if this isn’t the worst day of his life. His smirk is intact, though. That infuriating little curve of the lips that says he still thinks he has some sort of power here.
“Wow,” Abhimaan chuckles, his voice carrying both amusement and disbelief. “You did something I’ve been trying to do since I was a child.”
I raise a brow, my lips twitching. “I’m a woman, darling,” I reply, letting my voice drip with mock sweetness. “I can do what an average man can—and much more.” I toss my hair back, a small, sharp flick, because if there’s one thing men like Anil can’t stand, it’s a woman who knows her worth.
“She’s right,” Harsh cuts in, his voice strained as he presses a hand to the wound in his stomach. The way his jaw clenches tells me it hurts more than he’s letting on. “You have no idea how brave she is.”
“Deal with him first,” Harsh adds, nodding towards Anil, but before I can move, Anil laughs.
“You needed a girl to save you, Abhimaan?”
It’s meant to be a dig, a jab at masculinity, but Abhimaan only laughs—loud, rich, and unbothered. I join in, letting my amusement echo in the cramped space.
“No,” Abhimaan says, glancing at him with a slow, dangerous smile. “You needed a girl to beat you up.”
The satisfaction of his words blooms warm in my chest. I take my time walking towards Anil, every step deliberate. When I reach him, I curl my fingers into his hair and yank his head back until his eyes meet mine.
“You really,” I murmur, my voice dropping, “are in no position to have fun right now.”
But he laughs again, the sound dark and guttural. His gaze flicks to Abhimaan. “I do, actually. Your pet here messed with me. He needs a lesson taught.”
Pet.
The word slams into me, ugly and demeaning. My laugh is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
“Well,” I say, tilting my head, “before you teach him a lesson, let me teach you one.”
I drive my knee hard into his jaw. The crack is sickening, followed by a splatter of blood on the floor. One of his teeth clinks against the cement, a grotesque little punctuation mark to my statement.
“What do you want to do with him, Abhimaan?” I ask, my voice steady, though the adrenaline is still rushing through me.
Anil’s lips twist into a bloody smile. “Do you want to know about your family, Abhimaan?”
The room shifts. My chest tightens as I glance over my shoulder. Abhimaan’s entire body has gone still, rigid like a taut wire. His hands curl into fists so tight I can see the strain in his knuckles.
“Your mother,” Anil says slowly, savoring each word, “was my mother too.”
The air leaves my lungs.
“I’m your half-brother,” he continues, a laugh dripping with venom.
“And it was me who left you here when our mother died. So what you are today—it’s because of me.
” Silence. Not the calm kind—this is thick, suffocating, pressing against my eardrums. I can’t even imagine what’s going through Abhimaan’s mind right now.
For years, he’s lived with questions about his past, shadows of a family he never knew.
And now, here’s the answer. Ugly. Twisted. Tied to a man like Anil.
“Who’s my father?” Abhimaan asks, voice low and dangerous.
Anil grins, red-stained teeth on display. “You’ll never know… unless you let me walk out of here.”
Abhimaan lifts his gun. His arm is steady, his expression unreadable.
“I don’t care about my past,” he says, eyes locked on Anil. Then, his gaze shifts to me, and something flickers there—soft, sad. “I have someone I want to spend my future with.”
I can’t stop the tiny hitch in my breath.
“I’m the only family you have left!” Anil shouts, desperate now.
Abhimaan chuckles—a sound without joy. “This isn’t family. I know what family looks like now.”
His eyes find mine again, and the way he’s looking at me makes my throat tighten.
“And you,” he says to Anil, “hurt people who matter to me. So I don’t really care about you.”
“I’m your only blood!” Anil’s voice cracks with fury.
Abhimaan steps closer, gun unwavering. “Anil… you’ve done a lot for me.”
I roll my eyes. Even now, he’s giving this man more words than he deserves. His kindness sometimes borders on maddening.
“But you’re neither my blood nor my family,” he continues. “Family means warmth. It means people who care for you don’t take revenge on you. People who feed you endlessly—”
My lips twitch into a small, involuntary smile. Is he talking about my family?
I let out a quiet chuckle. He glances at me, and his expression softens, just for a second, before he looks back at Anil.
“They’ll look out for you,” he says. “You did nothing like that for me. You just used me for your benefit. So no, I don’t care who my father is.”
Then he looks at me again. His eyes—so guarded most days—are raw, vulnerable. “I can’t do this in front of you,” he whispers.
I don’t argue. I know what he means. This is a part of him he doesn’t want me to see. The side that can end a life without flinching.
But what he doesn’t know is that I’d stand in that darkness with him if he’d let me. I’d take it all, every sharp edge and shadow, if it meant I could have all of him. Still, I understand. Some things are his alone to bear.
Before I turn to leave, I lean down and punch Anil square in the face. Hard.
Harsh chuckles from his spot against the wall. “She’s a fierce one,” he says.
“She is,” Abhimaan replies, his voice quieter now, but there’s something in it that warms me.
I wink at him and walk out of the room. My footsteps echo in the hallway.
Bang. A single gunshot, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground.
It’s over. Finally. And I feel happy, strangely, being someone who doesn’t like violence, I just witnessed, well heard, a man being killed by my boyfriend, but instead of fear or disgust all I feel is happy, because Abhimaan is finally free of his past, or should I say the reminder of his past because his past is what makes him how he is today and I love him for who he is, but I also know he never deserved it.
So I guess being happy is fine? I sigh. Whether it’s okay or not, I am feeling content and what would give me more peace is burning this place down.
I huff. I am going to burn this orphanage!