Chapter 48 Halfway to Healing
Some wars are won without a single word-just softer eyes.
- Adhrita Vritant Vardhan
Author's Note:
Only about 10-12 chapters remain before this book reaches its end, so I'll be writing the upcoming parts with extra care - every chapter will carry something important. ???
Updates will now come once every three days instead of every alternate day, though I'll post earlier if a chapter is ready sooner.
Thank you for your patience and constant support! ??
Dr. Radhika walked into Dr. Adhrita's cabin.
"Hi," Adhrita greeted her with a faint smile.
"Your patient is doing well now," Radhika said, taking a seat.
"Thank you," Adhrita replied, handing her a file.
Radhika glanced at her. "How's Vritant doing?"
Adhrita sighed. "I don't want to push him. I'll just tell him I was overreacting. I'm not really that angry."
"Please, Adhrita," Radhika said gently, "don't ruin our plan. Only you can push him - and only he can truly help himself."
Adhrita looked down. "I can't. It was already hard enough to be harsh with him. You know him... when something goes wrong, he doesn't blame the world - he blames himself. And if I have to threaten to leave him just to make our relationship stronger, then maybe it isn't worth that much after all."
"Look what your push did to him," Radhika said softly. "It took me years to make him understand those pills were killing him - and now, suddenly, he's ready to listen."
"Is there any other way?" Adhrita asked quietly.
"Patience," Radhika sighed. "You'll need a lot of it. He may snap, withdraw, or even get aggressive sometimes - his mind is still a mess, and the pills have already taken their toll. Try to notice if he's having memory gaps."
"I will," Adhrita said. "And I already know about the side effects. I just... don't want to be the reason behind another nightmare. He's had enough of them. Raat ko sukoon ki neend woh deserve karta hai."
"He needs to believe that," Radhika murmured. "I don't understand why he keeps convincing himself he deserves every bit of pain."
"Because he survived," Adhrita whispered, her eyes softening. "And just because he survived, he died everyday."
Radhika opened her bag and took out a folded sheet of paper. "When he first joined therapy," she said softly, "I asked him to write what he feels. He gave me this."
Adhrita unfolded the page - his handwriting, familiar yet trembling.
Trying starts to feel pointless. So you just sit there - in silence. Because no matter how hard you try, you'll never feel good enough for anyone. Not even yourself.
Adhrita's fingers trembled as she folded the paper back. Her throat tightened - not because of pity, but because every word felt like a piece of him he never let her see.
She stared at the page for a long time before whispering, "He doesn't write like a patient... he writes like a man who's tired of surviving."
Radhika nodded faintly. "He is. Sometimes healing feels heavier than pain."
Adhrita looked up, her eyes moist but steady. "Then I'll carry some of it for him."
"He writes a diary," Radhika said, then paused before adding, "I asked him what he does to distract himself. He said he writes... and-"
"And?" Adhrita prompted softly.
"He didn't tell me. I asked if he paints, sings, anything at all... but you know him." Radhika sighed.
Adhrita smiled faintly. "He frustrated you, didn't he?"
"A lot. I've never seen anyone so stubborn."
"Thank you for being patient with him," Adhrita said quietly.
"I just want him to live, not merely survive."
"Me too. And that's the only reason I went ahead with your plan," she admitted.
"Keep an eye on his breathing," Radhika reminded. "He might struggle sometimes - he's stopped the old meds, his appetite's erratic, and therapy will stir up more than it settles. His mind can still trick him - it's both his enemy and his only friend."
"I know," Adhrita said, exhaling.
Radhika gave her a small, knowing smile. "You should continue your own sessions too. Your acceptance level is higher than most I meet - no wonder you recover faster."
"Life never gave me many options," she murmured. "And now, for my husband... he keeps searching for fear on my face, so I have to hide it better."
Radhika chuckled softly. "You're braver than you think."
Adhrita raised a brow. "Winnie the Pooh?"
Radhika nodded, and for a moment, both women laughed - not because things were easy, but because for a brief second, it felt like they might be.
??? V ? A ???
When she came home after a long, exhausting day, Adhrita found Vritant standing on the balcony with Karma. He was doing something with his hand, his face calm but oddly focused.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Karma turned and barked at her - almost like he was snitching on his master.
Her eyes followed the sound, and that's when she saw the smear of dried blood on Vritant's fingers.
"What did you do to your hand? Don't tell me - another mirror? Or glass?"
"It's just-" he began, but she was already holding his hand, inspecting it carefully.
"Did you hold a knife? A blade? What were you thinking?" she pressed.
"Karma hurt me," he said, pointing at the dog.
"Karma?" she echoed in disbelief and turned toward the guilty party. "You?"
The dog barked again, as if protesting the false accusation.
"He didn't do anything," Adhrita said, narrowing her eyes at Vritant. "You're lying."
He exhaled deeply, clearly caught, and then said, "I got you a gift."
"Nice diversion," she muttered as he walked to his wardrobe.
He opened it, pulled out a small box, and handed it to her. "For you."
She unwrapped it with mild curiosity - only to find a small pouch of bindi. She stared at it, then at him.
First payal. Now bindi.
This man and his utterly unpredictable gift choices.
"Why this?" she asked, trying not to smile.
"I know you still haven't forgiven me," he said quietly, guilt softening his tone.
"You put your life in danger," she said flatly.
"I didn't. It was Ashish..." He stopped when her glare cut him off.
"First, you risk your life. Then you get Ashish discharged and vanish with him. You promised me-"
"I know. And I don't break promises," he said, his voice steady. "I promised Mama ji I wouldn't touch him, and I promised you I wouldn't kill him. Trust me, jaan - I'm many things, but I'm not a killer."
She stared at him for a long beat, searching his face.
"What?" he asked.
"Your sarcasm," she said softly.
"What about it?" he frowned.
"You're not being sarcastic."
"You want me to be sarcastic?" he asked, taking a step closer.
She stepped back until her spine met the wardrobe. He leaned in, hand landing above her head - close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips.
"No," she whispered.
"Are you sure?" he murmured, his gaze flicking from her lips to her eyes.
"I haven't forgiven you yet," she whispered.
"Then let me earn it," he said.
Her fingers caught his collar and pulled him closer. He bent down, and their words dissolved into a kiss - deep, desperate, and wordlessly honest.
He bent down and took her in a kiss that wasn't seeking forgiveness - it was demanding it.
His lips pressed against hers with a hunger that felt years old, a chaos that found home only in her silence.
She clutched his collar tighter, pulling him closer until his breath mixed with hers, until her anger melted somewhere between his persistence and her pulse.
The air between them turned heavier - raw, unspoken, and tender in all the wrong ways.
When he finally pulled back, their foreheads touched, his voice low and rough.
"I'll earn it," he whispered, his breath still brushing against her lips. "Though it seems like you're a little too eager to forgive me."
"Go and get fresh," she said and gave him a light shove on the shoulder.
He laughed at her flushed face and headed to the washroom.
Just then, his phone started ringing on the table. She frowned and picked it up - it wasn't a call, just an alarm.
"Alarm? At 9:30 PM?" she muttered.
A man with photographic memory setting alarms was already suspicious. She stopped the alarm, and a note popped up: 2nd gift.
Her brows furrowed. She opened his reminder list - sixteen gifts in total.
"First payal, now bindi... what next, kangans and sindoor?" she whispered, rolling her eyes.
Curiosity took over. "Let's see what else this man is up to," she said and opened his browser.
His search history made her blink, then laugh helplessly:
and a few desperate variations, as if Google was his new marriage counselor.
She shook her head, smiling. "Prime Minister's son... googling how to be a husband. Incredible."
Then she heard her husband's voice.
"What's going on?" he asked, trying to grab his phone from her hand, but she dodged him and ran toward the bed.
"Ace, give me my phone," he said.
"Nope. I want to read the entire search history," she teased.
"It's full of porn videos..." he said, dead serious.
She froze and looked at him in shock.
"Do you... want to check someone's?" he added with a teasing smirk, and before she could react, he swiftly snatched the phone back and laughed.
"You manipulative liar!" she said and rushed toward him - but stopped dead when she realized he was standing there in just a towel, hair still wet, droplets running down his shoulders.
He smirked, set the phone on the side table, caught her wrist, and pulled her closer. He leaned in, inhaling the faint scent of her hair, his hand finding her waist.
"Your hair..." he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.
He slowly guided her down onto the bed, and her fingers gripped his shoulder instinctively. His breath brushed the curve of her neck, sending a shiver through her.
"I need to take a shower," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Well, let's go," he murmured near her ear, then stood, helping her down from the bed.
"What do you mean?" she asked as he started walking toward the washroom.
"Let's take a shower," he said with a teasing smirk, pulling her inside and locking the door.
He turned on the tap, the sound of water filling the silence between them. Droplets hit the marble as he leaned closer, brushing a strand of wet hair away from her face.
"You'll catch a cold," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "Not if you keep standing this close."
For a moment, neither moved - her pulse loud, his eyes unreadable. Then he stepped back, his voice softer now.
"Next time, don't read my search history. You might just find out how much I'm trying."
By saying this, he gently removed her top. She inhaled sharply, shyly avoiding his eye contact. He reached out, his finger hooking under her chin, and with a tender pressure, made her look up at him.
His eyes were dark, a heat rising in them that chased away the lingering steam of the shower.
"If I take you outside, Karma will think I am attacking you," he murmured, his gaze holding hers captive.
A corner of his mouth twitched in a shadow of a smile, acknowledging the absurdity of the rule he was quoting.
"And if I don't, I will fail in the daily report, as Dr. Radhika suggested. Tire yourself out."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low growl that was pure temptation. He moved his head, his lips and teeth just grazing the curve of her neck, a teasing and deliberate pressure that sent a wildfire sensation down her spine. Her fingers instinctively tightened on his shoulder.
The world narrowed to the soft, heavy beat of her heart and the intoxicating feel of his breath against her skin. The rules, the reports, the shame-they all dissolved in the sudden, undeniable urgency of the moment.
A little later, the room was dimly lit by the streetlights outside. They were tangled in the sheets, breathing the same air.
She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His arm was heavy and reassuring across her back. The earlier questions about search history felt distant and small now.
He gently traced a line along her jaw. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.
She tilted her head back to look at him, her smile soft and sleepy. "I found more," she simply replied.
She planted a soft kiss on his cheek and whispered, "Love you, Ant."
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, their silence saying more than words ever could.
??? V ? A ???
Next early morning, Adhrita went to Vedashree's room and saw her getting ready for office. She knocked softly, and Vedashree looked at her through the mirror, giving a curt nod.
Adhrita stepped inside, walked up to her, and placed a lighter on the vanity table. Vedashree's hand froze mid-air, her eyes flicking down at the familiar object.
"Familiar?" Adhrita asked quietly.
Vedashree picked up the lighter, her thumb tracing over the engraved VV initials. "Where did you find this?" she asked, still not looking up.
"Where did you last leave it?" Adhrita countered and slid a photograph across the table. Vedashree glanced down - her son was tied up, the same lighter lying beside him.
"Is this question being asked by Vritant Vardhan's wife or Vedashree Vardhan's daughter-in-law?" Vedashree asked sharply.
"This question is from your second son's bhabhi, your first son's wife, and your only bahu," Adhrita replied evenly.
Vedashree's expression hardened. "Politicians aren't loyal to anyone - not even their own children. Look at your father. He knew Vritant was a gambler and a racer - yet he insisted his daughter, a reputed surgeon, marry him. The promise was just to protect you. The obsession was your father's."
Adhrita's eyes darkened. "My father gave his daughter away. You, on the other hand, gave away your son."
Vedashree glared, her tone turning razor-edged. "I'm a politician, child. You wouldn't understand."
"I'm a politician's daughter, just like you," Adhrita said, calm but cutting.
Vedashree arched a brow. "Trying to become my shadow? Politicians devour even their own children - you're just a daughter-in-law. You already have a mother-in-law, Anamika, who holds this house's keys. Be the bahu, manage the house. Leave politics to me."
Adhrita's lips curved faintly. "I forgot to tell you one thing - I brought more than yellow suits in my dowry," she said, referring to Vedashree's old taunt.
Vedashree got up, adjusting her shawl, ready to leave - but Adhrita's voice stopped her.
"You were a mother too... then why?"
Vedashree's voice softened for a fraction. "Is that Vritant's wife asking?"
"And if it's just your bahu asking... why, Mummy?" Adhrita whispered, stepping closer.
Vedashree finally turned to her. "The throne I sit on every day was built on my sons' blood. None of your questions can wound me now. Like Vritant, you should also understand - both my sons died because of me."
Tears welled in Adhrita's eyes. "But what was my fault, Mummy? Why am I paying for all of this?"
"I told you before - you won't be welcomed with flowers in the Vardhan family. Be Anamika's bahu, treat Aaradhya as your nanad, and live quietly within your family."
"But, Mummy-" she began, but the voice that came from the door froze her.
"But what?" Vritant's deep, sleepy tone cut through the tension.
He stood at the doorway - hair tousled, half-awake, eyes flickering between his wife and mother, the silence suddenly heavier than any argument.
Vedashree turned sharply, her composure slipping for a moment. "You're awake early," she said coldly, regaining her poise.
"Hard not to, when there's a live debate on moral bankruptcy happening in my house," Vritant said, his voice hoarse from sleep but laced with quiet sarcasm.
He walked in, barefoot, running a hand through his messy hair.
"Good morning, Madam Prime Minister. Still running campaigns this early? "
Vedashree's jaw tightened. "You've always mistaken discipline for control, Vritant."
"And you've always mistaken control for love," he replied flatly.
Her eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone."
"I tried that once," he said, a sardonic smile curling at the corner of his lips. "Didn't work. Ended with me and my twin tied to a chair."
Vedashree's eyes glistened for a fleeting second - then hardened again. "You're still alive because of me."
He gave a bitter laugh. "No, Prime Mister Sahiba. I'm still alive despite you."
For a moment, her fa?ade cracked - her lips parted, but no words came out.
Adhrita stepped in quickly. "Enough, both of you. Not today."
Vritant looked at her, then back at Vedashree, exhaling a shaky breath. "Right. No politics on New Year's Day." He gave a faint, sarcastic smile. "Wouldn't want to ruin the headlines - The Vardhans: Lighting diyas, burning each other."
He turned to leave, his tone almost playful but heavy underneath. "Belated Happy Diwali. May your policies last longer than your sons' peace."
And with that, he walked out, leaving the lighter - and the silence - burning between the two women.
??? V ? A ???
She was still a bit pale from the anesthesia, but she didn't let it show.
The surgery had gone fine - minor, almost routine - yet her reflection in the glass door looked heavier than before.
She checked on her patients, signed discharge files, nodded through nurses' updates, and finally shut herself in her cabin.
The silence there felt too clean. Too calm.
She leaned back on her chair and exhaled - the morning still replaying in fragments: his voice, his look, his restraint. Her fingers moved on instinct, scrolling through contacts until they stopped on his name.
The phone rang once. Twice.
He picked up.
"I want to see Ashish," she said, her tone steady but her pulse wasn't.
For a while, he said nothing. Just the faint sound of him breathing on the other end.
"I don't think you should," he said finally, his voice clipped, controlled - like he was choosing every word with surgical precision.
"I want to face my fear," she replied.
A pause. Then his answer came, short and final.
"Coming in 30 minutes."
He hung up.
Forty-five minutes later, they stood at the gates of the Hall of Fame.
He looked at the iron gates, then at her - pale white coat, eyes stubbornly fixed ahead.
"Of all the ways to spend a post-surgery day," he muttered under his breath, "you chose this."
She didn't reply.
He smirked faintly. "Guess pain really is your favourite anaesthetic."
As they entered, her steps slowed - eyes tracing the marble walls, the towering portraits, the hush of air-conditioning that made the place feel more like a museum than a detention hall.
"It's a beautiful hall," she murmured, half in awe, half to fill the silence.
A hand slid around her back, warm and steady, pulling her closer.
"I maintained it," he said with a crooked smile. Then, leaning down just enough for his words to brush against her ear, he added, "Anyway, did you really say enough to me and your mother-in-law?"
Her cheeks flushed instantly. "Please..." she muttered, half embarrassed, half scolding.
"Please what?" he teased, eyes glinting with mischief.
She gave him a look, but he just smirked, guiding her down the long corridor. The walls were lined with glass panels and biometric scanners - the kind of place only power could open.
He stopped before a heavy steel door, pressed his palm to the scanner, and leaned forward for facial recognition. The machine beeped once.
Access granted.
He glanced at her. "Welcome to my version of closure," he said dryly, and led her inside.
They stopped at the end of the corridor, in front of a reinforced cell.
Inside, under the dim white light, sat Ashish - gaunt, trembling, with a bandage across his temple. His eyes darted around like a trapped animal's.
The moment he saw Adhrita, he lurched forward, crashing into the iron bars with a dull thud. Blood streaked down his forehead, but he didn't seem to feel it.
"Mumma... you came..." he mumbled, voice breaking, eyes unfocused. He reached for her again, clawing at the air through the bars.
Adhrita froze. Every instinct in her screamed to step back, but her body wouldn't move.
Vritant's smirk was faint but cutting. "He's hallucinating," he said coolly. "And clearly-" his gaze lingered on Ashish's desperate face, "-it's working."
Ashish stumbled again, tried to crawl closer, and Vritant's quiet laugh broke through the sterile silence.
He stretched his arms through the gap, eyes wild and unfocused. "Don't go... I knew you'd come..."
Adhrita took a step back, her heart pounding. "He-he can't even see the bars..." she whispered.
Vritant folded his arms, watching coldly. "He's high," he said. "The drugs make him see his savior in whoever he fears most."
Then he smirked faintly. "Guess congratulations are in order-you made it to his heaven and his hell both."
Ashish stumbled again, trying to crawl closer through the gap, and Vritant chuckled under his breath.
"See?" he said, eyes still on the man writhing before them. "That's not remorse, Adhrita. That's what a man looks like when his mind starts eating itself alive."
Adhrita looked at him - really looked - and for a fleeting second, she saw the shadow that lived behind his calm.
The faint curl of cruelty at the corner of his mouth, the glint in his eyes that said he could go to any length to protect what was his - even if it meant crossing every moral line.
She slowly slipped her fingers into his, grounding herself as her gaze shifted back to the man inside the cell.
Ashish - the same man who once tried to destroy her - now lay half-conscious, muttering nonsense to ghosts only he could see. His eyes darted around in panic, pupils dilated, chasing illusions.
He wasn't the monster from her nightmares anymore. He was just... broken. A body without control, a mind lost in chemicals and delusion.
Adhrita's grip on Vritant's hand tightened. "He doesn't even know what's real anymore," she whispered.
Vritant didn't answer. His jaw flexed once, and that smirk - the one that hid more rage than humour - returned.
He took her out silently, his hand firm around her wrist as if shielding her from something she couldn't see.
Once they reached the car, she slid into the passenger seat without a word. He got in beside her, started the engine, and the silence between them filled the space like smoke.
"This is my world, Hritu," he said finally, eyes fixed on the road ahead. His voice was low, almost controlled-but beneath it, there was exhaustion, warning, and something dangerously close to pain. "I never want you to step into it. Not for Ashish. Not for PM Sahiba. And not even for me."
She turned to him, watching his profile illuminated by the passing lights. He wasn't angry-he was tired of being the man who had to be.
She understood he was referring to the morning's confrontation. So she just nodded. Quietly. Because sometimes silence was the only language he still listened to.
??? V ? A ???
At night, she was already in bed, curled up under the comforter, waiting for him.
The door creaked open, and she smiled instinctively before covering her face with the blanket.
He walked in, loosened his tie, tossed his keys and wallet on the table, and kicked off his shoes carelessly.
Then, without warning, he jumped beside her and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
"Ant..." she whispered, running her fingers through his hair.
"I want to take you somewhere," he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin.
"Where?" she asked, turning to face him.
"Honeymoon," he whispered, pulling her even closer.
"Vritant, the hospital-"
"I didn't complain when you went to work," he cut in with a smirk. "We never went for our honeymoon."
"When?" she asked softly.
"Next week. But tomorrow, I'm leaving for Mumbai." His words melted into a kiss against her collarbone, followed by a playful bite that made her gasp.
"Itna pyaar aa raha hai?" she teased.
He nodded and took her hand, pressing light bites along her fingers.
"Dinner?" she asked, half laughing.
"I don't want to..." he muttered.
"Don't you even dare," she warned, pulling the comforter off him. He sighed dramatically and flopped onto his back.
"Can I eat you instead?" he murmured near her ear.
"No. Proper food," she said firmly and got down from the bed.
She went downstairs, warmed his dinner, and came back with a tray-only to find him already asleep. She placed the tray on the table and walked closer, her gaze softening.
"Breathing's normal tonight," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. But then she noticed faint tremors in his lips, his hand twitching slightly.
She gently took his hand and held it tight. He stirred, waking up with a soft gasp.
"Dinner?" she whispered.
He nodded groggily and sat up on the sofa, pulling her beside him. He took a bite, then offered her the next one. She leaned in and took it from his hand.
"You never gifted me anything," he said quietly.
"What?" she asked between bites.
"I need a promise," he said, feeding her another spoonful.
"What promise?" she asked again.
"That you'll never give up on me."
Her breath hitched-she remembered the words she had once written on the mirror: I gave up.
"I promise," she said softly, feeding him the next bite.
He caught her fingertip between his teeth, bit lightly, and laughed - the kind of laugh that felt like a crack in the night.
Just then Karma jumped between them.
"Jealous soul," Vritant muttered, and Adhrita laughed softly.
For a man who forgets dinner but remembers guilt, love really is the strangest medicine.
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