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Rajveer Singh Rathore was supposed to marry my sister, but now we are bound in a marriage.
He never wanted me and I also don't want him. I love someone else, and he loves my sister.
A marriage tangled...
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With every step, I move near, Though setbacks come, my love stays clear. Towards your heart, my journey's true, Forever forward, to be with you.
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It's been two days since Siya was admitted to the hospital. She's still there. After waking up and sharing everything with everyone, she hasn't spoken to me. She hasn't even looked at me.
I'm giving her space, even though I stay by her side 24 hours a day and try to talk to her. But she remains silent. Last night, she had a nightmare. I held her all night, but her body was tense in my arms, unlike before when she would relax.
I'm trying to take things slowly, giving her time to process everything, but my patience is wearing thin. I'll make her talk, even if I have to force her. I can't just sit here and watch her slip into darkness under my watch. Not while I'm here.
"Siya looked fine," Rudransh said, and I took a puff of my cigarette before exhaling the smoke.
"From what angle does she look fine to you, idiot? And my wife's health doesn't concern you." I snapped at him, irritation bubbling beneath the surface as I struggled to contain my emotions.
"Call me an idiot once more, and your wife will become a widow the very next moment," he said calmly, with a hint of warning in his tone.
"Well, your wife talked to me right in front of your eyes if you didn't notice, and she seemed fine," he shrugged casually, as if his observation held no weight. I clenched my free hand into a tight fist, resisting the urge to lash out at him.
The most frustrating and heart-wrenching part is that Siya is talking to everyone except me. She doesn't even look at me, avoiding any interaction with an unsettling silence that weighs heavily on my heart.
"Do I smell trouble in the marriage?" he sniffs arrogantly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Fuck off," I snapped, my patience wearing thin as his presence grated on my nerves.
"Sometimes I feel bad for you," he said, his words like a knife twisting in my gut, stirring up a mix of frustration and resentment.
"Feel bad for yourself, asshole. And there is nothing wrong between my wife and me," I retorted, my voice tinged with controlled anger, refusing to let him get under my skin despite his attempts to provoke me.
