RIVAN apologies and bathroom romance #4
Rivan kept going, still stubbornly refusing to look up and meet their eyes. "I kept convincing myself... that I hated everyone. It was easier that way. Easier than accepting... that I was completely breaking inside."
Virendra listened in absolute silence.
There were no interruptions, no defensive remarks, and no lectures.
He simply stood there, absorbing his son's confession.
Rivan took a slow, jagged breath. "I don't remember everything from those dark years. There are nights... that genuinely don't exist in my memory.There are entire days... that feel like someone else lived them."
He finally forced his head up, his eyes locking straight into Virendra's. "But... I remember enough... to know... I failed completely as your son."
Yashodha immediately stepped forward, vigorously shaking her head. "No, Rivan..."
"Please," Rivan interrupted gently, his voice remaining deeply respectful yet unyieldingly firm. "Let me finish."
He swallowed the lump in his throat. "For years... you waited for me. I never came. You called my phone. I disconnected. You cared. I pushed you away. You forgave me... entirely without me ever asking for it."
A bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips. "And I... I never even had the courage... to say one single word." His throat tightened painfully. "...Sorry."
The room fell into a dead calm. No one moved no one dared to breathe. Then, Rivan did something neither Virendra nor Yashodha had ever imagined seeing.
He lowered his head. It wasn't a dramatic, theatrical bow. It was a simple, profound gesture of absolute respect.
The son who had never bent his spine before any power in the world... bent before his parents. "I'm sorry. For everything. If possible... forgive me."
Yashodha couldn't restrain herself a second longer.
Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, and she quickly covered her mouth to stifle a sob.
Virendra himself had to look away toward the balcony, trying desperately to compose the emotional storm raging inside his own chest.
Nearly a full minute of agonizing silence passed before Virendra slowly walked over to his son.
Rivan remained perfectly still, his head still lowered. He was expecting absolutely nothing from them not immediate forgiveness, not comfort, and certainly not acceptance.
Instead, Virendra placed a large, warm hand firmly on his shoulder.
It was steady and grounding, exactly the same way he used to hold little Rivan when he was first learning to walk.
Rivan slowly lifted his eyes to meet his father's. Virendra was smiling a brilliant, emotional smile filled with years of quiet longing.
"You know..." Virendra said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "When children learn to walk... they fall. They make messy mistakes. They hurt themselves, and they hurt the people around them."
He firmly squeezed Rivan's shoulder. "But... no father keeps a count of how many times his child falls. He only waits... patiently... for the day his child finally decides to come home."
Rivan's stoic composure cracked, just a fraction.
Before he could pull away, Virendra reached out and hauled him into a powerful, tight hug, completely bypassing the need for permission.
"My RIVAN ... welcome home."
Rivan froze entirely, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. He hadn't been hugged by his father in years, and the sheer familiarity of it left him completely paralyzed, not knowing how to respond.
Virendra chuckled softly against his shoulder.
"What happened? You've completely forgotten how to hug your old man?"
A tiny, almost imperceptible smile finally touched Rivan's lips.
Very slowly, and with a touch of adult awkwardness, his arms lifted.
He returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around his father.
It wasn't tight or overly emotional, but for Virendra, it was the entire world.
Yashodha stood just a few feet away, weeping silently as she watched them, unable to believe this moment was actually real.
Virendra finally pulled back, clearing his throat and looking over at his wife. "What are you waiting for? He apologized to the house. Now it's your turn to collect."
Yashodha let out a watery laugh through her tears. "You both..." She quickly wiped her eyes and marched straight toward Rivan.
Rivan immediately straightened his posture, looking suddenly like a guilty man caught red-handed.
Yashodha stared at him for a few intense seconds.
Then, without warning, she smacked his arm..
Rivan blinked in absolute shock.
She smacked him again. "This... is for leaving this house without a word!"
Whack. "This... is for making me cry myself to sleep!"
Whack. "And this last one... is simply because I wanted to do it years ago!"
Virendra burst into a loud, booming roar of laughter, while the feared underworld negotiator Rivan Thakur stood entirely speechless, rubbing his arm.
Rivan stood in the center of the room, his hands trembling slightly outside his pockets.
The fragile peace that had just settled over the room suddenly felt incredibly thin as a long-buried, suffocating truth fought its way to his throat.
He swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he looked directly at Yashodha for the first time. "Ummmm... Maa..."
The word felt heavy, almost forbidden on his tongue. "I am sorry. Please forgive me. I... I know I am not your real son. But you have been far better to me than anyone could ever ask for."
Yashodha froze, her breath catching sharply in her chest as the raw vulnerability in his voice pierced straight through her.
"I just... I blamed you," Rivan confessed, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to voice the ugly ghost of their past.
"I blamed you for everything that happened with Vasudhara Maa. But I was too blind, too young to understand what the truth actually was. And I... I apologize for that."
He looked incredibly small in that moment, stripped of all his armor, carrying the guilt of a decade-long misunderstanding.
Before he could spiral any deeper into his apology, Yashodha stepped forward, her hand cutting through the air to instantly silence him.
"Don't say another word, Rivan."
Tears were already streaming freely down her face, glistening under the warm lamplight.
"You consider me your Maa," she choked out, her voice vibrating with a decade's worth of suppressed maternal longing.
"That... that is more than enough for me. It is everything."
Rivan gulped, a thick wave of emotion tightening his throat.
He had spent so many years building high, impenetrable walls around his heart, but watching her weep because of him shattered the last of his defenses.
Slowly, with an agonizing amount of hesitation, he stepped into her space.
He lifted his arms and wrapped them around her, pulling her into a careful, deeply emotional hug.
The moment his arms locked around her,
Yashodha completely broke down.
The sheer weight of her grief and love collapsed all at once. She clung to his shirt, her fingers twisting into the fabric as she sobbed against his chest.
Her shoulders shook violently as years of silent aching, of being pushed away, and of being blamed in silence finally washed out of her.
It wasn't a quiet cry it was the raw, heavy weeping of a mother who had finally been given her child back.
Standing just a few feet away, Virendra watched them, feeling completely and utterly helpless.
Virendra Thakur, a man who could command armies of men and control the grandest rooms with a single glance, stood completely paralyzed.
Seeing his fiercely strong wife collapse into a puddle of tears in their son's arms made a painful knot form in his own throat.
He took a step forward, his hand hovering in the air, wanting desperately to comfort her, to ease the pain wracking her frame, but he knew this was a sacred space belonging entirely to them.
He could only stand by, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears, witnessing the absolute destruction of the wall that had divided his family for so long.
Yashodha buried her face deeper into Rivan's shoulder, her voice broken into fragile, stuttering whispers as she tried to breathe.
"I... I always dre-dreamed of this," she sobbed, her grip tightening on his shirt as if she feared he might turn into smoke if she let go.
"That one day... everything... everything would finally be fine."
She pulled back just enough to look up at his face through her blurry vision, a beautiful, tearful smile breaking through her heavy sobs.
"And see..." she whispered, her hand gently cupping his cheek, leaving a trace of her warmth on his skin. "Look at us now."
Virendra cleared his throat loudly, "Ahem, ahem!" He stepped forward, crossing his arms and putting on his best stern-father face to mask the giant lump forming in his own throat.
"Now stop crying, both of you," Virendra commanded, pointing an accusing finger at Rivan.
"And you, stop making my wife cry. You've already been doing it for the last twenty years with your acts. My ears can only take so much drama in one night."
Yashodha sniffled, letting out a weak laugh as she wiped her cheeks, but Rivan didn't miss a beat.
His emotional, vulnerable expression locked up instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, defensive audacity.
Rivan slowly pulled back from the hug, turning a highly judgmental gaze toward his father. "Excuse me? I made her cry?"
He looked at Yashodha, then back at Virendra, his voice dripping with pure, unadulterated sarcasm.
"How could you just stand there and let her weep like that? That is the definition of bad husbanding, Dad. Absolute failure in spousal duties."
Before Virendra could even process the phrase 'bad husbanding,' Rivan turned to Yashodha with a deadpan, dead-serious face.
"Maa, you honestly deserve so much better. Leave him. Pack your bags, I'll fund the divorce."
Virendra's eyes widened to the size of actual flying saucers. His jaw practically hit the marble floor.
"What did you just say?!" Virendra gasped, looking personally insulted.