Chapter-60
My fingers paused over the last button of my shirt, and for a moment, I just stared at my reflection. Eyes dull. Jaw clenched too tight.
I looked like a man dressed to conquer the world... and yet every cell in my body just ached for one person to look back at me with softness.
I let out a breath and turned away from the mirror, only for my eyes to land on the table-on her ring and mangalsutra.
They looked out of place. Wrong. Like a symbol of something sacred, now stripped of meaning.
I walked to the table, my steps slow. My fingers trembled as I reached out and touched the mangalsutra. Cold. Still. Quiet.
Just like her silence.
I grazed the beads gently, the way my thumb would once touch her neck when she wore it. Back when I didn't feel like a ghost in my own story.
And then I placed it back-carefully, almost reverently. Like I was scared it would break too, just like everything else.
Suddenly my phone buzzed softly against the wooden side table, the low hum barely cutting through the thick silence of the room. Screen lit. Battery full. Charged.
I turned toward the couch, reached for it with an odd hope clinging to my fingers like dust. Maybe this time. Maybe she'd replied.
My thumb hovered over the screen for a second too long before I opened our chat.
Empty.
The same hollow, silent screen stared back at me like it had for the last four days. Not a single reply. Not even a one-word response. Just the damning 'Seen' tick under every message I'd sent.
Four days.
Four goddamn days of me texting her. Calling her. Sending voice notes she never played. Reaching out like some desperate addict begging for one last fix. Just one reply. Just a single word from her. A word.A reply. A letter. Anything. But there was nothing.
And the worst part?
She saw them all.
She read every single one. The ticks turned blue, mocking me, reminding me she wasn't too busy to check my messages-she was just too hurt to reply. Or maybe too angry. Or maybe... just done.
My chest tightened as I leaned back, staring blankly at the ceiling like it could answer the questions I didn't have the courage to ask out loud. My throat burned from holding back everything I wanted to scream.
I tried to see her yesterday.
I stood outside her school like a damn fool, waiting. Like some hopeless teenager waiting for his first crush to smile at him from across the hallway.
She walked out, eventually. Beautiful as ever, wrapped in a soft blue kurti, But her eyes didn't search for me.
She looked right through me.
And when she passed-just a few feet away but-she didn't flinch. Didn't stop. Didn't even pause.
I opened my mouth. Just to say her name. To ask for a minute. A second. Anything.
But then Rohan showed up.
He gave me a cold look. Protective. Distant. Like he knew everything and hated me for all of it. Aarushi got into the car without a word. Without even turning back.
Not once.
Not a glance. Not a flicker of recognition. Not even a damn goodbye in her eyes.
And all I wanted-all I needed-was for her to look at me. Just once. Just a small nod, maybe. A flicker in her eyes, a sign that she still saw me.
That we hadn't completely fallen apart. That I wasn't just a ghost in her world. A whisper of recognition, just to prove we hadn't completely lost each other.
But now, as I stood there, feeling the weight of her indifference crash over me like a tidal wave, it hit me-I understand.
I understand how desperately she must have searched for a sign when I pulled away from her, how she clung to those small gestures, those fleeting moments of warmth, hoping that I would give her something.
Something to show that we still existed in the same world. That we weren't dead to each other. That I didn't disappear the way I let her feel.
I understand now, more than ever, how it felt for her when I stayed silent, when I acted cold.
When I made her believe she was invisible to me, when I didn't give her that damn sign she was begging for.
I was the one who made her feel invisible.
And the crushing weight of that realization hit me harder than any of the cold stares or the unspoken words that still lingered between us.
How could I have been so blind? So arrogant to think that silence could somehow fix everything?
Still holding the phone with a hope, I typed.
"Good morning, baby."
I stared at the words for a moment, hesitating....
Then hit send.
Delivered
I looked around and my eyes landed on him-on Pillu. Still resting comfortably on the couch like he had no idea the world was burning.
I lifted my phone and clicked his picture.
"He's missing you. But not more than I do." I wrote. Sent it anyway. My thoughts wandered thinking what she must be doing now? Getting ready or having breakfast.....
Then I tossed the phone onto the couch and sat down beside him.
For a moment, I just looked at him. His wide plastic eyes. That stitched smile. Oblivious to my pain.
"You miss her, don't you?" I murmured, voice low. "You must"
"But I don't think you miss her as much as I do," I whispered, leaning closer. "Because you... you still have a part of her with you."
My hand reached out and picked him up, gently.
"You still smell like her, you know? That same damn body wash she uses. That citrusy thing. You smell like warmth. Like comfort" I closed my eyes, took a soft breath.
"You have no idea how lucky you are," I said, bitterly. "You didn't mess up. You didn't push her away. You didn't break her heart."
My throat tightened.
"I did all of that. And now I'm stuck talking to you."
I looked at his stitched grin and scoffed. "Why are you smiling? Huh? You think this is funny? My wife left me and here I am,talking to you....as if you are listening to me"
I leaned closer, whispering now.
"You think she'll come back, You think she'll forgive me?"
I paused, eyes burning.
I looked down at him again and smiled sadly.
" I'm sorry I'm making you a therapist. But I've gone insane without her. I don't know how she's surviving this. Because I'm not. I'm going mad. There's this constant ache in my chest. This mess in my head. Like a web of guilt and noise and her absence pulling me from every direction."
My voice cracked slightly. "I never realized silence could be this loud."
"You know what hurts the most?" I whispered. "That she isn't even angry anymore. Anger I can take. But this... this cold silence? This quiet indifference? It's killing me. Like she's slowly slipping through my fingers and I can't do anything but watch."
I paused for a minute then sighed and stood up, gently placing him back on the couch beside his teddy partner.
"Go, spend time with your better half," I muttered. "At least one of us shouldn't sleep alone."
I slipped on my coat, grabbed my keys with shaking fingers, and headed downstairs.
The low murmur of conversation drifted from the dining room-, clinking cutlery, the warmth of a normal morning.
And then they saw me.
Everything stopped.
Voices faded mid-sentence. Forks paused mid-air. The clatter of dishes fell into an eerie stillness.
I felt their eyes-questions, judgment, concern, disappointment-all of it pressing against my skin like invisible weights. But I didn't stop.
I walked right past them without meeting a single pair of eyes.
The door clicked shut behind me.
Outside, the cold air bit into my face, but it was nothing compared to the storm unraveling inside my chest.
I slid into the driver's seat, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as if it could anchor me. I stared ahead, unmoving.
The engine hummed to life, a soft murmur against the silence, and I pulled out onto the road. The city blurred around me-trees, passing headlights, the occasional honk-but my grip never wavered.
I stopped at a small flower shop wedged between a sleepy café and a dusty old bookstore. For a moment, I just stood there-lost-in front of a riot of colors. Roses, lilies, tulips... chaos in bloom.
The shopkeeper approached with a polite smile. "Looking for something special, sir? Which bouquet would you like?"
I didn't even pause. The words slipped out before I could think.
"Tulips... she likes tulips."
Fifteen minutes later, I was back in the car, the bouquet resting carefully in my hands. White tulips, their petals soft as whispers, nestled in baby's breath and wrapped in parchment paper-delicate, pristine. An absurdly perfect satin ribbon held it all together, like it mattered.
It looked beautiful. Gentle. Like something she'd cradle with both hands, smiling down at it....
It was still half an hour before she'd reach school, but I drove there anyway. Parked a little away from the gate....
The bouquet sat quietly on my lap, and my hands... they were shaking more than I cared to admit.
What was I even going to say?
How would she react?
Would she stop? Would she even look at me?
I played the scene over and over in my head: I'd step forward, hold out the flowers, say good morning like I used to-as if everything hadn't shattered between us. Maybe she'd smile. Maybe her eyes would soften for just a second.
I wasn't asking for much-just one glance, one word, one fragile sign that she still cared.
Twenty minutes crawled by like an eternity. I kept glancing at the school gate, then at the flowers, then back again.
And then-
A familiar white car pulled in.
She stepped out.
Even from a distance, I felt it-that invisible string between us pulling taut, aching.
She wore a simple pink kurti, her hair tied back in a loose braid, that tan handbag swaying gently against her side like it always did.
And then... he got out.
Sid. From the passenger side. Laughing, talking, carefree.
I stepped out too, slow and careful, the bouquet steady in my grip though everything else inside me was anything but.
She hadn't seen me yet.
But Sid had.
His eyes locked on mine, and the smile slipped from his face like a dropped mask. He leaned toward her, whispered something.
She turned. Looked over her shoulder.
And froze.
Our eyes met.
For a second-just a second-the world went still.
I saw it all in that moment.
The flicker of shock.
The silent gasp behind her parted lips.
The way her eyes turned cold-hard, like winter glass.
And then came that wall. That blank, composed mask she wore now like second skin.
The one she built to keep me out.
"Jaan,"I said, my voice barely more than a whisper-soft, unsure, almost fragile.
She didn't stop.Instead, she leaned toward Sid, murmured something I couldn't hear. Then she tried to walk past me like I was a stranger.
But I couldn't let her.
I stepped forward, gently blocking her path, the bouquet trembling slightly in my hand as i forwarded it towards her.
"Good morning, baby..."
She halted.
But that was all.
She didn't take the flowers.
Didn't say a word.
Her eyes dropped to the bouquet, then lifted to mine-and I swear, I forgot how to breathe.
"I-I couldn't stay away," I confessed, my voice cracking around the edges. "I'm missing you, jaan... more than I know how to say."
Her silence wasn't empty-it was sharp. Loud. A punishment in itself.
"Are you okay?" I asked quietly. "Please... just say something. Anything. You didn't reply to a single message. You--"
"I'm getting late, Mr. Rathore," she said, voice cold, flat.My heart caved at the way she said it-Mr. Rathore.
Not Abhi.
Not her Abhi.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, raising the bouquet again with a hand that felt suddenly too heavy. "This is for you. Please, just... take it."
"I don't want it," she replied, sharper now, like the words were blades meant to cut.
I blinked, chest tightening. "Why? Please., I bought them for you. I just wanted to-"
Her gaze flicked around, jaw clenched, and I followed her eyes.
People were watching.
Parents. Students.
A few teachers. Whispers had begun.
Her pride rose like a shield.
"Don't create a scene, Mr. Rathore," she muttered under her breath. "I have to go."
And before I could say anything more, she turned-and walked through the school gate without once looking back.
And I just stood there.
Fingers curling tighter around the bouquet like it was my last thread to her-
The last soft thing left in my hands.
She disappeared through the school gates And with that single act, the pain I'd been burying under silence, pride, and desperation came rushing up-
Unstoppable. Violent.
Like floodwater crashing through a broken dam.
I turned away slowly, breathing shallow and uneven-like my own ribs were closing in on my lungs.
That's when I saw Sid.
He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a look of irritation written across his face like I was some unwelcome nuisance.
"Why are you irritating her, man?" he asked bluntly, his tone sharp. "You keep calling her, texting her,trying to meet her, sending gifts like that'll magically fix everything. Do you really think that's going to change anything now?"
I didn't respond. Just stared at him with hollow eyes.
Then, without a word, I stepped forward and held out the bouquet.
"Try to give it to her," I said quietly, voice rough around the edges. "It's for her."
Sid glanced at the flowers, then back at me. His lips curled in something between pity and annoyance.
"She refused,"he said with a shrug. "You saw it. She didn't want it."
My jaw clenched. My fingers twitched.
"Then throw it away," I whispered, almost to myself. "If she doesn't want it... just throw it."
I turned to walk away.
But his voice cut through me like ice.
"I shouldn't be saying this..."he began, slower this time. "But maybe you should stop all this."
I paused.
Didn't turn fully.
Just tilted my face slightly, enough to hear the blow that was coming.
"I mean... first it was your father. He ruined everything. Aditi bua suffered. Everyone suffered. And now... because of you, Aarushi is suffering too."
Every word landed sharp. Like glass dragged across skin.
"You say you did all this to protect her. But have you ever thought-if it weren't for you... none of this would've happened to her? She got dragged into your mess. Your enemies. Your past. Your father's hatred."
I gulped as he continued.
"She didn't ask for this marriage. You married her. You dragged her into this mess-your world of chaos, secrets, and blood. If you weren't in her life... maybe she'd be happier right now. Safer. Actually living, not just surviving."
He paused, then added, voice quieter but heavier, "I don't have a personal grudge against you, Abhimanyu. But she's been my best friend since we were kids. And I hated you-because of you, she cried. Again and again."
His eyes met mine, steady and honest. "I just want her to be happy, even if that happiness means staying far away from you."
A silence followed.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that ruins.
Something inside me cracked.
Quietly.
Like a bone snapping under pressure no one else could hear.
I stood still.
Didn't speak.
Didn't argue.
Because the worst part was... I didn't know if he was wrong.
Maybe he wasn't.
I felt the sting behind my eyes, but I held it back. Just like always.
Then I turned.
And walked away.
One heavy step at a time. Each one dragging the weight of his words like chains.
It was a quiet Sunday morning, with the sun casting gentle golden rays across the pale white curtains of Aarushi's bedroom.
The world outside her window was slowly stirring to life, but her heart still beat to the rhythm of yesterday.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, wearing a oversized T-shirt and lower , her hair loosely tied, her eyes fixed on the phone screen in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the notifications-none from him.
Not a single message. No missed calls.
Her chest tightened slightly. For the first time in a week... nothing.
He had messaged her every single day since she came here. Called her-even when she didn't pick up. Left voicemails.
And now-just silence.
She unlocked the phone, brows furrowed as she opened their chat. Her eyes slowly trailed over the countless blue-ticked messages from him. Paragraphs. Images. One-sided conversations. His last message was from yesterday afternoon. And then nothing. No typing indicator. No Missed call from him.
She stared at the screen for a moment longer, then turned it off and placed it on the bed beside her, as if even looking at it hurt now.
Her fingers curled over the bedsheet as she sat still, lost in thought.
She didn't want to hurt him. She really didn't.