Chapter 26 Tied by Thread, Signed by Bite
Some people heal in silence. Others need a war.
Ivikaa didn't show up for dinner but had it in her room. Her room stayed locked, the lights dim, the silence deafening. She sat on the edge of her bed, legs pulled up, chin on her knees, her mind a violent reel of flashes:
The sterile room Adwait once called his.
The red thread slipping from his wrist.
The tattoo. The scars.
Ridhima Rajput - in those photos, in that house
Her chest burned with anger she didn't know how to name. It wasn't just rage it was grief wrapped in fury, helplessness painted over with guilt.
She had kissed those scars.
She had touched that past.
Now, it wouldn't let her rest.
A knock broke the silence.
Ivikaa didn't move for a second. Then - "Come in."
Maya walked in, tablet in hand. "You need to see this."
She passed the tablet. Ivikaa blinked, clearing her vision then her eyes sharpened.
Nakul Rathore leaves India overnight after viral controversy.
Destination undisclosed. PR team silent.
Sources say he's not returning anytime soon.
Her fingers scrolled through one article after another. Fabricated. Twisted. Strategically leaked. They painted a narrative, alright one that made Nakul disappear, without a single trace.
Maya watched her closely. "This isn't your style, Iva." Maya raised a brow, folding her arms. "You told me not to touch him - and then went full ninja assassin on the side?"
Iva's lips barely moved. "Because this wasn't me." She pushed the tablet back. "Find out who did this," Ivikaa said coldly. Her jaw tightened, voice like steel. "Because he's mine to ruin."
Maya blinked.
"I want to know where he went after that party. Which car picked him up, which airport, which flight. I want details of every hour - where he ate, where he stayed, who helped him vanish. I want to know what underwear he was wearing if it's on record."
Her breath came in sharp and shallow. The anger wasn't just about Nakul anymore. Not entirely. It was the helplessness - from every room she walked in today. From every truth that bled silently out of a boy with scars.
Ivikaa didn't smile. She just stared ahead, eyes molten.
Tonight, grief had shape-shifted. And fury had found a focus.
"And Maya-" she turned sharply.
Maya looked up.
"Also find out if Rudra had anything to do with this."
Maya blinked. "Rudra? You think he ruined Nakul?"
Ivikaa crossed her arms. "He's Nakul's so-called best friend. But Rudra Agnivanshi isn't exactly the loyal kind when his ego's involved."
Maya gave a crooked smile. "If Rudra had ruined Nakul, he'd be wearing that act like a designer label. You know how he gets when he wants to impress you. Man doesn't know how to shut up."
"Exactly," Iva said bitterly. "He would've weaponized it by now. Told me. Showed off. Probably scripted an entire redemption arc for himself in the process."
Her voice dropped a little.
"But he didn't say a word. Not even a smirk. That's why I doubt it."
Maya nodded slowly, processing. "So if not you... and not Rudra..."
"Then someone else is in the shadows," Ivikaa finished. Her eyes were like ice now. "And I don't like shadows that move without permission."
She walked back to the bed and sat, chin lifted.
Maya gave her a long, respectful look. "Got it. Every step Nakul took after that night I'll track it. And if someone else messed with him, we'll unmask the ghost."
Ivikaa nodded.
With that Maya left, but Ivikaa's rage hadn't cooled.
If anything, it boiled hotter beneath her skin, a silent scream echoing in her bones.
Her heart thudded like war drums, not just from fury over Nakul's mysterious disappearance, but from something far more visceral the image of Adwait's scarred wrist flashing again and again in her mind like a wound she couldn't unsee.
How dare someone hurt him? Her Adwait.
She tossed aside the comforter, slipped her feet into slippers, and stormed toward her bag.
Digging through it, she pulled out her favorite lighter - a sleek silver one.
As she closed her hand around it, something fell out a passport-size photo of Adwait.
A younger version of him, sharp eyed, expression guarded even then. Her breath hitched.
Someone touched him... burnt him... left marks on his skin?
Not acceptable.
Not forgivable.
With those crashing thoughts, she walked out, her grip tightening around the lighter like a soldier gripping a weapon. She didn't stop to ask Martin. She didn't look for Maria. She went straight to the West Wing, to his room, like a storm aimed at its center.
She knocked. Twice.
Adwait opened the door, surprised. His hair was messy, a tee hung loosely over his frame, and he was in shorts - one headphone still dangling around his neck, laptop in hand. His eyes widened seeing her, but before he could say anything, she shot him a glare so fiery it could melt steel.
Wordlessly, she walked in and sat cross-legged on his bed, exhaling through her nose like she was trying to stop herself from exploding.
Adwait placed the laptop and headphones on the side table, then looked at her cautiously.
"Keys," she snapped.
He blinked.
"Keys, Adwait. I don't want to buy that house anymore. But I want the keys. Now."
He didn't argue. Quietly, he walked to his side drawer, pulled out the keys, and held them out to her.
She snatched them and stood to leave but his eyes had already caught something glinting in her hand.
The lighter.
His body reacted before he could think he moved fast, catching her from behind, arms caging her in before she could take another step.
"Don't," he said near her ear, his voice low but urgent.
"She burnt you. I want to burn her," Ivikaa seethed, struggling in his grip, her breath ragged with fury.
"But she's already dead," Adwait said softly, trying to ground her.
"That's why I want to burn the whole damn house! I won't let anything stay standing that ever hurt you. That place ruined your childhood, Adwait! And you're just... so calm about it?"
He didn't reply with words. Instead, he gently pulled her closer, lowering his head to hers. His arms tightened just enough to still her trembling hands.
He knew her. He always knew how to calm her.
"Calm down," he whispered, voice like velvet against her skin.
Her breathing slowed, but her eyes stayed locked on his.
He picked her up without another word and carried her to the bed.
She didn't resist. He tucked her under the comforter, adjusted the temperature, then slowly sat beside her, brushing his fingers over her forehead like he was erasing the fire beneath it.
From her hand, he gently took the keys and lighter, placing them aside.
Ivikaa caught his wrist, brought it to her lips, and kissed the scars. Again. And again.
"I want to burn everything that hurt you."
"You shouldn't fight my battles," he said quietly. "I'm not weak."
"I never said you are. But I can't tolerate anyone hurting you, Adwait. And.." her voice broke.
Adwait sighed, eyes flickering with something ancient - grief and grace held together with quiet strength.
"You didn't like it when your family talked about your stay, right?" he asked. "So how do you think I feel when you want to fight my battles? Those scars... they're not just pain. They're part of my memory."
"Memory?" she scoffed.
"Yes," he nodded. "Bad ones, yes... with Mrs. Rajput. But also good ones, with Suraj uncle the man I once called Papa. That house wasn't just pain. It also had moments - of laughter, of hope, of... trying. If I burn it, I burn that too."
His voice softened, and he looked at her - really looked.
"Not all memories are meant to be erased.
Some become scars. And some... we keep, like old photographs.
To remember who we were. kuchh chizo ko bas saja ke chhod dena chahiye.
Main kabhi nahi chahta ki Mrs. Rajput aur unke psycho Adwait ka waqt Suraj uncle aur unke Adi bete ke waqt pe bhari pade.
Maine bas usse sajake rakh diya. Aur sab se jyada woh waqt jo maine khud ke sath bitaya hai. "
["Not all memories are meant to be erased.
Some become scars. And some... we keep like old photographs-to remember who we once were.
Some things should just be preserved carefully.
I never wanted Mrs. Rajput and her psycho Adwait's time to overshadow the time Suraj Uncle spent with his son, Adi.
So I just kept that time preserved. And most of all, the time I spent with myself. "]
Ivikaa's eyes blurred with tears again. She cupped his face and whispered, "She shouldn't have done that to you."
And she kissed his wrist again. Tender. Fierce. Sacred.
"Agar aap aisa hi karti rahi toh..." he murmured, his voice suddenly huskier.
["If you keep doing this..." he murmured, his voice suddenly huskier.]
She looked at him - saw the shift. His gaze was deeper now. Lingering.
"Toh?" she asked, breath hitching.
[Then?]
He moved on top of her slowly, resting his head against her shoulder, one hand curling around her waist, the other fisting her shirt like she might disappear.
Ivikaa wrapped her arms around him instantly one hand stroking his hair, the other running down his back in slow circles.
"Adwait..." she whispered again.
As usual, he hummed his signature response when his heart was too full for words.
He shifted slightly, his nose trailing along her neck, breathing her in. He kissed her neck gently, then again the third time, with purpose.
Ivikaa tilted her head to give him more access, her fingers sliding deeper into his hair. He gripped her tighter, losing the last thread of restraint.
His lips parted against her skin warm, open mouthed, then a sharp bite.
"Adwait," she gasped, the pain melting into pleasure.
He pressed a slow, wet kiss on the same spot, like sealing the mark.
Like claiming the wound.
Like loving her, the only way he knew how, in silence.
Adwait removed the hair clip gently from her soft curls once again it had already become a quiet habit of his, a symbol of how he liked her: unguarded, real. He moved away for a moment, opened the side drawer, and kept the clip inside like it was something precious, something not to be lost again.
She opened her eyes slowly, her gaze meeting his stormy grey ones. And then, without a word, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. His eyes crinkled, and his dimple showed up with a warm, boyish smile.
"You're just too cute," she said, lightly pinching his cheek, but her tone shifted as the weight in her heart came back. "But it doesn't mean I'm not still angry about what she did to you."
Adwait's smile softened. "Achha, toh mujhe bhi accha nahi laga tha jo Nakul ne kiya," he whispered, as he lay back beside her.
[Adwait's smile softened."Alright, so I didn't like what Nakul did either," he whispered, lying back beside her.]
Ivikaa stilled. Her breath caught in her throat. "You... knew about him?"
He nodded slowly. "It was all over the news. I didn't need anyone to tell me. Some things... some battles... they aren't in our control. They happen to us. And we're the ones who have to fight them."
She stared at him, stunned into silence. His calmness disarmed her every time.
"Adwait," she whispered, "jo cheezein tumhare haath mein nahi hoti... unka kya karte ho tum?"
He looked at the ceiling for a second, then turned his head to her with a soft smile. "Jo cheezein mere haath mein nahi hoti, unhe main Bhagwan ke haath mein chhod deta hoon."
The faith in his voice... it wasn't loud. It wasn't fanatical. It was quiet. Deep. Anchoring.
"You believe in God... immensely?" she asked curiously.
He nodded, no drama, just truth.
"I never believed," she confessed, her voice almost small now. "I mean, it's not like I hated God or anything... I just never needed Him. Never needed to look for Him."
"Then you're privileged," he said gently, and in that moment, she understood. Her life had always bent to her will, her decisions. She had always been the one holding the reins. She'd never had to look up and ask why me.
A beat of silence passed. She reached for his wrist again, slowly undoing the sacred red thread wrapped around it.
"You said... Saja dena chahiye. That's why you got this tattoo, right?"
["You said... some things should be preserved. That's why you got this tattoo, right?"]
He didn't speak at first. Just looked at her, his eyes unreadable then finally whispered, "Woh scars dekhke... aapki aankhon mein aansoon aaye the na."
Her heart clenched. She had wept quietly the first time she saw the marks on his wrist. He had noticed. And he had covered them not to hide his pain, but to soften hers.
She ran her fingers slowly over the ink now.
"This is a flute," she murmured, smiling faintly. "You always play it... but what's this below it?"
A faint Sanskrit inscription curved under the flute- delicate and sharp.
"??? ?? ??? ? ??????" Adwait read aloud. (Mām tu veda na ka?cana)
She looked at him expectantly. "What does it mean?"
He paused, looked at her for a long moment like he was making sure she was ready for the weight of it. He tied it again.
Then, softly, he translated: "But no one truly knows me."
Her brows drew together, confused at first - and then it hit her.
He wasn't just talking about his mother.
He was talking about the pain. The absence. The betrayal. The mystery of why. Why someone who was supposed to nurture... could destroy.
Ivikaa reached for his face and pressed her lips to his temple, letting that ache seep into her.
There were some things that could never be understood - only felt. And in this quiet, she felt it all.
"I'm ready to buy the house," Iva said, voice firm, eyes unwavering.
Adwait looked at her for a moment, and then quietly said, "You don't need to. If it pains you... you really don't have to."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in remembrance. "Didn't you want me to buy that house?" Her voice dropped into something softer, something edged in memory.
Adwait exhaled, as if letting go of a confession. "Yeah. I did. There were a few reasons."
She waited, silently urging him to continue.
"You asked me once - 'Who am I to you, Adwait?
' So... that house I give it to you - it was my way of answering that.
Showing you. And you once asked - 'Main tumhari apni hoon ya nahi?
' So I tried to show you instead what my life has been, how painful it can get.
.. Jo humara apna hota hai naa hum usko dard nahi dete hain naa? "
["You once asked me-'Who am I to you, Adwait?
' So... that house I gave you-that was my answer.
My way of showing you. And then you asked-'Am I yours or not?
' So I tried to show you instead... what my life has been like, how painful it can get.
When someone is truly ours, we don't hurt them, right? "]
She didn't interrupt. Her silence was louder than words.
"I told you, being with me means pain." he added.
"You once said some things should be preserved - saja ke rakhna chahiye, remember?
" she echoed his own words back to him. "So I want to do the same - decorate the house in my way.
.. so that the dust of the past fades beneath the colors I bring in.
I don't want to erase what happened there I want to overwrite it. "
[We should preserve/decorate memories.]
Adwait smiled, a small, peaceful curve of his lips.
"If you're really ready for it... then I want to give you the basement room too." His voice was quiet now. "Just don't renovate it. Keep it the way it is. Please."
He picked up the heavy keychain from the side table, and handed it to her. She took it gently, fingers brushing his.
"Which one is the basement room key?" she asked, eyes scanning the keys.
He didn't hesitate. His hand hovered over the bunch, then touched the third one - the rusted one, slightly older than the rest.
She slid it off the chain and returned it to him.
"I'll buy the house - with the basement room," she said softly. "But no one will enter it without your permission. Not even me. That space will always belong to you."
He looked at her, a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Pride, pain, and love all wrapped into one soft gaze. She toyed with the sacred red thread tied around his wrist, and then, mischievously, tugged it free.
"Okay. Thread please," he said playfully, reaching for it.
She raised a brow and pulled her hand back. "Why? You already decorated your scars for me... what do you need it for now?"
He chuckled lightly. "It's sacred. And you don't even believe in God, right?"
Her expression faltered. The air shifted. "It's a part of you," she whispered, her voice almost cracking. "Iss adhure Adwait ka ek hissa hi sahi..."
["Even if it's just a part of this incomplete Adwait.."]
He paused. Something in her tone made him stop reaching. Then, without another word, he gently took the thread from her hand but instead of tying it on himself, he wrapped it around her wrist.
He tied it delicately, reverently, like sealing a vow.
And then, he brought her wrist to his lips, kissed it softly, and touched it to his forehead the way someone would with something holy.
In that quiet moment, between sacred thread and scarred hearts, neither of them said it out loud but something had already been promised.
She curled into his arms, letting the warmth of his body quiet the storm still lingering in her chest. Gently, she took his hand and placed it on the spot where his teeth had left their claim on her skin. A playful glint flickered in her eyes despite the weight of the night.
"I know you got yourself a tattoo to cover your scars," she whispered, "but congratulations, Adwait you gave me one too."
He looked at her, slightly confused.
"Right here," she added, tapping her neck, "Permanent. No ink, no warning just a bite and boom... soul branded."
His brows raised, a slow smirk forming, but she wasn't done.
"Also, your love language was food. Guess that changed to flesh now?" she teased, eyebrows lifted in mock judgment.
Before he could laugh, she dove into his chest and hid herself in his arms. His rich, throaty laughter echoed in the room, like a secret melody only she got to hear.
He got ink, she got teeth. Fair trade!
? ? ?