Chapter 37 The Past That Eats
The cruelest thing about strength is how lonely it looks up close.
- Adhrita Vritant Vardhan
Adhrita had just opened the file and sighed in relief.
Thank God he didn't see. Page after page, her notes on his recent behavior stared back at her - the sleeplessness, the sarcasm sharper than usual, the moments of quiet that didn't sit right.
She had barely begun to write when a heavy thud shook the air outside, followed by startled voices gathering in the corridor.
Her heart lurched. She shoved the file onto the sofa and yanked the door open.
There he was. Vritant lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious, his face drained of all color. For a second, the world tilted.
She dropped to her knees, but before she could touch him, the nurse had already rushed in with a stretcher. Together, they lifted him, and Adhrita found herself gripping the metal frame as they wheeled him down the hall.
Her pulse was hammering, her chest tight, but she forced herself to breathe. Not now. Not panic. He needs a doctor first... not a wife falling apart.
Inside the emergency room, the nurses moved swiftly under her instructions.
"IV line, now. Monitor his vitals. Get me the charts."
Her voice was steady, clipped, the tone of a doctor who knew what to do - but her hands trembled just enough for her to hide them under her lab coat. She checked his pulse, the cold sweat on his forehead, the way his chest rose and fell unevenly.
Focus, Adhrita. Not your husband. Your patient.
But the truth betrayed her every time her eyes lingered on him longer than necessary. When his fingers twitched, she wanted to lace them with hers. When the monitor beeped, she wanted to silence the sound with her heartbeat instead.
For a fleeting second, she let her gaze rest on his face. His lips, always so quick with sarcasm, were pale. His eyes, usually sharp and unrelenting, were shut against her.
Still, she forced herself to step back. The doctor in her had work to do - but the wife in her was slowly, painfully unraveling.
The room had settled into a rhythm - machines humming, monitors beeping, nurses moving with efficient precision.
But to Adhrita, it felt like chaos. She stood over him, stethoscope against his chest, listening to a heart that was strong yet frighteningly unsteady, like a storm trying to pretend it was only rain.
"His vitals are irregular, but stable for now," a nurse reported.
Stable. The word should have calmed her. Instead, it rattled.
She brushed a damp strand of hair from her face, eyes fixed on him. Why now? Why like this? His face was a mask of quiet, but it wasn't peace. She knew peace didn't come to him. Not in sleep. Not in silence.
Every chart she had noted in secret flashed through her head - his erratic moods, his exhaustion, the way his body betrayed the discipline he wore like armor. She wanted to believe this was nothing, a fainting spell, stress, anything ordinary. But her instincts screamed otherwise.
She tightened her grip on the bed rail, whispering under her breath where no one could hear.
"You fight the world so easily, Vritant... then why does your own body betray you like this?"
Her eyes darted to the tray where the nurse had placed his belongings - wallet, watch, keys. Neatly lined, as if they too were mocking her need for order. She froze when she spotted a tiny blister pack corner peeking from his coat pocket, folded as if shoved away in haste.
She didn't move. Didn't ask. Not yet. The doctor in her wanted to examine it immediately; the wife in her wanted to pretend she hadn't seen it. Her hand hovered for a second, but she forced herself back, fingers curling into her palm.
She checked his pulse one more time - steady, reassuring, ordinary. Too ordinary for the way he had crumpled to the ground.
He looked infuriatingly calm, as though the collapse hadn't happened at all, as though it was her heart - not his body - that had been thrown into chaos.
Her eyes hadn't left him in what felt like hours, though it had only been minutes. She sat rigidly, every small rise and fall of his chest counted like a prayer she'd never admit to whispering.
Then, his fingers twitched. A faint sound escaped his throat, low, strained.
"Vritant..." she leaned closer, her voice steady but her hands betraying her.
His eyelids fluttered before finally lifting. Disoriented, his gaze darted around the room, unfocused, until it landed on her.
She hurried forward, taking his hand in hers, gripping tightly. "Vritant..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, the word trembling on her lips.
He blinked, a crooked, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Is this... our bedroom?" he asked, trying to push himself up.
She didn't even flinch at the sarcasm. Instead, she pressed down gently on his shoulder, keeping him still.
Her focus was elsewhere - on the monitors, the stethoscope, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
She checked his vitals carefully, hands precise, breathing shallow but controlled, as if grounding herself in the clinical motions would keep the panic from taking over.
"Did you skip breakfast?" she asked, glancing at him sharply.
He met her gaze, an eyebrow quirking, voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Yeah... paneer paratha was delicious. Thanks for making it for me," he said sarcastically, pushing himself to sit up.
She didn't miss the jab. Without a word, she moved closer and steadied him, her hands firm on his shoulders.
"Look up," she instructed, her tone clipped but controlled.
He obeyed, eyes rolling slightly, and asked, voice low and wary, "Dizzy?" He shook his head.
"Blackout?" she pressed. Again, he shook his head.
Without another word, she drew up a syringe and injected it into his IV line.
"I have an important meeting. I'm leaving," he muttered, trying to swing his legs off the bed.
"You're not going anywhere." Her hand pressed lightly but firmly against his shoulder. "We'll wait for your reports, and then I'll decide."
His jaw tightened. "You think you can cage me here? Not a chance. Where's Rawat?" He raised his voice. "Rawat!"
The door opened and Rawat rushed in. "Sir, are you okay?"
"He's not okay," Adhrita cut in coldly. "The reports will decide."
"I will go. I own the security," Vritant said evenly, his voice low and deliberate, like a man stating fact rather than picking a fight.
"I own the hospital," she countered, her voice sharp as steel. She turned her glare on Rawat, who immediately understood, nodded once, and left.
For a moment, silence filled the room. Vritant's bravado cracked, and his voice softened. "Ace..." He reached for her hands, gripping them tight. "I've spent two years in hospitals. I hate it. You know how much this... affects me." His eyes pleaded with hers, raw and unguarded.
She faltered, the fight draining out of her. His gaze held her hostage, until he whispered again, softer, desperate: "Ace, please."
Her lips parted, breath uneven, before she finally nodded. "Fine. But the IV finishes, and you're taking the medicines I prescribe."
His shoulders eased in relief, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
She stepped out briefly, spoke to a nurse, then returned.
"How much time?" he asked immediately, eyes darting to the IV bottle.
"Fifteen minutes," she said, adding another injection to the drip.
"Just fifteen minutes," he repeated under his breath, settling back against the pillows.
She leaned closer to check his eyes, and he smirked faintly. "Ace, you're being romantic. Control yourself-it's your hospital."
She ignored him, though she noticed how his eyelids were growing heavy. He blinked slowly, fighting it.
"Ace... I'm feeling sleepy," he mumbled.
"Then sleep," she whispered, a small smile softening her lips.
"You... injected... sleeping-" he tried to accuse, but the words broke apart as sleep dragged him under.
"Yes, Ant. I can't let you go. Sleep peacefully," she murmured, brushing his hair from his forehead. Her voice trembled as she added, "And you don't call me Ace when you're emotional. I almost gave in. What a manipulator you are."
Her smile wavered, then faded. She took his hand gently, lifting his palm to her lips. Her kiss was soft, lingering - not a confession, but a permission she gave herself in the quiet, while he slept. A truth she had already accepted, even if he never knew.
Just then, a knock broke the silence and Shaurya stepped in, his face pale with fear. Adhrita immediately let go of Vritant's hand and rushed to him, hugging her father-in-law tightly.
"Papa, Vritant-" her voice cracked.
"Is he okay?" Shaurya asked, his tone heavy with dread.
She nodded, pulling back from the hug. "It was mostly stress... and skipping meals. He hasn't been sleeping properly either," she whispered, her eyes flicking back to the still figure on the bed.
"I want him home as soon as possible," Shaurya said firmly.
"Papa, I need to check him thoroughly," she replied softly, torn between her duty as a doctor and her fear as a wife.
"I trust you, beta... but I want him home." Shaurya's voice didn't waver, but she understood why-the fear of hospitals still haunted the Vardhans.
"Papa, he is fine," she reassured, stepping closer as Shaurya sat beside his son, brushing his hand over Vritant's forehead with trembling fingers.
"Then why hasn't he woken up yet?" Shaurya turned to her, suspicion in his eyes.
Adhrita bit her lip, guilt flashing across her face. "He actually did... but I gave him a sedative again."
"What?" Shaurya's brows shot up.
"He was adamant to leave. I... I want every medical report of him before he does."
For a moment, Shaurya just looked at her. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. "I'm not regretting."
She blinked, startled. "What-?"
Before she could ask, a nurse entered. Adhrita straightened, slipping back into her doctor's composure. "Let's take him."
Every team was already assembled - neurology, cardiology, radiology - the corridor alive with hushed urgency.
"I've ordered a full neurological and cardiac workup - MRI, EEG, ECG, bloods, everything. I don't want to miss a single possibility," Adhrita told Shaurya as he walked alongside the stretcher, his eyes never leaving his son.
He gave her a brief nod, but the stiffness in his jaw betrayed the fear he was holding back.
Together, they watched as Vritant was wheeled out for a full set of reports.
The stretcher was wheeled toward radiology, nurses moving with brisk efficiency. But as they rounded the corner a little too fast, Vritant's arm jolted against the railing.
"Careful!" Adhrita snapped, her voice sharp, eyes blazing. "He will get hurt."
The nurse froze, startled by her tone. Adhrita inhaled deeply, collecting herself, forcing her expression back into professional calm. "Move steadily," she said more evenly, her doctor's composure restored - though the tremor of anger hadn't quite left her eyes.
Hours blurred into a rhythm of tests - MRI scans, EEG tracings, blood draws, ECG lines pulsing steadily across screens. Adhrita oversaw every step, her focus unbroken, though her eyes strayed to him more often than the monitors.
Finally, when all reports were compiled, Vritant was moved back to a private room. She stood by his bedside, flipping through the charts, checking vitals, scanning every line twice.
Her shoulders softened. "Everything is normal," she whispered, more to herself than anyone.
Shaurya, who had been standing silently near the window, exhaled and let a smile tug at his face. "I told you-I trust you, beta."
Just then, a faint groan broke the quiet. Vritant's hand twitched against the sheets, his brow furrowing before his eyelids flickered open.
He blinked slowly, adjusting to the sunlight, then turned his head toward them. Consciousness - and with it, that familiar glint - returned to his eyes.
"Vritant, are you okay?" Shaurya rushed to him, voice trembling with urgency.
"Yes, Papa," Vritant murmured, his voice still weak. Then his gaze shifted to Adhrita.
"Can I take him home?" Shaurya asked quickly, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Adhrita frowned, confused. Why was he panicking? She had already told him the reports were fine.
"Please, beta," Shaurya pressed, his tone pleading now. "We will take care of everything at home."
She glanced at Vritant, whose expression had turned serious, his eyes fixed on her in quiet demand.
"Yes, Papa, but... he is-" she began, but Shaurya cut her off.
"I know his reports, beta. We can do something about it later. First, I want him home." His voice was steady, but the desperation beneath it was unmistakable.
Adhrita almost smiled then. She had forgotten - he was the father of this manipulator.
"I'll discharge him," she said at last, her voice low, her face carefully blank.
Vritant turned to her, his tone sharp. "What's in the reports?" He pushed himself upright on the bed, his eyes burning into hers.
"It's nothing," she said flatly, refusing to falter.
"Nothing, beta," Shaurya added quickly, placing a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. "You just need rest. Let's go home."
"Papa, tell me the truth," Vritant demanded, his voice laced with intensity.
Before Shaurya could answer, Adhrita stepped in, her composure icy. "I'll go prepare the discharge papers." Without waiting for a response, she walked out of the room.
Only when the door closed behind her did she let out a small laugh - humorless, weary. She quickly arranged the discharge papers and returned, where Shaurya stood beside his son, urging him softly.
"Let's go home."
Vritant's eyes immediately sought her. "Ace, what happened?" he asked as soon as she neared, his voice low, searching.
"Nothing. All good," she replied, her lips curving into a fake smile.
He studied her for a long, silent moment, but said nothing more.
They brought him home together, and soon Adhrita and Vritant stepped into their room.
"Please change and rest," she said gently, moving toward the dressing room. She pulled out a pair of shorts and a soft T-shirt from his wardrobe and handed them to him.
He accepted them silently and went into the washroom.
Meanwhile, Adhrita made her way to the kitchen, where Maharaj ji and Aasha tai were working.
"Khichdi banani hai," she said softly.
(I want to make khichdi.)
Maharaj ji nodded, handing her the dal and vegetables.
"Woh sabzi wali khichdi nahin khata," Aasha tai reminded her gently.
(He doesn't eat that vegetable-loaded khichdi.)
"I'll make it myself," Adhrita replied, taking the dal from his hands.
She began cooking, moving quickly, her mind elsewhere. When she reached for curry leaves, Aasha tai shook her head silently. Instead, the older woman pulled out papad and began roasting them, watching Adhrita with quiet understanding.
Once the khichdi was ready, Adhrita served it with roasted papad, arranged neatly on a tray, and carried it back to their room.
Inside, Vritant sat on the bed, staring into the distance, lost in thought.
"Ace, where were you? What's in the reports?" Vritant asked as soon as she entered.
"There's nothing," she said quickly.
Just then, Shaurya stepped in, eyes softening as he looked at his son. "Are you okay?" he asked again.
"Papa, what happened to me?" Vritant asked seriously.
Shaurya walked over, tapped his cheek lightly, and with a mischievous glint said, "Tu bhool gaya tha tera baap kaun hai... socha yaad dila doon."
(You seemed to forget who your father is - I just thought I'd remind you.)
A laugh escaped him, and Adhrita couldn't help but chuckle too.
"You manipulated me!" Vritant shouted, half-angry, half-incredulous.
Shaurya only laughed harder and left the room, his laughter echoing in the corridor.
Adhrita picked up the plate of food and sat on the bed beside Vritant. "Have it," she said gently, holding it out to him.
But he didn't take it. His jaw tightened. "No. You manipulated me twice. So, no."
She laughed softly. "Vritant, eat."
He turned away, grumpy as a child.
Her smile faded. She lifted a spoonful of khichdi and offered it directly. He wrinkled his nose. "Nothing happened to me, then why should I eat khichdi?"
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before she set the plate back on the side table. Without another word, she pulled the reports out of her bag and tossed them in front of him.
"Here. Your reports. All clear. But don't skip the bloodwork." Her voice shook with frustration now. "The side effects of overdosing on sleeping pills are causing small blood clots."
His face stilled. She didn't wait for his response. She stood abruptly, walked to the balcony, and called Karma inside, placing his food bowl down.
"Karma, eat," she ordered, her voice sharper than usual.
The dog barked once, reluctant. She raised her voice again, and this time Karma lowered his head and began to eat slowly.
Only then did she notice the wetness on her cheeks. She quickly wiped her tears with the back of her hand, but the dam had already broken inside her. She slipped across the balcony into her old room, sank onto the bed, and picked up a framed photograph of her mother.
Pulling it to her chest, she whispered, "I'm scared, Mumma."
Her eyes closed, and in the darkness behind her lids, the image of Vritant collapsing on the hospital floor replayed again and again.
"Don't, Adhrita. Not now." She forced herself to stand, clutching the frame tighter before placing it back.
When she returned to the balcony, she froze. Vritant was already walking toward her.
"What do you want to eat? Tell me, I'll make it for you," she asked in a low, fragile voice.
She braced for another sharp remark. Instead, he closed the distance in two strides and pulled her into his arms.
"I was scared, Adhri..." he whispered against her ear, and the tremor in his voice broke her completely. She clung to him just as tightly.
"Why are you scared?" she asked softly, pulling back to search his eyes.
But he didn't answer.
Instead, she took his hand, led him back into their room, and opened her bag. From her wallet, she pulled out a small silver coin and held it up to him.
"Were you looking for this?" she asked.
Vritant's eyes widened, shock flickering across his face. He stepped closer and took it from her hands as though it were something sacred.
"I thought I'd lost it..." he whispered. He fumbled for his wallet and carefully slid the coin back inside, his movements deliberate, almost reverent.
Adhrita sighed quietly, watching him. She wasn't sure how to deal with him anymore - the man who terrified her one moment, and broke her heart the next.
"I want to go to Mriga Trishna," he said suddenly.
She looked at him instantly, surprise flashing in her eyes. Then she nodded, and a genuine smile spread across her face. Finally, he was asking for something for himself.
She went downstairs and asked Aasha tai to pack food for them. By the time she returned, he was already heading toward the garage.
She followed with the bags, but stopped when she saw him opening the driver's side door.
"I'll drive," she said firmly, placing the bags in the back seat.
She half-expected an argument, but he didn't protest. Instead, he slid into the passenger seat quietly. Adhrita exhaled softly, took the wheel, and started the car.
"Can you add the location to the map?" she asked as they drove out of Vardhan Mansion.
"Map won't show you Mriga Trishna," he replied.
Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"It's off the map. No one can find it... unless I want them to." His voice was low, deliberate. Then he added a nearby location instead.
She followed the directions in silence, sneaking glances at him now and then, but he didn't say another word. When they finally reached the spot on the map, he began giving her precise turns, until the narrow road opened into a secluded property by the water.
The lake house. Mriga Trishna.
(Mirage)
Security greeted them as the gates opened, and by the time they parked, the sky was already dark. It was 8:30 PM.
She stepped inside first, the bags in her hands, and he followed quietly. He walked through the darkness as though it was second nature, and sank onto the bed without switching on the lights.
Adhrita set the bags on the floor, opened a drawer, and found a box of candles.
She lit one, then another, until the room glowed faintly.
On the side table, a wooden lotus caught her eye, delicately carved, with a small hollow for a candle.
She placed a flame inside it, watching it bloom softly in the dimness.
Vritant rose, opened a window, and let the cool wind flow in. Meanwhile, Adhrita unpacked the food, uncovering paneer parathas wrapped carefully with pickle and curd on the side. She arranged them neatly on a plate, then sat cross-legged on the floor.
Placing the lotus candle beside her, she tore a piece of paratha and took a bite.
He watched her silently from the bed, then stood and crossed the room. From the fridge, he took out a bottle of water and a glass. Without a word, he set them beside her plate and lowered himself opposite her.
Adhrita tore another bite, ate it quietly. Then she tore a third piece and held it out to him.
Vritant didn't hesitate. He simply leaned forward, opened his mouth, and accepted it - chewing slowly, eyes never leaving hers.
She kept feeding him, alternating between her bites and his, until the plate was nearly empty. When he stood and fetched another container - khichdi - she took the spoon, filled it, and fed him again.
When they were done, he leaned back slightly, watching her in the glow of the candles.
"Puchhoge nahi?" he asked.
(Won't you ask?)
She shook her head gently. "Jab deserve karungi, bata dena," she said softly.
(When I deserve it, you'll tell me.)
Then she rose, gathered the plates and containers, and carried them to the sink.
From behind her came his voice, quiet but steady. "I'm not throwing tantrums for food."
It was barely above a whisper, easy to miss - but in the silence of the lake house, she caught it.
Her hands stilled over the sink. She turned slightly. "Is this... something related to Mummy?" she asked carefully, wondering if he meant Vedashree.
He shook his head. His eyes had a distant heaviness. "She fed me. Always." His voice cracked faintly before dropping into silence.
Before she could say anything, his phone buzzed. He picked it up in one swift motion.
"CM saab," he drawled, voice instantly edged with sarcasm, "kahiye, kya permission chahiye?"
((tell me... what permission do you need?))
Adhrita blinked at the sudden shift - the softness gone, replaced by something cold and dangerous.
"I don't care what party agreed to. I am denying. You're not doing any such thing. CM banne rehne ka keeda bada hai aap mein..." His lips twisted into a half-smile. "...aur main thehra pest control wala."
(I don't care what your party agreed to. I'm denying it. You're not doing any of this. That itch to be CM runs deep in you..." His lips curved into a half-smile. "...and I happen to be the pest control.)
Her eyes widened slightly. The ruthless ease with which he spoke to someone so powerful... unsettled her.
"Very submissive," he added with a chuckle, voice dropping into mocking amusement. "Now I understand why your business runs so well."
And just like that, he cut the call, laughing to himself.
She opened the tap, and he hopped up on the slab beside her. She gave him a quick look but didn't comment, turning back to wash the containers.
Without asking, he took one from her hand, dried it with a cloth, and set it aside.
"CM saab?" she asked cautiously.
"Not sasurji," he said smoothly, "yeh CM saab ka toh pyaar ka wholesale ka business hai." He placed the dried container down with a quiet clink.
(Not your father-in-law," he said smoothly, "this is the Chief Minister's wholesale love business.)
"Pyaar ka wholesale ka business?" She paused, the water still running from the tap.
(Wholesale love business?)
He raised his brows at her, lips quirking. "People mostly see girls as their sisters. He..." a smirk tugged at his mouth, "...he sees them as his wife."
She frowned, not quite understanding. She closed the tap, dried her hands on the towel, and picked up the candle holder. Carrying it outside, she set it on the pavement and lit it again. Then she sat on the step, letting the cool night air brush against her skin.
A moment later, he followed, sitting just behind her on the higher step. She turned, her voice low but direct. "You mean... someone warms his bed?"
He laughed suddenly, and before she could react, he pulled her back into his arms, his arm wrapping securely around her waist.
"I meant," he said, voice playful but sharp, "he gives love in wholesale to every girl - and warms his bed with different ones daily."
Her eyes widened at his bluntness, and she turned her face away quickly.
He only laughed harder at her reaction, his chest shaking against her back.
His laughter slowly faded, leaving only the quiet night between them.
"Khichdi acchi thi," he whispered at last.
(The khichdi was good.)
She didn't question him further.
"My past..." his voice dipped lower, "is still fresh for me. Fresher than your khichdi." A small, hollow chuckle escaped him.
She reached for his hand - the one wrapped around her - and held it tightly.
"I'm swinging," he murmured, "between what I can't express... and watching you hurt."
"Please don't cry, Hritu..." His forehead touched her shoulder. "Your tears weigh more than my hurt."
She tightened her grip on his hand. "I couldn't see you unconscious," she said softly. "I'm helpless. I can't ask you anything, I can't help you in any way. It felt like my life was falling apart right in front of me, and all I could do was stare."
"Itna hi biwi banne ka shauk chadha hai," he said, pulling her closer, "toh haq kyun nahi jatate?"
(So eager to play the wife, huh," he said, pulling her closer, "then why not claim your right?)
"Kya haq jatau?" she whispered, voice trembling. "Humara kuch normal hai hi nahi. Na hum normal couple ki tarah saath time spend karte hain, na khate hain. Aur khane se toh tum aise bhagte ho jaise khana nahi... keeda khila rahi hoon..."
(What right should I claim?" she whispered, voice trembling. "Nothing about us is normal. We don't spend time together like a normal couple, we barely eat together. And when it comes to food... you run from it like I'm feeding you insects...")
He froze. She felt it in the sudden tension of his arms - the way his grip around her tightened, almost painfully.
She turned to look at him, but he buried his face deeper into her neck.
"They made me eat," he whispered, the words scraping against the silence.
She stilled.
"I refused to eat the food they gave me..." His breath shuddered. "So they made me eat non-veg. And... one keeda." His voice broke. "Because I was scared."
For a heartbeat, the world tilted. She felt as though the ground beneath her had cracked wide open.
??? Flashback ???
A twelve-year-old boy was shackled to the wall with iron chains, crying softly. His body was battered, covered in white bandages, and the room smelled of smoke and fear. Four men surrounded him, armed with guns and knives, their shadows flickering against the walls.
They brought a small fire and a plate of food. He shook his head violently.
"No," he whispered, voice trembling.
One of the men muttered to the others, "Yeh harami aise nahi manega. Pehle bhi panch din isne... aur iske mare huye bhai ne bada pareshan kiya hai..."
(This bastard won't obey like that. He lasted five days before... and his dead brother caused enough trouble already...)
Before he could finish, he lunged at the boy, grabbing him by the hair.
"Kya bol raha tha tu? Ganpati Bappa Morya? Aur nahi khayega? Mujhe tere bhagwan se koi takleef nahi hai, par teri kamzori se hai na? Chal aaja..."
(What were you saying? Ganpati Bappa Morya? And not going to eat? I don't care about your god, but your weakness... that I can't tolerate. Come on...)
He yanked the shackles open, dragged the boy across the floor. His cheek, already bruised and swollen, scraped against the cold stone.
Near the fire, the man grabbed a piece of non-veg and forced it into the boy's mouth. He screamed, kicking and thrashing, tears streaming down his face, pleading for release. The others laughed, mocking his resistance.
When a second man shoved an insect into his mouth, he gagged, but they held him down mercilessly.
"Maarna mat isko. Isko apne jaisa banana hai... kal se hogi iski training shuru," one said calmly.
(Don't kill him. He has to become like us... training starts tomorrow.)
The first man threw him roughly onto the ground.
"Par iss... ki wajah se meri family mari hai.
Tune khilaya, ab main pilaunga," he spat, moving toward a small distillery setup.
He poured hot liquor into a glass, returned to the boy, pried his mouth open, and forced the boiling liquid down his throat.
The boy screamed, the pain ripping through him, while the men watched in cold amusement.
(But because of him... my family died. You fed him, now I'll make him drink)
??? Flashback ends ???
She turned in his arms and hugged him tightly, letting herself collapse against him.
"I'm not throwing tantrums," he whispered. "It's just... she always fed me. And after that, I could never eat willingly. I always had to force myself... when it was needed."
Her hands rested lightly on his chest. Slowly, she moved back a little and pressed soft kisses - first on his cheek, then another, and finally on his forehead - murmuring apologies she couldn't put into words.
The tears she had been holding back finally broke, streaming freely down her cheeks. He lifted a hand and gently wiped them away, his touch steadying her.
After a few moments, he rose and disappeared inside the house. When he returned a few minutes later, he carried a small tub of ice cream.
He offered it to her with a small, teasing smile. "Khilaoge?"
(Will you feed him?)
Adhrita nodded eagerly, her tears replaced by a small, genuine smile.
She opened the box quickly and, without hesitation, began feeding him a spoonful.
He took it, smiling warmly at her, and the simple act of sharing made them feel lighter, softer, as if the heaviness of the past had lifted just a fraction.
They went inside, and he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. When they reached the bed, he laid her down gently against him, keeping her close as he closed his eyes, as if finally letting the weight of the world slip off his shoulders.
She, however, couldn't close hers. Lying there in his embrace, her mind raced.
So horrible... how could someone do this to a child? The image of him, shackled and terrified, lingered in her mind. This is a part of his past. He never shared it with anyone... and now I know why.
Her thoughts raced, unrelenting. The sleeping pills, the refusal to eat... the alcohol... His current medical reports, his past reports, his life... nothing makes sense.
She glanced down at the Vritant lying quietly in her arms. This man...
the one sleeping here... he hasn't gone to any race in front of me.
He hasn't had a drink in front of me. Nothing in the reports matches what I see.
And the lotus file... it's like he's living two completely different lives.
A sudden, heavy thought struck her. His brother... he died because of him.
Her heart constricted. She hugged him tighter, whispering to herself, So... he's living both his life and his brother's life together?
The realization hung between them like a shadow, heavy and incomprehensible. And for the first time, Adhrita understood that the man she loved was not just complex - he was carrying the weight of a lifetime of pain, secrets, and impossible survival.
Trust her to fall in love with a man whose nightmares came with footnotes, hospital reports, and enough secrets to sink a nation.
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