Page 68 of Mrs. Pandey
"No," I said in a steady voice. "We already belong to each other, Dimples."
Then he collapsed on me. His arms were wrapped around my waist, his face sunken into my chest, his body shaking in the quietest, most violent way possible. Not like last night. It wasn't lust, anger, or shame. It was grief.
I held him.
I rocked him gently, humming a tune I didn't recognize, as if I could lull the ghosts inside his back to sleep.
"Warrior..." he whispered brokenly.
"Yes?"
"If I ever hurt you again..."
"You won't," I said before he could finish. "But if you do, I'll still be here. I'll scream, I'll cry, I'll throw things. But I won't leave again."
Silence.
Then, in the quietest voice I've ever heard from him:
"...promise?"
I smiled softly through the tears.
"Promise."
And in the silence of that wounded morning, when dawn was just breaking through the curtains, I realized something:
We don't fit.
We break.
Over and over again.
But no matter how far we fall, we keep reaching for each other through every fight, every scar, every memory that won't let go.
This isn't a love story.
It's a war.
And somehow, we're both losing.
_______
Chapter 31
PRASHANT
THREE YEARS AGO
AN UNKNOWN LOCATION
SOMEWHERE BEYOND THE LOC
Pain has a language. It doesn't need a translator. It speaks in silence, in shivers, and in blood. It is a universal tongue, one that bypasses the mind and goes straight to the soul. And in this place, its vocabulary was vast.
When I opened my eyes, everything was darkness, but not the kind you fear as a child. This was a deeper, heavier kind. It felt like the earth had closed in, the very ground breathing on my skin, suffocating me with every breath. My wrists were bound, arms strung high behind my back, and my legs barely touched the floor. My whole body was tied with a rusted chain, its links biting into my skin with every breath, with every move. I wasn't sure how long I had been unconscious, a day? Two? Time had shattered and scattered like glass, and I was left with only fragments.
The first sound I registered wasn't a voice, but the steady drip of water. A leaky pipe, perhaps, or maybe just a cruel sound looped to make us think we were close to water when our lips were split and dry as old parchment. The room reeked of sweat, blood, and damp cement. The walls were cold steel, freezing every corner.My senses betrayed me; everything hurt like hell. Even the simple act of breathing was a battle.
