Chapter 46 Heartstopper
A storm obeys no one, yet everyone fears its calm.
- Author
In the morning, Adhrita went out to the garden and saw a group of pigeons gathered near the fountain. She sprinkled some grains for them and smiled as they fluttered around.
Behind her, Karma started barking.
"Don't scare them," she warned playfully, turning to find him wagging his tail. She sat on the chair, and he immediately jumped onto her lap, demanding attention.
"Dogesh bhai, you're literally behaving like your owner," she laughed, rubbing his ears.
Just then, Shaurya walked in from the corridor.
"I needed to talk......" he said softly.
"yes, Papa," she replied, gently placing Karma on the ground before following him. Karma, however, kept padding after her.
"Karma, later," she said, but Shaurya stopped her.
"Let him..."
They entered his study, and the familiar scent of old books and leather filled the room. Shaurya turned to her, his tone shifting.
"Are you okay, beta?"
"Papa... I am fine," she said with a small smile.
Shaurya opened the drawer of his desk and took out a large chocolate bar, handing it to her.
Her eyes lit up instantly, the way only a daughter's could.
He chuckled and pulled out another one. "This one's for my brave daughter."
"Thank you, Papa," she said, clutching them both. Then, almost shyly, she asked, "And for Vritant?"
Shaurya looked at her for a long second.
"Uske saath zyada mat raho... bigad jaaogi," he said dryly, yet he handed her another chocolate.
(Don't spend too much time with him... you'll get spoiled)
She laughed and immediately extended her hand again.
"Echo ke liye?"
(For Echo)
Shaurya blinked, then sighed and passed her one more chocolate - defeated but smiling.
"Thank you for taking care of my son," he said softly. Then after a pause, he added, "...and me."
She smiled, warmth flooding her chest, and quietly left his study - three chocolates in hand, Karma trotting beside her - heading straight toward Vritant's study.
Strange, she thought. He went to the office so early today.
She walked toward Echo's picture and placed the chocolate beside it. There was already a small one lying there.
Vritant must have come here to meet his brother, she thought, a faint ache touching her smile.
"Hi..." she whispered to the photograph. "You know what he's going through, right? Please... help him. I'm feeling so helpless."
Her voice trembled at the edges, but she smiled softly and turned away.
Outside, she saw Dadi near the mandir, arranging flowers.
"Adhrita beta..." Dadi called out warmly.
Adhrita walked over and took the thali from her hands.
"Diwali is coming... has the temple been cleaned?" Dadi asked.
"yes, Dadi," Adhrita said, sitting beside her.
"Vedashree se kehna, sone ke haar le aana... Bhagwan ko chadha dungi," Dadi added.
(Tell Vedashree to bring the gold necklace... I'll offer it to God)
Adhrita nodded and made her way to Vedashree's room. Her mother-in-law was still on a call, pacing near the window.
Adhrita knocked softly.
Vedashree gestured for her to come in, wrapped up her call, and turned.
"Woh, Dadi ne sone ke haar mangaye the," Adhrita said politely.
(Dadi had asked for the gold jewelry.)
"It's in the wardrobe," Vedashree replied, already picking up her files. She gave a brief smile and left for the office.
Adhrita opened the wardrobe and found neatly stacked sarees - rich silks and muted handlooms. She closed that one and opened another. Inside was a small locker. She noticed a bunch of keys hanging nearby and used them to unlock it.
Gold ornaments gleamed inside - necklaces, bangles, and delicate temple jewelry that clearly hadn't been worn in years. She carefully took out what Dadi had asked for and locked the wardrobe again.
As she turned, she noticed the third wardrobe slightly ajar.
"She must've forgotten to lock it," Adhrita murmured, reaching to shut it. But when she tried to push the door, it didn't close - something inside was stuck.
She pulled the door open and saw a few boxes stacked neatly inside.
As she reached out to touch one, she paused - the wrapping paper shimmered faintly in the light. A gift.
She adjusted it carefully and noticed another box beneath it. The tag read: Vedant.
Her fingers trembled. She looked again - another gift, and another.
Eighteen in total. Each one with the same name written in careful, loving handwriting - Vedant. Some said Happy Birthday, Vedant.
For a moment, she just stood there. The silence of the room pressed against her chest.
For her dead son... she was preserving all the gifts.
She felt her throat tighten. She was a mother after all.
And then, out of nowhere, Vritant's words echoed in her mind - cold, detached, and painful.
"Because of her... Echo died."
Adhrita stepped back, her eyes still fixed on the name.
Vedant.
Each letter looked like it had been written yesterday. As if time had stopped for her mother-in-law at that very name.
She closed the wardrobe slowly, her hands shaking.
For a few seconds, she just stood there - staring at her own reflection in the wardrobe mirror.
How could she even tell him this? That the woman he blamed every night - was still buying gifts for the boy she lost.
She brushed her tears with the edge of her sleeve before they could fall.
Outside, Karma barked once - loud and sharp - as if reminding her that silence was no place to drown in.
Adhrita turned to leave. But as she reached the door, she stopped again. Her hand rested on the knob.
"Maybe that's what grief does..." she whispered to herself.
"It keeps giving - even when no one's left to receive it."
And she walked out of the room, her steps soundless, her heart carrying one more secret that didn't belong to her - but somehow, already did.
??? V ? A ???
As Vritant was reviewing the final report his father had asked for, his phone buzzed - a secured line.
A single message flashed on the encrypted screen:
"You were right about Dr. Aman."
He straightened, eyes narrowing. Within seconds, he dialed a private number.
"What about him?" he asked, voice steady but edged. "He's suspicious, right?"
Agnivanshi's voice came through - crisp, composed.
"His records are too clean. And as you said, no one's that pure. He's a doctor, yes, but he was practicing in Goa until a few months ago. Then, out of nowhere, he resigned and joined your wife's hospital - right around your engagement."
Vritant leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen against the desk. "What about his intentions?"
"Intentions are harder to read than files," Agnivanshi replied. "But as you suspected, he's been following Dr. Adhrita Vardhan's schedule. Blindly."
A faint smirk touched Vritant's lips.
"If you're following a woman that closely, it means only two things - either you're a lover boy or a mole."
There was a pause. "What do you think, Vardhan?"
Vritant's tone sharpened.
"There's only one boy in this game... one and only Vardhan."
Silence. Then Agnivanshi's voice dropped lower.
"He was with her... at the time of the riots."
Vritant's hand froze mid-air. For a second, the room felt colder.
What does his kundali say?" Vritant asked dryly, eyes still on the report.
"Usual - too clean," Adwait replied from the other end.
Vritant's lips curved into a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Then from today... his Shani ki mahadasha begins."
(The major period of Saturn in his life begins.)
He ended the call before Adwait could respond.
The screen dimmed, reflecting his face in the glass - calm, unreadable.
A minute later, another message buzzed.
"You should see the schedules," Adwait had sent. "Perfectly aligned with Hrita's. When she's on night duty, he's on night duty."
Vritant leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a smirk ghosting across his face.
Perfectly aligned, he thought. Even the stars would envy that kind of timing.
He tossed the pen on the desk and looked out the window - where the city was waking up, unaware that somewhere, someone's luck had just started to run out.
??? V ? A ???
Dr. Aman knocked and pushed open the glass door of the cabin.
"Ma'am, you had a-" he began, but froze mid-sentence.
It wasn't Dr. Adhrita Vardhan on the chair.
It was her husband.
Vritant Vardhan sat behind the desk, her pen between his fingers, his gaze fixed calmly on a report he wasn't even reading.
"Yes, your ma'am had a day off," he said without looking up. "Strange, isn't it? You're working when your superior isn't."
Dr. Aman straightened immediately, his throat dry.
"Sir, I... I had no idea you were here."
"Well," Vritant said, finally raising his eyes - that steady, unreadable stare that could turn warmth into warning. "My wife appreciates your dedication. She asked me to personally surprise you."
"Surprise?" Dr. Aman repeated, confusion creeping into his tone.
"Oh yes."
Vritant opened the drawer, took out an envelope, and slid it across the desk. "In the Vardhan Lucky Doll Draw, you've won a trip to London."
Dr. Aman blinked. "Sir... London?"
Vritant nodded, smiling faintly. "Return tickets, hotel, itinerary - all covered. Congratulations."
The doctor hesitated before picking up the papers. On top was a note written in bold ink:
'Congratulations.'
Vritant leaned back, his smile never reaching his eyes.
"Enjoy your holiday, Doctor. Sometimes distance... keeps people safe."
Dr. Aman reluctantly took the tickets, forcing an awkward smile.
"But sir... the hospital?"
Vritant's pen paused mid-air.
"You can always work with dedication after a long vacation, can't you?" he said evenly. "Besides, Dr. Adhrita won't be coming in until Diwali."
His voice was calm - almost too calm.
"Thank you, sir. That's... very kind of you," Dr. Aman managed, clutching the envelope before quickly leaving the cabin.
As soon as the door clicked shut, the calm in Vritant's expression shifted. He picked up his phone, dialed a number, and waited.
"Rawat," he said as soon as the line connected. "Sunita Mami's cell was empty - and you know how much emptiness bothers me."
He leaned back in the chair, gaze fixed on the door through which Dr. Aman had just exited.
"I'm sending a student there," he added dryly. "Calls himself a doctor. Please, roll out the red carpet for him."
And before Rawat could reply, Vritant cut the call - the corner of his mouth curving into a smile that wasn't remotely kind.
??? V ? A ???
By the time he reached home, the Vardhan Mansion shimmered under strings of golden lights.
From the entrance, he saw Adhrita moving gracefully across the courtyard, placing diyas one by one. The soft glow lit up her face, and Karma followed at her heels, tail wagging.
"Don't go near the diyas, Karma," she kept warning gently, shifting them out of his reach.
Vritant stood for a moment, watching quietly - the kind of stillness that says more than words. Then he let out a low whistle.
Karma turned immediately, barked once, and sprinted toward him, jumping straight into his arms.
Adhrita smiled faintly, picked up a thali of diyas, and began climbing the stairs. Vritant followed her, Karma trotting beside him.
In their room, she stepped out to the balcony and started arranging diyas along the railing. The evening breeze made the flames dance.
Vritant loosened his tie and sat down beside her. She handed him one diya without a word, and he placed it carefully next to hers.
"Aaj puja hai..." she said softly, continuing to light each diya with quiet devotion.
(There's a prayer ceremony today)
"I won't be attending," he replied. "I have some work."
He reached down, lifting Karma into his lap, absently stroking his fur.
"Get fresh," she said gently, turning back toward the room.
Before she could leave, Dadi's voice echoed faintly from the corridor. "Adhrita beta, puja ka time ho gaya!"
She turned to him. "You won't come?" she asked, her tone more hopeful than accusing.
Vritant met her gaze. "If you tell me to come, I will. But I don't want to."
She hesitated. "Then I won't," she said quietly.
He gave a small nod, almost like gratitude.
"Thanks for understanding," he murmured. "For me... nothing is godly than my Echo."
And without another word, he walked into the washroom - leaving the door half-open, the sound of running water mixing with the soft flicker of diyas outside.
Adhrita came downstairs and took her place before the mandir, Karma curling loyally beside her. The fragrance of sandalwood filled the hall, mingling with the glow of countless diyas.
She glanced around - the house looked alive, draped in gold and marigold. One by one, the family joined - Dadi, Dev chachu, Anamika chachi, and others. Everyone except her husband. And her mother-in-law.
Anamika chachi smiled at her warmly. "Beta, yahaan aise tilak lagate hain," she said, guiding Adhrita's hand through each ritual.
Adhrita followed patiently - folding hands, lighting incense, placing flowers before the idols. She did everything just as she was told, her movements steady, her heart quietly somewhere else.
Midway through the aarti, her gaze drifted - through the open corridor she saw him.
Vritant.
Walking down the steps, dressed in his usual quiet authority, car keys in hand.
For a moment, the flame in her diya flickered.
She wanted to call his name. Stop him. Tell him just this once to stay.
But she didn't. She knew she never could.
You can't force a man who's made peace with distance.
So she simply looked down, her lips moving with the prayer - even as her heart followed him out the door.
??? V ? A ???
He reached the Hall of Fame and saw Ashish standing there, dressed in new clothes. Every wound carefully cleaned and bandaged, the faintest hint of pale bruises still visible under his sleeves.
"Diwali shuru hone wali hai... aur mera bhai itna udaas?" Vritant's voice cut through the quiet hall. "Mujhse toh nahi dekha jaa raha... RAWAT!"
("Diwali's about to begin... and my brother is this sad?" Vritant's voice cut through the quiet hall. "I won't be able to see... RAWAT")
Rawat immediately approached and unlocked Ashish's shackles, freeing his hands and legs.
"Get up," Vritant said, voice calm but firm. "Let's go on a long drive."
Ashish hesitated, but Rawat guided him firmly, gripping his shoulder. They walked out together, Vritant leading with a measured stride.
At the car, Rawat helped Ashish into the passenger seat, while Vritant slid into the driver's side.
The engine roared to life. They drove in silence at first, the city lights blurring past. Soon, they reached the racing track.
Vritant rolled down the window, letting the night air rush in, the faint smell of asphalt and freedom filling the cabin.
Vritant gestured to Jack, who immediately stepped forward and handed him a deck of cards.
Vritant took it, flipping through smoothly, his eyes never leaving Ashish.
"Let's play a game," he said, voice calm but carrying that unmistakable edge. "You pick a card, and that will decide our race."
Ashish looked at him, unsure.
Vritant held out the deck. Ashish hesitated, then drew a card.
"Three of Hearts," he muttered.
Vritant's lips curved into the faintest smirk.
"Three of Hearts it is. Three laps of the track. And may the better driver win."
The night air felt electric, the track ahead waiting, and Ashish suddenly realized this wasn't just a race - it was a test, in every sense of the word.
The engines roared, tires screeching against the track. Vritant's car surged forward, cutting through the night like a blade, precision in every turn. Opponents flanked him on both sides - fast, skilled, dangerous.
Lap after lap, he maneuvered with lethal control, anticipating every drift, every acceleration. The crowd at the stands was oblivious to the storm on the track - to him, it wasn't just a race. It was a game of life, speed, and instinct.
"Do you know why I call my car Heartstopper?" Vritant asked, eyes fixed on the track.
Ashish's knuckles whitened. His heart was already hammering after the first lap.
"Because it really stops the heart," Vritant said with a low laugh, pressing the accelerator harder as he hurtled into the second lap.
Ashish watched, frozen, as the car seemed to defy physics - slicing through the track, tires gripping and releasing, every turn a calculated risk. For a moment, he swore he saw death brush past him.
Lap after lap, Vritant maneuvered with lethal precision, anticipating every drift, every surge, every microscopic change in the asphalt. The crowd cheered, oblivious. To him, it wasn't a race. It was a test of life, instinct, and control.
By the final lap, the tension in the air was palpable - crackling like static. Opponents pressed harder, engines screaming, but Vritant's focus was absolute. Nothing could touch him.
And then - subtle, almost imperceptible - a shift in rhythm.
Vritant's eyes flicked to the side. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a faint movement: Ashish's hand, shifting the gear.
A gentle flick, almost casual - and the asphalt seemed to rebel beneath Vritant's tires. The car wobbled violently, fighting for grip. For the first time that night, he lost control.
Before the final lap could be completed, an opponent clipped the side of his car. Metal screeched, tires skidded, and the vehicle spun dangerously.
The world became a blur of lights and smoke, and for a heartbeat, Vritant's calm control slipped entirely.
The car finally skidded to a halt, metal groaning under the strain. Smoke curled from the tires, sparks scattered across the asphalt.
Ashish was the first to stagger out - blood pouring from a deep gash along his torso. He collapsed to the ground, pale and trembling, each breath shallow and ragged. His eyes met Vritant's for a fleeting moment - shock, pain, and fear all mingled there.
Vritant's own forehead was bleeding, a thin stream of crimson trickling down his temple. Pain shot through his body, but his mind remained sharp - calculating, analyzing, lethal.
So... that was your final move, he thought, voice tight in his head. Reckless... brave... and fatal.
He staggered forward, chest tight, muscles screaming. Every instinct screamed: control, dominate, survive.
"You... you pushed too far," he murmured, voice low but deadly, eyes narrowing on Ashish's motionless form. "And yet... this is your choice."
Vritant's lips curved into the faintest smirk despite the blood and pain. Even now, the man in him - the predator, the strategist - remained in command.
He bent slightly to assess Ashish's injuries, every second searing with urgency. You wanted to test me... and you paid the price.
Then the adrenaline, the blood, the exhaustion hit all at once. His knees buckled, vision blurring. The last thing he registered was Ashish lying motionless on the asphalt, the glow of the track lights dancing over him, and the cold truth of mortality.
Vritant's body gave way. His consciousness slipped into darkness, leaving only the echo of the deadly race behind.
??? V ? A ???
After the puja, Adhrita changed her clothes and started arranging her room, her movements automatic. Her phone rang suddenly - an unknown number flashing on the screen.
She picked it up.
"Bhabhi... Vritant... accident," a voice said.
"What?" she whispered, heart stuttering.
"I am Jack," he continued.
The moment he said his name, her mind froze. Jack. Race. Heartstopper. Vritant. Accident. The words collided inside her like shattering glass.
Her world stopped.
"I'm taking him to Vardhan LifeCare," Jack added, then cut the call.
Adhrita's hands trembled violently. Vritant... an accident? She had seen him leaving earlier, keys in hand - but he wouldn't just go for a race, right? And yet... he was a racer. She had seen him racing.
Her body shook uncontrollably as she gripped the phone and dialed his number - it went straight to voicemail.
Without thinking, she rushed out of her bedroom and saw Shaurya waiting.
"Papa... Vritant..." Her voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"What happened, beta?" Shaurya's calm face stiffened.
"Accident..." she whispered again, and he froze, understanding immediately.
Both dashed toward the car. The driver started the engine, and Shaurya reached out, trying to calm her.
"Beta, relax... nothing can happen to him."
"But... papa, Jack said-"
"Jack? Race?" Shaurya asked sharply. She nodded, frantic.
"He is a great racer, beta. Nothing can happen to him," Shaurya insisted, though her eyes betrayed doubt.
Adhrita shut her eyes, folding her hands tightly. Ambe Maa... please... Her voice was a trembling whisper, the prayer a lifeline as the distance stretched endlessly ahead.
Shaurya tried again. "Trust me, beta... no matter what, nothing can happen to him."
But she wasn't listening. She prayed harder, every second stretching like an eternity, the road ahead a blur of lights, fear, and hope.
By the time she reached Vardhan LifeCare, her heart was hammering uncontrollably. The corridor blurred in her vision until she saw him - Jack standing beside Vritant, who was sitting upright, a bandage wrapped tightly around his head.
"Vritant..." she whispered, voice trembling.
Vritant looked up and froze, eyes widening in surprise as he saw her standing there.
Before she could say another word, all the fear, relief, and love she had bottled up exploded. She ran toward him, the world narrowing to just the space between them, and threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.
Vritant stiffened for a heartbeat, then instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her with calm, controlled strength. The chaos of the night, the blood, the crash, the fear - it all melted away in that moment, leaving only the quiet understanding between them.
"Bhabhi..." Jack murmured softly, stepping back, giving them space.
Adhrita buried her face against his chest, tears soaking the bandage on his shoulder, silently praying he was truly unharmed beyond the visible wounds.
Vritant's hands rested on her back, steady, deliberate. Even in pain, even after the race that should have killed him, he radiated control - lethal, calm, untouchable - yet here, in her arms, just hers.
Adhrita clung to him, trembling, as if letting go would shatter everything.
Vritant finally spoke, his voice low, steady, and unmistakably his - calm, with just a hint of dry humor.
"You're here. Finally decided to check if I survived your prayers?" he said, eyes glinting even through the blood and bandage.
Adhrita pulled back slightly, tears streaking her cheeks, and whispered, "Let's go."
She grabbed his hand tightly, holding on as if letting go would undo the relief she felt. Shaurya glanced at Vritant, who merely gave a subtle gesture - nothing happened.
Shaurya then looked at Adhrita, still trembling, and called softly, "Adhrita..."
She didn't reply.
"You okay?" Shaurya asked, concern heavy in his voice.
Vritant's eyes flicked to her briefly before he said calmly, "Nothing happened."
Without another word, he indicated the ward, and Shaurya nodded, understanding, and went off to see Ashish.
Adhrita tightened her grip on Vritant's hand as they stepped out of the hospital. She slid into the car, and he followed silently.
For the entire ride home, neither spoke. Vritant's gaze drifted to her face, noting the trembling, the tear-streaked cheeks, the quiet fear she tried to mask. He decided - now was not the time for words.
The journey stretched endlessly, the city lights blurring past, the silence between them heavy yet charged. It wasn't empty; it was the kind of silence that carried relief, fear, and the unspoken understanding of everything they had just survived.
??? V ? A ???
They reached home, and Adhrita gently guided him to the bedroom, closing the door behind them and locking it.
Vritant lowered himself onto the bed, still bandaged, still bleeding slightly from his forehead. Adhrita approached cautiously, kneeling beside him, her hands steady as she checked the dressing, making sure it was secure.
He shifted slightly, reaching out to hold her hand - but it trembled. His pulse was erratic, memories of the car, the skidding, the flames, and the screeching metal flashing violently in his mind. For a moment, he froze, shivers running down his spine.
Then, abruptly, he pushed himself upright and moved to the side of the room, opening drawers with precise, urgent movements.
"Where is my medicine?" he asked, voice tight, controlled but with an edge of panic.
Adhrita watched silently, giving him space.
He rifled through the second drawer, quickly finding the bottle. One pill down his throat, he gulped water directly from the jug, eyes unfocused for a fleeting moment, still wrestling with the adrenaline, the memories, the aftermath of the deadly race.
After taking the pill, he waited, expecting the trembling to subside. But it didn't.
"Why... why is it not stopping?" he muttered, eyes fixed on his hands that still shook violently. Sweat rolled down his temples, dampening the bandage.
"Because I changed your pills," Adhrita said softly, reaching into her bag and revealing the real medicines.
His gaze snapped to her, sharp and incredulous. "How could you do this?" His hands were still trembling, though less violently, but the fury in his voice cut through the room like a blade.
Before she could respond, he snatched the medicine from her hand, swallowing one pill and washing it down with water. His eyes never left hers.
"Never touch my medicine," he said sharply, voice low, lethal, controlled.
Adhrita stood frozen, her hands trembling.
"I can't believe you changed my medicine... even after knowing everything... how could you?" he continued, each word stabbing, each accusation heavy with fear and anger.
Her knees gave way. She sank to the floor, shoulders trembling uncontrollably, and tears streamed down her face as hysterical sobs escaped her.
Adhrita stumbled to her feet, legs still weak from the flood of fear and guilt. She barely noticed herself moving as she made her way to the bathroom.
The moment she turned on the shower, hot water gushed over her, scalding and cleansing all at once. She stepped under it, letting the steam envelop her, the heat a fragile shield against the storm inside.
And then she let herself break completely.
Tears mingled with the water streaming down her face, her shoulders shaking violently. Every sob was a release of the terror, the helplessness, the guilt she carried for what had happened to Vritant.
Her chest heaved, her cries echoing faintly against the tiles, as if the walls themselves could absorb some of her pain. She had held herself together for so long - now, under the relentless cascade of water, she allowed herself to crumble entirely.
She turned off the shower, steam curling around her, fogging the mirror. Her reflection was blurry, eyes red and swollen.
She traced her fingers across the fogged glass and wrote, almost on instinct:
I gave up.
A final, shuddering sob escaped her, as if her body needed to expel every ounce of fear and guilt it had carried. Slowly, she wiped her tears, drew a shaky breath, and changed into her night suit.
When she stepped out, Vritant was there. His gaze fell instantly on her reddened eyes.
"Jaan... what-" he began, reaching out to touch her face.
She jerked slightly, moving away from him, her walls still intact, fragile but unyielding.
Without a word, she walked toward the balcony. Vritant followed silently, his eyes never leaving her.
But she didn't stay. She crossed the balcony and went to her old room, the memories and solitude calling her. Vritant paused at the doorway, then stepped inside, watching her slump onto the bed.
There, alone with her thoughts, she let herself break once more, crying her heart out, while Vritant remained near - silent, controlled, lethal, yet painfully aware of every tremor, every sigh, every crack in her defenses.
Vritant watched her for a long moment, silent, every muscle in his body taut with the remnants of the race, the adrenaline, and the pain from his own injuries.
Her cries tore at him in a way he rarely allowed anyone to see - a raw vulnerability that made him acutely aware of the stakes of being near her.
"Hrita..."
His hand twitched, aching to pull her into his arms, but he stopped himself.
She didn't reply.
"You can live your life on your terms, Vritant. I won't interfere. Please let me have mine," she said, her voice thin, weary, as she pulled the comforter over herself.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her hand.
"Don't..." she whispered.
He withdrew, eyes dark. "Aaj se Vritant aur Adhrita ke raaste alag hai... main shaadi tumse sirf apni identity rakhne ke liye ki thi, aur tumne apna promise nibhane ke liye. Na yeh baat tum bhulogi, na main."
(From today, Vritant and Adhrita's paths are separate... I married you only to keep my identity, and you did it to keep your promise. Neither you will forget this, nor will I.)
"Hr-Hritu... what are you saying? I understand you're scared-"
"Scared?" she cut him off, sitting up sharply. "No, I was scared to death when I got a call from Jack saying my husband met with an accident. Kabhi kisi din meri jaan khatre mein hogi tab shayad tum samjhoge ki-"
(Maybe one day, when my life is in danger, you'll understand that-)
"Don't." His hand came to her lips, firm, trembling slightly.
She looked at him for a beat - the same man who could silence chaos now looked terrified of her silence.
"Leave me alone, Vritant. I don't have the energy to fight with you," she said tiredly, voice breaking in the middle.
"Jaan... I can't leave you alone. You're my wife. You're angry, but it doesn't mean I'll-"
"If you believe I'm your wife... then leave me," she said, the words slicing clean, without emotion.
He froze. "I'll leave, okay... just-just give me one hug, please." He took a hesitant step closer.
"No." She turned her back.
"Please, jaan... I was in an accident, and the last thing I wanted to see was you." His tone softened, almost childlike.
Something in that broke her. She turned and hugged him tightly, her tears soaking into his neck.
"Please leave me, Vritant..." she sobbed, holding him tighter instead.
"Nahi na... Hritu... aisa mat karo..." His voice cracked, the composure slipping.
(No, Hritu... don't do this,)
"I don't want to be with you..." she whispered, breaking the hug.
He caught her wrist instinctively - but her next words shattered him.
"I'm ready to beg. Just... leave me."
And for the first time in years, Vritant Vardhan went completely still.
He froze. Her words echoed in his mind, each syllable like a blade he couldn't deflect.
She... begged me to leave? His jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. He wanted to shout, to argue, to take control as he always did - but the words wouldn't come. For once, control had slipped.
He looked at her, fragile and trembling, yet defiant in her exhaustion. And a bitter, darkly sarcastic thought crossed his mind, sharp as broken glass:
So this is what it feels like... to be powerless while someone else decides your fate. Charming.
He took a slow, deliberate breath, his body tense, yet entirely composed on the outside.
But deep down, he already knew the truth: Vritant Vardhan could never truly let her go.
And yet, the room remained silent, save for her soft, uneven breaths - and the faint, unspoken storm between them, more deadly than any race, more merciless than any wound, and infinitely more personal.
"So... my wife begs me to leave, and I'm supposed to feel... respected?"
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