Chapter 11 Childhood Shadows, Present Flames
Mrs. Shobha gently instructs me to rest. “You must be tired after such a long journey.”
I nod softly. “Which room should I go to?”
“Take Samar with you to your room,” Mrs. Shobha says.
Samar stands immediately. I notice his eyes they hold an intensity I can’t decipher. Without hesitation, he takes my hand. My small hand feels almost swallowed in his strong grip. My heart flutters at the quiet possessiveness in his touch.
He guides me through the hall, up the grand staircase, toward his room. As soon as we enter, he slams the door behind us. My body stiffens. Before I can react, he grabs my hair from behind, yanking my head up to meet his gaze.
A gasp escapes me. My eyes widen, tears threatening to spill.
“How dare your father deceive me like this?” Samar growls, voice sharp. “He tricked me into marrying you!”
I stammer, fear churning in my stomach. “Please let me go. I swear I don’t know anything about this.”
Samar’s grip tightens, rage burning in his eyes. “Now you’ll pay for your father’s betrayal. I don’t forgive anyone, and you’re part of his lie.”
My heart pounds violently, fear rooting me to the floor. Tears stream down my cheeks uncontrollably.
“You were so eager to get married, weren’t you? Well, now even your breaths in this house will move only by my command!” he snaps, releasing me forcefully. I collapse, my head hanging low, lips trembling, eyelashes soaked with tears.
I look heartbreakingly innocent, tiny, and vulnerable. My cheeks burn with shame and fear, Samar casts one last cold glance at me before walking away to his study, the door slamming shut behind him. I stay on the floor, gasping softly, trying to steady myself.
Time passes slowly. Soon, it’s dinner. Everyone gathers at the table. I sit quietly, eating my meal, unaware of Vihaan’s gaze on me steady, intentional, trying to provoke Samar.
Samar notices, and his irritation is evident. I continue to eat silently, unaware of the storm swirling around me.
Later, we all retreat to our rooms. I quietly enter the bedroom, still trembling. Samar lies on the bed. I sit on the sofa, but his sharp voice cuts through the silence. “Not there. You’re sleeping on the floor.”
Startled, I look at him, then nod slowly. I pick up a blanket and a sheet, feeling the cold floor beneath me. “But… the floor is really cold,” I whisper.
“I don’t care,” he replies flatly. “I only give people what they deserve. And you don’t deserve more.”
My heart sinks, but I say nothing. I curl up, pulling my dupatta tightly around me, shivering.
Samar switches off the lamp, lying on the bed, lost in his own haze of memories and rage. I lie on the floor, silent, exhausted, and afraid, yet strangely drawn to the intensity that surrounds him.
FLASHBACK START
A woman strolls through a garden, holding a six-month-old baby girl in her arms. The baby is incredibly cute, with big, blue eyes that sparkle like magic. She looks like she’s stepped straight out of a fairy tale.
Just then, a six-year-old boy comes running toward her. He looks at the baby and exclaims excitedly, “Mom! Give her to me too! I want to play with this doll!”
The woman chuckles warmly. “Child, she’s not a doll… she’s a human, just like us!”
The boy frowns in confusion. He leans closer and stares at the baby, who now stares right back at him with those big blue eyes, as if scanning him with laser beams.
Then he says, “How is this a human? Look at her tiny little hands!” He gently holds her hand, completely fascinated.
“And her ears! They’re so small!” He tugs her ears softly.
“And her cheeks are so chubby! Just like soft, round laddoos!” He squishes her cheeks and laughs. “Her whole face is just… Football!”
He pauses, puzzled. “And she has no hair! She’s bald!” He runs his hand over her smooth head and giggles. “So soft… like a little baby coconut!”
The woman laughs, shaking her head. “Sweetheart, she’s still very small that’s why she looks like this.”
Suddenly, the boy frowns. “Mom, tell her to stop staring at me! Look! She keeps staring and won’t even blink!” He seems slightly nervous, though the baby clearly enjoys it.
And then, the baby reaches out with her tiny fingers, grabs his hair, and pulls hard! The boy screams, “Aayyyeee! Why is she pulling my hair?!”
He glares at her, but the baby, far from scared, gives him a sweet little toothy grin, proudly showing off her two tiny front teeth.
FLASHBACK END
Samar’s deep gaze stays fixed on the ceiling. There is a quiet stillness in his eyes, yet somewhere deep within, faint memories slowly rise—like scenes from an old, faded film that once held a sacred place in his heart.
He sits in silence for a long while. Then his eyes shift downward, toward where I lie sleeping on the floor.
The night is cold. The ground is freezing, the wind sharp and I, without any comfort, am curled up on the cold floor, trying to rest.
My face is lost in sleep, yet my lips tremble, as if every breath pulls the chill deeper into my bones. My eyelashes flutter slightly, as though I’m caught between a dream and some unspoken fear.
Samar watches me in that quiet, icy silence the kind you can almost hear. For just a moment, something stirs in his eyes, But then, he ignores my shivering. Without another thought, he closes his eyes and drifts into sleep.
Meanwhile, Vihaan sits in the dark corner of his room alone, broken pouring drink after drink, as if each glass might help him swallow the storm raging inside him.
In his hands, he holds an old photograph a picture of himself with a girl the girl who was once the most beautiful part of his life.
His eyes glisten with unshed tears, but his face holds only rage and burned-out emotions. Staring at the photograph, he clenches his jaw and growls through gritted teeth, “Do you see him? That Samar? The same Samar you left me for You forgot me. And now he gets married and lives happily!”
His voice is soaked in alcohol, but every word carries the weight of a gathering storm.
He tightens his grip on the photo. “But don’t worry. I’m Vihaan Rajput. And today, I swear if I don’t tear you two apart then I don’t deserve that name.”
Pain and obsession twist together on his face, moving in a wild, dangerous rhythm. He lifts another glass and empties it in one go.