Chapter 16 Tight Grips & Untied Laces
Even the strongest hands tremble when holding ghosts.
- Author
The room smelled of old teak, dry paper, and silence too measured to be accidental.
Prime Minister Vedashree Vardhan sat at the head of her mahogany desk - not reading, not signing, not reacting. She was simply still. Like a storm deciding if it should wait or strike.
The chandeliers above her flickered faintly, their antique brass catching the gold threads of her cream saree. No jewellery. Just the weight of the nation, perfectly pleated.
Then came a knock.
Sudarshan Rao, her Principal Secretary, stepped in - spine straight, eyes sharp behind rimless glasses. He didn't wait to be offered a seat.
"Vritant baba spent 30 million yesterday." His voice was steady, but the tremor in his hand betrayed him. "In a single night."
Vedashree didn't flinch. Not even a flicker of her eyes.
"Did you send your men to follow him?" Her voice was calm. Deadly calm.
She rose from her chair like a tide pulling back before the wave hits.
Sudarshan wiped his forehead with his folded handkerchief.
"Yes, ma'am. As you instructed... I've kept a close watch on Vritant baba. Yesterday he went to the racing track-" He swallowed. "And gambled around thirty million."
A pause.
"And he lost it."
The silence that followed wasn't silence.
It was pressure.
Vedashree walked to the tall window behind her desk - the one that overlooked the Parliament complex, glowing in the Delhi heat like an untouchable relic.
Her back still to him, she spoke.
"You know, Sudarshan ji..." Her voice was smooth, almost casual. "...Vritant knows you're keeping an eye on him."
Sudarshan straightened, startled.
"No, ma'am. That's not possible. My men were discreet-"
She cut him off without raising her voice. "What's the amount?"
"Thirty million."
She sat down, folding her hands on the desk.
"Do you really believe Vritant would blow thirty million in one night? Just like that?"
Sudarshan opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
"He gambles, yes. But he's not careless. He's too precise to be foolish."
A pause. Her eyes gleamed with something too sharp to be maternal.
"He knew your men were watching. He wanted to be seen. And he wanted you to report it."
Sudarshan lowered his gaze.
Vedashree leaned in. "He fed you the bluff. And I'm sure he's laughing about it as we speak."
Sudarshan didn't dare speak.
And Vedashree - the woman who didn't blink through crisis - sat still, every fold of her saree too perfectly in place to betray the fracture in her voice.
But just a breath later - She opened a new file. Spoke like nothing had slipped.
"Use official sources this time. Legal surveillance. I want eyes on the race tracks. He'll be back behind the wheel soon."
"Yes, ma'am. Understood."
Sudarshan bowed slightly and turned, fingers already scrolling through contacts on his secured phone as he was about to exit the room.
"Wait."
Her voice, though soft, sliced through the silence.
He turned back instantly.
Vedashree's eyes hadn't lifted from the file. But her words dropped like a verdict.
"Seal the racing club."
Sudarshan blinked.
"Ma'am?"
Now, she looked up. A smile touched the edge of her lips - not warm, not cruel. Just... precise.
"Too many leaks in one place. Let them wonder what we're cleaning up."
Sudarshan nodded.
"Understood, Ma'am."
"And Sudarshan ji..." She turned a page, voice almost casual. "Make sure it's done before tonight. I don't want Vritant returning to the same track twice."
??? V ? A ???
A sharp knock broke it.
Rawat stepped in, chin up, posture military-stiff.
"CM sir is here."
Vritant didn't look away from his laptop at first - just one final keystroke before his gaze flicked up.
"Send him in."
The door swung open and Ashwin Adani walked in - the sort of man who never needed an introduction. He didn't take the room; the room simply adjusted around him.
"CM saab," Vritant said evenly, rising just enough to extend courtesy, then gesturing toward the chair opposite.
Ashwin lowered himself into it, movements deliberate, as though every gesture was another line in a speech only he could hear.
"Paani lijiye," Vritant said, sliding the jug and glass across the desk with measured politeness.
Ashwin accepted without a word. He lifted the glass, took a slow sip, then let his eyes roam over the study - the neat stacks of files, the restrained décor, the heavy silence - as if testing how much of its owner was hidden within its walls.
Without shifting his gaze from Ashwin, Vritant called, voice even.
"Adhrita."
She rose and crossed the room, her steps measured, heels muted against the thick carpet. She pulled out the chair beside her father, sitting with a posture that was too upright to be relaxed.
Ashwin's gaze softened a fraction.
"Adu, beta," he said quietly, the old nickname carrying a weight neither of them acknowledged.
Adhrita's smile was tight, measured. "Doctor Adhrita," she corrected gently, as if reclaiming a piece of herself.
She held her posture, willing her voice to stay steady, pushing back the rush of childhood memories that surged forward at the sound of her father's voice - refusing to let him see they'd touched her at all.
She reached out, took the file from the desk, and passed it to Ashwin, who examined it with a practised glance - unaware, perhaps, of the quiet storm swirling beneath the surface.
Ashwin took a slow sip of water, eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at Adhrita.
Ashwin's gaze flicked to the file in her hands, then to the name printed on the cover. His jaw tightened.
"You've... dropped the family name?" His tone was calm, but the question was a scalpel.
"I have," she said evenly. "Legally and officially."
A shadow crossed his expression, the kind that came from decades in politics.
Vritant watched quietly from behind his laptop, a faint crease forming between his brows.
"But beta, I and your mother Vaidehi..." Ashwin began, his voice softening, trying to reach through old bonds.
Adhrita cut him off gently but firmly. "No, CM saab. You and my mother are two different people."
The pause that followed was colder than any raised voice could have been.
Vritant's fingers drummed quietly on the table, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room.
Then, he lifted the file from the neat pile on the table and slid it toward Ashwin.
"This is for you," he said, his tone calm-too calm. Ashwin's eyes flicked over the cover, his mind instantly racing through every possible meaning.
"What's this?" he finally dared to ask, voice low but edged with suspicion.
"Your signature," Vritant said, pushing a pen across the desk. "This says you're handing over all the Adani ports to me."
Ashwin let the pen rest between his fingers, his politician's mind calculating angles even as he asked, "And why would I give my ports to you?"
Vritant's mouth curved, but his eyes stayed cold.
"Ab beti de rahe hain, toh dahej toh dena padega naa. I accept just the Adani ports - jyada nahi chahiye."
(Now that you're giving me your daughter, I suppose I'll have to take some dowry too. I'll accept just the Adani ports - nothing more.)
Adhrita lowered her gaze, not in submission but in thought. Her fingers laced together, the faintest tremor in her grip.
The room fell into a heavy silence, each person weighing the unspoken truths between them.
Ashwin's eyes narrowed as he scanned the file, disbelief flickering across his face.
"It's not about dowry, Vritant," he said, voice steady but probing. "You're the owner of billions. Why would you need anything more? I saw the news-Sri Lankan ports, deals left and right."
Vritant leaned back, fingers rolling a heavy paperweight on the desk, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"See Adhrita, Adani saab is a sharp businessman himself." His voice softened, but the edge was clear. "I want the Adani ports, your daughter, and your presence at mine and Adhrita's wedding."
He gave the paperweight a slow roll across the table.
"In exchange, name whatever you want - I'll sign it."
"Adhrita, are you okay with all this?" Ashwin Adani asked, disbelief thick in his voice.
Her eyes didn't flinch. "Now, I'm okay with anything, CM saab."
The answer landed harder than the words themselves. Ashwin inhaled slowly, then signed the file with a single, deliberate stroke.
Ashwin inhaled slowly, then signed the file with a single, deliberate stroke.
"Okay. But I want her to keep the surname for appearances until she becomes a Vardhan," he said sharply.
Adhrita's fingers tightened on the armrest. "Fine," she said evenly. "It's my mother's surname too."
The words were simple, but they landed with the finality of a closed door.
Adhrita's gaze didn't waver. "I want my mother's memories," she said, her voice steady but carrying the weight of years.
Ashwin paused, then nodded. "You'll have them by tomorrow."
For the first time in a long while, Adhrita felt a flicker of relief-the upper hand, a rare victory in a battle usually not hers to fight.
A faint smile tugged at Vritant's lips. "Well. It doesn't matter if she's an Adani or a Vardhan, as long as she's a doctor."
Ashwin looked at Adhrita thoughtfully. "And I want Adhrita's marriage in Gujarat," he said simply.
Vritant's eyes locked with hers, silently urging her to speak up - but Adhrita remained quiet. Yet her eyes spoke volumes. They said no.
"Not happening. Can't marry there," Vritant said bluntly.
"But it's our custom. We can't deny that," Ashwin argued.
"Then pass a bill making Gujarat no longer a dry state," Vritant said as casually as asking for another drink. "At least this much you can do for your only to be son-in-law."
Both Ashwin and Adhrita were stunned.
"If it's in Gujarat, I'll be raising a glass of buttermilk at my own wedding. Now that's just tragic," Vritant said, leaning back in his chair. "What do you expect me to say - 'Hold my chhachh'?"
(hold my buttermilk?)
Ashwin blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Vritant's boldness.
"Well, if that's the case, Vritant, I don't know whether to admire your honesty or worry about your habits."
"It depends who is asking," Vritant said with a smirk, "As CM, you should admire my honesty-it's rare in your profession. But as a father, you definitely should worry about my habits."
Ashwin's face tightened, no trace of a smile. Just a slow, deliberate nod.
"Concerned is putting it mildly."
Ashwin turned and left, leaving Vritant and Adhrita in the heavy silence of the study.
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita sat at the dressing table, fingers drifting over ornaments and gifts-each piece a quiet witness to someone's intent.
Her hand stilled on a pair of earrings, delicate but unsettling.
A faint, stubborn stain marred the gold-dried blood.
Vritant's blood. She set them aside in a small container, closing the lid as if locking away the memory itself.
A soft knock broke the stillness.
"Come in," she said without looking up.
The door creaked open. Vritant stepped in, Rawat trailing behind like a shadow. Without a word, Rawat placed a small, intricately wrapped box into Vritant's hands and slipped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
"This is for you," Vritant said, sliding the box across the table toward her.
She tore the wrapper slowly, as though peeling back the answer to a question she hadn't asked. "What is this?"
His smirk deepened. "A roka gift."
Inside lay a collection of hairpins-delicate filigree, tiny gemstones winking like distant constellations, curves shaped with a craftsman's devotion. They looked like the kind of treasures whispered about in palaces.
But beneath the beauty hid something lethal. Slim shafts, razor-sharp at the core, disguised in jeweled elegance. Weapons masquerading as adornment.
Vritant came to stand behind her. He plucked one from the box, his fingers steady.
Without asking, he swept her hair into a smooth coil at the nape of her neck, the scent of him brushing against her breath.
With a subtle push, the blade slid into place, pinning her hair with the quiet efficiency of someone who'd done this before.
Her eyes flicked up in the mirror, startled for a breath by the ease with which he touched what no one else dared. Then her lips curled, amusement softening the moment.
"Your wife will be lucky to have you."
He didn't blink. "Of course she will. Guns, blades-rare. And so am I."
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head, though her eyes still glinted in the mirror. "Delhi ka paani kharab hai, Vritant... if you're still wondering."
(The water in Delhi is bad, Vritant... if you're still wondering.)
"Just in a few days?" he smirked, playing along.
"So what? In a few days we decided to get married."
"Matlab paani aur kismat... dono kharab hai," he laughed, the sound low and unhurried, as if the joke tasted better when savoured.
(Meaning, both the water and fate are bad.)
Her lips curved, just barely, before she looked away-locking the moment back where it belonged.
He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him at the door.
"It's... hold my chhas."
(Buttermilk)
He turned back, one brow raised. "What?"
"It's not chhachh," she corrected with a smile, "it's chhas... in Gujarati."
Vritant's smirk returned, slower this time. "Like father, like daughter-dono ki priorities alag hai. Nobody cared for my love for whiskey."
(Like father, like daughter - both have different priorities. Nobody cared about my love for whiskey.)
??? V ? A ???
The corridor was dark, the hour heavy with late-night stillness, until Karma's barking split through it. She stepped out of her room, intent on calming him, but stopped when she saw Aasha tai standing over him, voice sharp.
"Why are you barking? I will throw you out," she scolded, her tone strict. Karma growled in protest.
"Stop barking. You know Vedashree Tai hates you. Before she orders to throw you out, just shut up and go to your room." Her words were clipped, her Marathi accent curling through the stern English.
But Karma wasn't cowed. With a sudden leap, he lunged toward her, teeth catching the edge of her saree.
"Karma!" Adhrita rushed forward. The dog let go instantly, bounding toward her instead. She caught him mid-jump, his tail thrashing as he barked at her like a child complaining about a scolding.
"He's still waiting for his owner... as if he ever comes at night. Stupid dog," Aasha tai muttered, adjusting her saree and eyeing Adhrita. But before she could add more, Anamika's voice broke in.
"Adhrita, what are you doing?" Anamika's tone was calm, almost gentle.
"I was just here for Karma," Adhrita said, setting the dog down.
"Aasha tai, you can go," Anamika instructed. Without a word, Aasha tai left.
"I thought you would come for dinner. Did you have it in your room?" Anamika asked.
Adhrita nodded. "Actually, Vritant-"
"Vritant?" Anamika cut in with a knowing smile. "He never eats at home unless he wants to irritate Vedashree bhabhi." Her smile softened and added, "If you need anything, let me know, okay?"
Adhrita just nodded again, and Anamika walked away, leaving the corridor quiet except for Karma's low, content rumble.
Then, she scooped Karma into her arms and carried him back to her room.
She stepped onto the balcony, where low, cushioned seating curved along the glass railing - the kind of place made for lingering with a book or a late-night drink.
She sank into the corner seat, pulling a throw blanket over her legs, and set Karma beside her. He pawed at her lap until she let him climb in, then rested his head against her arm.
Her fingers combed through his fur in slow, deliberate strokes, each pass easing the restless energy from his body.
"It's okay," she whispered, brushing a kiss onto the top of his head. "You've got me tonight."
Karma gave a soft, almost relieved huff, curling into the space between her and the cushions.
??? V ? A ???
Morning light filtered into the hall, where families were already gathered around Pandit ji, the air buzzing with quiet chatter.
"Arey Pandit ji, checking kundlis?" Vritant's voice cut through, sharp and teasing.
"Humari kundli mile na mile, shadi toh hogi hi.
Aap saas-bahu ki kundli kyun nahi milate?
Pata toh chale ki bahu ke sath banegi ki...
uske sath bhi....." He laughed lightly, a smirk tugging at his lips, and sat beside his Dadi.
(Whether our horoscopes match or not, the wedding will happen anyway. Why don't you match the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law's horoscopes instead? At least we'll know whether she'll get along with the bride... or with her too...)
Devika Dadi glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "Vritant, shant ho jao. Pandit ji ka kaam hai, interfere mat karo."
(Vritant, calm down. Let the priest do his job, don't interfere.)
Pandit ji shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the Vardhan scion. "Woh... Muharat toh hai agle hafte ka hai jaise jitna jaldi aap chahte hai par pooja karani padegi..." His voice faltered. He knew Vritant's disdain for rituals and gods well.
(Well... the auspicious time is actually next week, as soon as you'd like, but the ritual will have to be performed...)
"I will not do any pooja," Vritant interrupted, tone clipped, eyes dark. "Bina Bhagwan ki pooja ke shadi karani hai."
(You want to get married without offering prayers to God?)
Vedashree's lips curled into a teasing smirk. "Ah, what a jodi! One devotee of the goddess, one hater of God! Match made in politics." She looked at Adhrita, laughter dancing in her eyes. "And you wanted to marry him?"
Adhrita's face tightened, but she said nothing. She simply sat and started adjusting her dupatta.
Just then, they heard a deep, playful voice singing:
"Na chahoon sona chandi, na chahoon heera moti,
Yeh mere kis kaam ke, na maangoon bangla baadi,
Na maangoon ghoda gaadi, yeh to hain bas naam ke.
Deta hai dil de, badle mein dil ke, Deta hai dil de, badle mein dil ke..."
Vritant's lips curved into a knowing smile - he didn't even need to turn to know who it was. Rising to his feet, he picked up the verse right where Samarjeet had left it, his voice joining in effortlessly:
"Ghe ghe ghe ghere... ghere sahiba, pyar mein sauda nahi,
Ghe ghe ghe ghere... ghere sahiba, pyar mein sauda nahi."
Without missing a beat, Samarjeet strode across the room and enveloped Vritant in a warm, jovial hug. The families watched in a mix of awe and amusement, instantly charmed by the uncle's larger-than-life aura.
Vritant leaned into the hug, laughing quietly. "Mama... always dramatic as ever," he murmured.
Samarjeet ruffled his nephew's hair and winked, "And don't you forget it, beta. Life's too short for anything less!"
The hall seemed lighter, the tension of kundlis and poojas momentarily forgotten, replaced by the infectious charisma of Samarjeet Deshmukh.
"My nephew is getting married and I am not aware?" Samarjeet asked, looking at his elder sister, Vedashree. He went forward and touched her feet.
"Of course, Samarjeet, you wouldn't miss your nephew's wedding for the world," she said, placing her hand to bless him.
"Tai, where is your to-be daughter-in-law?" he asked, glancing around.
"Mama, I'll introduce you," Vritant interjected, taking Samarjeet towards Adhrita.
Samarjeet put his hand around Vritant's shoulder, leaned close, and whispered, "Yeh humari bahu?"
(Is she our daughter-in-law?)
Vritant nodded, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
"Adhrita, he is..."
"Iska mama, aur aap Adani saab ki beti. Adhrita," she said, nodding respectfully and bending slightly to touch his feet.
(His maternal uncle... and you, Mr. Adani's daughter. Adhrita.)
Samarjeet waved her off with a chuckle. "No, you're like my own. What do you say, bahu... in English?"
"Daughter-in-law," she replied softly.
"No, that's formal enough," he said with a wink, handing her small gifts as his blessings.
Adhrita smiled, slightly flustered but grateful, while Vritant leaned back, silently enjoying the warm chaos his uncle brought into the room.
??? V ? A ???
The backseat of the car was chaos. Bloodied, battered, barely recognizable, he held his twin close. Every heartbeat was a struggle, every breath a scream that couldn't escape.
"Goooooo... save yourself... Promise me you'll save yourself... For me.." his twin gasped, voice weak, trembling. And then, in his arms, his twin took the last breath, leaving only a hollow silence and the bitter weight of loss.
He forced himself to obey, to get out, to survive.
With trembling hands, he fumbled with the car door, every movement a battle.
As soon as he let go, disaster struck: untied shoelaces caught his foot.
He stumbled forward, flailing, and then-thud!
His face hit the dry, cracked mud, every inch of him screaming.
He looked back, eyes wide, and then-the world exploded. The car blew apart in a blaze, fire and metal twisting into the night.
"ECHOOO!" His scream tore through the smoke and chaos, raw, desperate, haunted-his twin's name and life echoing in the hollow of his heart forever.
Vritant jerked awake, breath ragged, sweat clinging to his skin. His eyes were open, but they were still somewhere else-stuck in the nightmare.
Karma had darted in first, tail low, ears pulled back, pawing at his master's knee. Adhrita stood frozen in the balcony doorway, watching him-shoulders hunched, chest heaving, eyes glazed with a kind of pain she'd never seen before.
Then he whispered it, a broken sound barely carrying across the room.
"Hrita... my Echo..."
The line between his nightmare and reality had blurred, his voice carrying a grief not born of this moment, yet spilling into it like an old wound that refused to close.
She didn't think-she moved. Crossing the space, she climbed onto the bed and gripped his shoulders, trying to pull him out of whatever darkness had its claws in him. His gaze finally locked on hers-wild, wet, lost. And then he just... collapsed into her.
His arms wrapped around her waist so fiercely she almost gasped. The sheer weight of him pressed her back, forcing her to lean until he was half lying against her, his head buried in the curve of her neck. His tears were hot against her skin, sliding down into the hollow of her collarbone.
Karma tried to wedge himself between them, small whines escaping him, but Vritant didn't let go. His grip only tightened, fingers curling into the fabric at her back as if she were the only thing tethering him here.
She slid one hand up into his hair, combing her fingers through the damp strands, the other rubbing slow, steady circles between his shoulder blades. "Shh... you're here. You're safe," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if he heard her.
"Hrita..." his voice cracked against her skin, "...I fell... he left... and I fell."
The words broke her in ways she couldn't explain.
She shifted, cupping his jaw so she could see his face-so she could wipe the tears clinging to his lashes.
He didn't resist. His breathing was still jagged, but when her thumb brushed his cheek, he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like it was the only relief he'd known in years.
She kept caressing-his hair, his cheek, the tense lines of his back-anchoring him with every movement, refusing to let the nightmare pull him under again.
Karma's soft whines faded into the background as Adhrita stayed still, holding him through the storm until she felt the tautness in his muscles begin to ease-just barely, but enough.
"Breathe, Vritant... slowly," she whispered, her voice low and steady, like speaking to a wounded animal afraid of its own shadow. She kept one palm moving in slow, deliberate circles on his back, her other hand anchoring him by the nape of his neck.
His grip loosened a fraction, enough for her to shift without breaking the hold completely. "You need water," she murmured, gently coaxing him upright. His eyes were still clouded, his breaths uneven, but he followed her touch as if it were the only direction he could trust.
She reached for the glass on his nightstand, guiding it to his lips. "Just a sip." The rim clinked faintly against his teeth before he drank, slow and shaky. A single drop escaped, sliding down the corner of his mouth; she caught it with her thumb, a quiet, instinctive gesture.
"There," she said softly when he'd had enough, setting the glass aside. Her fingers lingered on his jaw for a moment longer before returning to his back. "You're here now. You're safe."
His shoulders sagged fully this time, his forehead resting against hers for a brief, unspoken beat-neither of them moving, both of them listening to the other's breath.
His breathing had steadied, the wild, unfocused panic in his eyes slowly giving way to awareness. The nightmare's grip loosened its claws, retreating into the shadows where it belonged. But even as reality returned, he didn't move away from her.
His arms still locked around her waist-not desperate now, but firm, as if letting go would invite the darkness back.
The faint scent of her hair-fresh and clean, like the subtle sweetness of her favorite shampoo-lingered in the space between them.
A loose strand brushed against his cheek every time she shifted slightly, a delicate reminder that she was here, solid and breathing.
Her palm was warm against the nape of his neck, fingers moving in slow circles that sent a strange, soothing weight through his chest. His thumb moved idly against the dip of her waist, a rhythm that had no urgency, just presence.
She could feel the steady thud of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, each beat matching the warmth radiating between them.
Karma had curled at their side now, sensing the storm had passed, yet not daring to wedge himself between them.
"You're okay," she said again, almost a whisper, not because he needed the reassurance anymore-but because she needed to say it.
His fingers tightened briefly at her back. "I know," he murmured, voice low and rough from both sleep and whatever he'd been reliving. "Just... let me stay like this for a minute."
She didn't answer. Her silence was permission enough.
Slowly, she shifted her hand from the back of his neck to his wrist, her fingers finding the familiar spot over his pulse.
It was steady now, no longer thundering beneath her touch.
The tension in his shoulders had eased, though his hold on her remained-less like someone clinging to the edge of a cliff, more like someone unwilling to leave a safe shore.
Her gaze met his. "Nothing happened to you," she murmured, the doctor in her confirming what her heart had already sensed.
Vritant's eyes didn't waver. "Stay," he said quietly, not commanding, not pleading-just a request stripped bare of pride.
She nodded once, and without breaking the contact, she guided him to lie back. His arm stayed draped over her, their breathing finding the same unhurried rhythm as the night outside pressed in, calm and quiet.
He lay wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his grip around her still firm-as if letting go might undo the fragile calm that had settled over him.
"Vritant, I'm here," Adhrita whispered, her voice soft but steady.
"I know..." he murmured, his tone carrying both exhaustion and an unfamiliar warmth. A beat of silence passed before he added, low and deliberate, "I want you, Adhrita."
She tilted her head up, her eyes searching his face. The rawness in his expression made her chest tighten.
Without breaking eye contact, he slid his palm over hers, fingers curling gently as he brought her hand to his lips. The kiss he pressed there was unhurried, deliberate-less about desire, more about anchoring himself to her.
"Thank you," he said, the words weighted with sincerity, as though they carried more than just gratitude. His gaze didn't waver, and for a moment, the quiet between them felt louder than any confession could.
Then his hand drifted from her waist, fingertips brushing the curve of her hip before gliding upward. He found a strand of her hair, rolling it lazily between his fingers, the strands slipping and catching like silk.
"Sleep," he murmured-his voice low, a little rough, the kind of sound that seemed to curl into her ear and settle there.
"Vritant..." she breathed, her voice soft but steady. "I don't speak much... most of the time, I'm not even sure what to say. But trust me-I'm here."
Her words seemed to reach him, dimming the storm in his gaze, though the remnants of that other world-the smoke, the dust, the cry that had torn from his throat-still lingered in the edges of his mind.
His grip around her didn't loosen, and hers didn't either.
Somewhere beyond the glass doors, the city kept breathing, but inside that room, time stalled-caught between the weight of a memory that refused to die and the fragile, unspoken truth keeping him tethered to now.
And in that stillness, with her warmth pressed into his side and his heart slowly finding its rhythm again, they stayed-until the nightmare faded enough for him to breathe.
Vritant, of course, couldn't leave the night untouched by his brand of commentary. Perfect, he thought wryly. My fiancée's now my therapist... and my bodyguard. Politics really does prepare you for marriage.
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