Page 112 of Entangled Vows
The hot water streamed down her back as Mahika stood silently under it, her arms hanging limp at her sides. She hadn’t spoken a word since Vikram brought her home. Her silence was thick, almost suffocating, mixed with something he couldn’t even name.
Vikram stood behind her in the shower, shirtless now. Her shoulders trembled, her breathing was shallow, and her skin was pale. She was still in shock. He reached for the loofah, lathered it with shower gel, and began to wash her slowly, carefully. First, he rubbed her neck, then her shoulders, and finally her back. Every motion was gentle and reverent. He didn’t want her to feel cornered or obligated to give in to the closeness. This was about giving her comfort. She needed time, space, and his calm.
After a few minutes, she moved.
Mahika turned around to face him. Her eyes were red, but there was no fear in them now, just exhaustion. Her hand lifted and touched the bruise on his face. She cupped his cheek gently, saying nothing, and then placed her other hand over his heart. She let it stay there for a moment before wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into him. Her forehead rested against his chest, and he stilled completely.
“I don’t want to feel scared anymore. I want to feel something real,” she whispered. “And you… you are real. So damn real.”
He inhaled sharply. Her words hit something raw inside him, something buried deep behind the walls he had spent years building. Her gaze lifted up to him, and there was trust in it now. And that trust... it shook him to his core. He would do anything to protect it. Anything to keep it safe.
A faint smile touched her lips. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come.”
He reached up and gently pushed a wet strand of hair away from her cheek. “You don’t need to think about that. I came. That’s what matters.”
Her fingers traced the small cut on his jaw. Then she leaned forward and kissed it. He flinched, just a little, unprepared for the tenderness in her touch. The gesture felt... intimate. Too intimate. A line had shifted, and neither of them had the words for it.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“No. Not much,” he said softly. “You should get out of the shower if you’re done. You’ll catch a cold.”
“In a while. Please. I just need to wash it all off. Their gaze… their leering... I need a few more minutes.”
His tone grew gentle. “As you wish, wifey.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “When I was in that car… I kept thinking about your voice. I prayed you’d come, even though I knew you were in another country.”
His throat tightened. “I would have torn the sky open to get to you.”
She smiled. “You kind of did.”
He gave her a small smile and reached for her shampoo. She turned around, and he gently massaged her scalp, rinsing her hair with care. She leaned into his chest, her arms folding around herself like she needed to hold everything together.When he was done, she turned towards him and began scrubbing him with quiet focus, not saying a word. Then her hand slid lower, past his abs, and he caught her wrist.
“That’s enough,” he said firmly.
She followed his gaze and slowly looked down. Her breath caught when she saw how hard he was.
“You don’t want me to take care of it?” she asked, her voice soft, and her eyes wide and tempting.
“No.” His voice was rough now. “This isn’t about me. Let’s get you dried off.”
They stepped out of the shower, and he reached for a towel and wrapped it gently around her. He dried her slowly and methodically, as if he could wipe away every trace of fear clinging to her being. She sat on the bench just outside the glass enclosure, her expression soft and unguarded.
When he returned with one of his old black T-shirts, she raised her arms and looked up at him. “Help me into it?”
He slid it over her head with care. It fell to her knees, drowning her frame. She looked so small in it… so heartbreakingly his, that it stirred something primal in him, making him want to pull her into his arms and never let go.
“Go sit down,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
She nodded, but chose the couch instead of the bed. He returned with a plate full of rice, dal, papad, and her favourite mango pickle.
She glanced up and smiled faintly. “Five-star comfort food, huh?”
“Exactly how you like it. Sandhya Ma made it.”
He fed her the first few bites until she took the spoon from him. She crushed some papad over the rice, scooped some up, and held it to his lips.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
