author pov...
It's impressive when someone comes into your life who you didn't expect anything from, but suddenly, everything you need is right in front of you.🦢🤍
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The tension in the room was so thick it felt like breathing through smoke. Voices had been raised, blame tossed around like shards of glass—sharp, cutting, and careless.
Then Kanak's voice sliced through the chaos.
"If you both are done fighting," she snapped, her voice trembling with frustration, "please leave. I'm already tired enough. Don't add to my miseries."
Silence followed her words, heavy and awkward.
Sagar's expression shifted. The guilt hit him like a wave, and his tone softened instantly. "I'm sorry, Kanak," he said quietly, stepping toward her. "Let me take you to your room."
Kanak didn't even look at him. "No, thanks," she replied coldly, brushing past him. "I'll go myself."
She walked away with her head held high, but the pain in her steps didn't go unnoticed.
Vikram turned on Sagar, his eyes blazing. "See what you've done?" he yelled. "She's already hurt—and you just made it worse!"
Sagar stood there, speechless. The door to Kanak's room shut behind her with a soft click that echoed louder than any of their shouting.
In the days that followed, Kanak couldn't help but notice something strange—something subtle, yet unmistakable.
Vikram's behavior had shifted.
It wasn't dramatic. He still walked with the same confident stride, still spoke with that calm authority. But there was a softness now, a carefulness in the way he addressed her. Where he used to speak curtly or with indifference, now he often called her Kanak ji—a formality he hadn't used before.
At first, Kanak thought she was imagining it. But the pattern became clear.. If their paths crossed, he'd look away quickly, or pretend to be preoccupied with something else. Something was off.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the garden walls and long shadows stretched across the veranda, Kanak finally asked him.
"Do you... know me?" she said quietly, searching his face. "Do you remember something?"
For a moment, his entire body froze.
His face paled, just slightly—but enough for her to catch it.
Then, just as quickly, he recovered. A half-smile touched his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"What will I remember?" he said, almost too casually. "Who are you, if not Kanak? What strange questions you're asking."
He turned without waiting for her reply and walked off toward the garden, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Kanak stood still, her heart thudding. That flicker in his eyes—it wasn't confusion.
It was fear.
Kanak's doubts about Vikram's memory lingered as they sat down to dinner. She couldn't shake off the feeling that he was hiding something.
Just as they were eating, Sagar entered the room, papers in hand. "You need to sign these papers," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Kanak's eyes narrowed, wondering what kind of papers Sagar was talking about. Vikram's expression was unreadable, but Kanak sensed a flicker of tension in his body."What papers?" Kanak asked, her curiosity piqued
.
Sagar's words landed with the weight of a falling stone.
Without ceremony, he slid a stack of papers across the table, the crisp shuffle of paper sounding louder than it should have in the quiet room.
Kanak stared at them.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Divorce papers.
Her eyes widened in disbelief, the breath in her lungs catching as she tried to process what was right in front of her. Her mind reeled, a storm of confusion and heartbreak swelling within her chest. She hadn't seen it coming—not like this. Not so sudden. Not so... final.
Across the table, Vikram's reaction was more controlled, but no less intense. He gripped his spoon tightly, the metal creaking slightly under the pressure of his hand. His knuckles whitened, the veins in his arm taut with restrained emotion.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
But his silence said more than words ever could.
Sagar, standing at the head of it all, flicked a glance at Vikram—quick, calculating. He saw the shift. The crack in the mask.
Kanak forced herself to speak, though her voice trembled like a leaf in the wind.
"I'll sign them after dinner."
The words hung in the air, heavy as lead. No one responded. No one moved. The atmosphere in the room had turned unbearably dense, as if grief itself had pulled up a chair at the table.
Kanak tried to continue eating, but the food on her plate had lost all meaning. Her eyes drifted to Vikram again.
To the way he wouldn't look at her.
To the way his silence screamed.
The silence of the night was almost sacred.
Kanak sat alone on the balcony, her bare feet tucked beneath her, the divorce papers trembling slightly in her hands. The city lay hushed below her, lights flickering in distant windows, unaware of the storm raging quietly in her chest.
Above, the stars sparkled with careless beauty—cold, distant, eternal.
She stared at the papers, the printed words swimming on the page. Legal terms. Dates. Signatures. It was all there in black and white. But none of it made sense anymore. None of it felt real.
Not compared to the weight in her chest.
Not compared to the way Vikram's eyes had darkened when Sagar placed the documents on the table.
She could still see it—that flicker of something. It wasn't shock. It wasn't anger. It was... sorrow. Or maybe longing. Maybe something else entirely.
Why would it matter to him? if he dont remember anything.........
The thought looped endlessly in her head.
He had been distant for so long. Cold, even. Like the past between them was just a shadow neither of them wanted to walk through. But today—today had cracked that armor, even if just for a moment.
Her fingers brushed against the edge of the papers, but she didn't move to sign. Not yet.
The wind whispered through the trees, soft and insistent, carrying the scent of night jasmine and something older—something unspoken.
Kanak leaned back in her chair, eyes searching the stars, as if they might offer an answer. Instead, they offered silence.
But in that silence, the night seemed to speak in riddles.
Of memories buried and half-remembered.
Of glances held too long.
Of words unsaid.
Of love—lost, forgotten, or simply misunderstood.
And Kanak, still clutching the papers, wondered if it was too late to understand what Vikram wasn't saying.
The morning light spilled across the marble floor, cold and indifferent, as Kanak walked into the study. In her hands were the papers—signed, sealed, final.
She handed them to Sagar without a word.
He took them with a nod, not looking at her, not thanking her. Just folded them back into the folder like it was any other document. But Vikram, seated on the edge of the nearby couch, didn't hide his reaction.
His eyes snapped to her, sharp with disbelief. Then he looked away just as quickly, jaw tightening, the muscle in his cheek twitching.
She didn't expect a protest.
She didn't want one.
But part of her still felt the sting.
The silence dragged on too long before Vikram finally spoke, his voice low and clipped.
"I'm healthy now," he said. "I want to leave this house."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't a request. It was a statement, final and firm.
Sagar straightened slightly, his face calm, but his tone carried weight.
"Wait two more days," he said. "It's Kanak's birthday."
The words landed like a slap in the room.
Kanak looked up, surprised by the mention. She hadn't expected anyone to remember—least of all Sagar. Vikram, on the other hand, went still. His fists clenched at his sides, his mouth a tight line.
His gaze flicked toward her, just briefly.
Then, with visible restraint, he gave a stiff nod.
"Fine."
But the tension didn't leave his body. It clung to him like a shadow. Even as he stood and walked out of the room, Kanak could feel the storm still raging behind his calm exterior.
He would stay.
But he wasn't at peace.
And neither was she.
Somewhere, tangled beneath the anger and silence, were feelings neither of them could quite name—let alone face.