•| THIRTY NINE |•
Krish’s vision blurred as unshed tears gathered in his eyes, the burning sting behind them matching the violent storm raging inside his chest. His knees felt weak — almost giving up beneath the crushing weight of guilt, anger, and helplessness all colliding at once.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair, breath coming out ragged, uneven, as if even breathing had become difficult after seeing you run away from him like he was the villain of your story.
Before he could even steady himself, Sara stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor, and she reached out — trying to hold his arm as if she had the right to comfort him after everything that had just happened.
But the moment her fingers brushed his sleeve — he snapped.
Krish yanked his hand away so harshly that she staggered a step back, his bloodshot eyes shooting daggers at her, filled with fury so raw it almost looked feral.
“Don’t you dare touch me!” he growled, his voice hoarse yet thunderous, each word laced with venom. His chest heaved violently as he pointed a shaking finger at her, jaw clenching so tight it hurt. “Why can’t you just let me live peacefully? Why can’t you stay away from my life for once?”
His voice cracked midway, emotions choking him, but the anger didn’t fade — it only burned hotter.
“It’s all my fault…” he muttered bitterly, laughing hollowly at himself as he dragged his hands down his face in frustration. “How could I—” he paused, swallowing hard, disgust flashing across his features, “—how could I kiss you back…”
The realization made him look sick with himself.
His fists clenched at his sides before he continued, voice rising again — louder, sharper, breaking with years of buried hurt.
“You did all this to get me back, huh? This drama, this setup, drugging me, trapping me— all of it just so you could crawl back into my life?” His eyes blazed as he stepped closer, towering over her but not touching her, his restraint hanging by a thread. “But remember one thing clearly…”
He jabbed a finger toward his own chest.
“You broke me first.”
Each word landed heavy, soaked in old wounds that had never healed.
“You shattered me… left me when I needed you the most… made me believe I was never enough…” His voice trembled despite his anger, exposing the pain he hated showing. “And now you think you can just walk back in and claim me again?”
He shook his head furiously, tears finally spilling over though he refused to wipe them.
“You can’t get me again.”
His breathing grew erratic, chest rising and falling rapidly as he shouted, the echo of his voice filling the room — raw, wounded, final.
“I’m not a fool…”
His voice broke into a roar.
“I’M NOT!”
Krish jerked himself up from the cold marble floor, his chest heaving violently, lungs burning as if the air itself had turned poisonous, and he staggered a step forward, desperate to run after you, desperate to undo what had just happened—but before he could even take another step, Sara’s trembling fingers wrapped around his wrist, her grip tight, almost frantic, as though she feared he would disappear the moment she let go.
“K-Krish… don’t say things like that, please…
I know you love me—” Her voice cracked, pleading, but the words had barely left her mouth when he spun around so sharply that she flinched.
His eyes—red, bloodshot, brimming with fury and betrayal—bored into hers with such intensity that she instinctively loosened her hold.
“I DON’T!” he roared, his voice echoing off the walls, raw and broken at the edges.
“I don’t love you anymore… not even a little.
” His jaw clenched so hard it hurt, breath shaking as he continued, quieter but far more dangerous, “And if something happens to Samira because of this… because of you…” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, “I’ll burn the whole world down.
Do you hear me? I’ll destroy everything.
” The threat wasn’t loud—but it was real enough to make Sara’s hands fall limply to her sides.
Without another glance at her, Krish tore his arm free and bolted out of the room.
Meanwhile, you were already running down the hallway, vision blurred by tears that refused to stop, your heartbeat pounding so loudly it drowned out the music and chatter from the celebration downstairs.
Your saree pallu slipped from your shoulder as you hurried, hands shaking while trying to gather it, breaths coming out in broken gasps.
You didn’t know where you were going—you just needed to get away, away from that room, that sight, that moment that kept replaying in your head like a cruel nightmare.
As you reached the staircase landing, you nearly collided with Kiaan and Aarav’s wife, who had just stepped out of the banquet hall.
She immediately grabbed your shoulders, alarm flashing across her face.
“Samira? What happened? Why are you crying like this? Did someone say something to you?” You shook your head quickly, unable to form words, lips trembling, throat clogged with pain.
Instead of answering, you slowly sank to your knees in front of Kiaan, your little boy looking confused and scared seeing tears streaming endlessly down your face.
Without warning, you pulled him into a tight hug—so tight it made him blink in surprise.
Your fingers curled into the back of his tiny sherwani as if he was the only thing holding you together.
Kiaan’s small hands rested on your shoulders.
“Mumma… why are you crying?” he asked softly, his innocent voice shattering whatever strength you had left.
You buried your face into his hair, inhaling shakily before forcing yourself to speak in a whisper, “Kiaan… baby… be a good boy, okay? Mummy… mummy just needs some time alone.” Your voice broke midway, and you quickly pulled back before he could see the fresh wave of tears spilling over.
You cupped his cheeks, memorizing his face like you were afraid it would be the last time.
“Stay with aunty… don’t go anywhere.” He frowned, confusion turning into fear.
“But mumma—” You pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead, cutting him off, then stood up abruptly before your resolve could crumble completely.
You glanced at him one last time—one long, aching look—before turning and walking toward the exit, each step heavier than the last. “Mumma! Mumma!” Kiaan’s voice rose into panicked sobs as he tried to run after you, but Aarav’s wife quickly knelt and pulled him into her arms, holding him close as he cried into her shoulder.
“Shh… Kiaan, it’s okay… mummy just isn’t feeling well,” she tried to soothe, though worry clouded her own expression.
Kiaan clutched her saree tightly, tears soaking the fabric.
“Aunty… what happened to mumma? Why is she crying? I want mumma…” His broken sobs echoed in the hallway as she rocked him gently, pulling out her phone with her free hand.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed.
“Aarav… where are you? Something’s wrong.
Samira just ran out crying… and Kiaan—he’s inconsolable. I think you need to come right now.”
Krish’s chest was heaving so violently it almost hurt to breathe as he stormed through the crowded hall, his eyes scanning every corner like a madman searching for the only soul that mattered.
The music, the chatter, the clinking of glasses—everything felt distant, muffled, as if he were drowning underwater.
His heart pounded brutally against his ribs, each beat screaming your name.
That’s when his gaze fell on Kiaan, who was standing beside Aarav, his tiny face blotchy and wet with tears.
Relief and dread collided inside Krish at the same time as he rushed toward them, his voice coming out strained, almost broken, “Aarav… do you know where Samira is?” Aarav turned, concern already etched across his face, sensing something terribly wrong in Krish’s tone.
“Krish, what happened? Did you both fight agai—” but before he could even finish, Kiaan suddenly stepped forward, his little fists clenched, his whole body trembling with anger far too big for his small frame.
“I hate you, Dad!” he cried, his voice cracking as fresh tears spilled down.
The words hit Krish like a physical blow, knocking the air out of his lungs.
“You always make mummy cry… always! Because of you mummy left us… you’re bad…
you’re very bad!” Kiaan sobbed uncontrollably, pushing weakly against Krish’s leg as if trying to punish him.
Krish froze, guilt slicing through him mercilessly, his vision blurring as his son’s accusations echoed in his head.
His throat tightened, but no words came out—because deep down, he felt he deserved every single one.
Aarav immediately knelt and pulled Kiaan into his arms, glaring up at Krish with a mix of confusion and realization, as if piecing together the chaos.
Krish dragged a shaky hand down his face before speaking again, his voice now laced with fury and desperation, “Aarav… take care of Kiaan. Don’t let him go anywhere…
ANYWHERE.” The dangerous edge in his tone made Aarav stiffen; he nodded slowly, understanding without needing further explanation that Sara was somehow behind this disaster.
Krish’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. Without another word—because if he stayed even a second longer he might shatter completely—he turned and ran toward the exit, pushing past people, his only thought screaming in his mind… find her before it’s too late.