Bound by Hate

The bedroom pulsed with the afterglow of Aarav Malhotra's confession, the single candle's flame flickering on the nightstand, casting trembling shadows across the silk sheets where Vritika lay pinned beneath him. Her fractured right arm rested awkwardly in its cast, her loose kurta ridden up from his touch, her dark hair a wild cascade against the pillow, her hazel eyes wide and glistening with a storm of emotions—fear, desire, confusion—locked onto his coal-black gaze. His white kurta hung open, his chest pressed against hers, his hands—one framing her face, the other tracing her waist—burned with a heat that made her tremble, his lips hovering near her neck, his breath a steamy whisper against her skin. The air crackled, thick with the passion of his love, a fire that threatened to consume them both.

But then he stopped.

His coal-black eyes darkened, a flicker of restraint cutting through the haze of desire, his breath hitching as he pulled back, his hand freezing on her waist, his fingers curling away from her skin. He sat up, his broad shoulders rigid, his chest heaving, his kurta falling back into place as he raked a hand through his dark hair, his voice a low, strained murmur. "I won't," he said, his tone raw, almost pained, his gaze dropping to the floor, away from her. "Not without you saying yes—not like this."

Vritika's breath caught, her hazel eyes widening, her good hand clutching the sheet as she sat up, her casted arm heavy against her side. The heat of his kisses—on her lips, her neck—still lingered, a phantom touch that made her blush deepen, but his sudden retreat, his respect for a line she hadn't drawn, washed over her like a cool breeze, softening the chaos in her chest. "Aarav..." she whispered, her voice trembling, her heart racing as she watched him—his tension, his restraint, a man who'd confessed a love so fierce yet held himself back for her.

He turned, his coal-black eyes meeting hers, glinting with a mix of longing and resolve, his jaw clenched. "I love you, Vritika," he said, his voice steady now, a quiet vow. "But I won't take what you don't give—I've forced enough already." He stood, stepping back, his hands falling to his sides, the wallet with her photo a bulge in his pocket, a silent reminder of his confession.

She stared at him, her hazel eyes glistening, her breath shaky as gratitude swelled within her—thankful for his stop, for the space he'd given, a gesture that clashed with the possessive fire she'd come to expect. But it changed everything. The room felt different—smaller, heavier—his love a tangible weight she couldn't escape, a truth that rewrote their story and left her reeling. She didn't know how to face him, her gaze dropping to her hands, her good fingers twisting the sheet, her casted arm a stark reminder of her vulnerability.

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until memories flooded her—moments where he'd impressed her, pierced her walls, now glowing in the candlelight like stars she couldn't unsee. She saw him in college, his smirk faltering as she tore into him, a boy she'd thought arrogant but who'd watched her with a quiet awe she'd missed. She saw him feeding her kheer at her first rasoi, his eyes soft with pride; carrying her bridal-style from the hospital, his anger a shield for his fear; teasing her in the car, his hand on her thigh, a spark she'd denied. Each scene replayed—his care during her period, his gift of jhumkas, his refusal to let her bow on Karva Chauth—building a portrait of a man who'd loved her all along, not avenged her.

Her chest tightened, an ache of unhappiness settling in, not from him, but from herself—her fear, her walls, a dream she'd never wanted crashing into his confession. She stood, unsteady, her kurta swaying as she moved toward the window, her voice a whisper, raw and broken. "I can't love you, Aarav," she said, her hazel eyes staring at the moon, her good hand gripping the sill, her casted arm hanging limp. "I'm scared of it—of this. It wasn't my dream to marry—not like this. My friends—Rhea, Kavya—they used to laugh, say I'd marry out of hate if I ever did, and it was this, wasn't it? This trap, this fight—and now you've changed the equation, Aarav, and I don't know what to do with it."

Her words hung heavy, a confession of her own, her back to him, her shoulders trembling as tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and hot, soaking into the kurta. She felt the shift—his love, not revenge, a revelation that left her exposed, helpless, a woman who'd built her life on control now adrift in his truth.

He moved, his footsteps silent on the marble, his presence a heat at her back as he stopped inches away, his breath warm against her neck, his voice a low rumble that shook her to her core. "You think I don't know you're scared?" he said, his tone fierce, tender, a blade cutting through her defenses. "I've loved you since I was a boy with nothing—nothing but a photo and a dream of you, Vritika. You're not the only one who didn't plan this—I didn't dream of trapping you, I dreamed of you choosing me, but I couldn't wait for a miracle that'd never come. So I built this—us—because losing you was a death I couldn't face, not then, not now."

She turned, her hazel eyes wide, her breath hitching as his words pierced her—raw, unguarded, a confession that stripped him bare, shaking her to her soul. His coal-black eyes glistened, wet with a vulnerability she'd never seen, his hands hovering near her, trembling with the urge to hold her but held back by his promise. "Aarav..." she whispered, her voice breaking, her good hand reaching for him, then falling, her casted arm a weight as she stepped back, her heart a chaotic drumbeat.

He caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her tight against him, his chest a wall of warmth, his grip possessive yet gentle, his voice a murmur against her ear. "You don't have to love me back—not yet," he said, his breath steamy, his lips brushing her temple, a soft kiss that made her shiver. "But you're mine, biwi—scared or not, hate or not—I'll wait, I'll fight, I'll burn for you until you see it."

She didn't pull away, her hazel eyes closing, her good hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart race beneath her palm, a rhythm that echoed her own. The candle flickered, the night deepening, their breaths mingling as the tension between them softened—a confession answered, a fear laid bare, a love that lingered like a reminder she couldn't unfeel.