DIVYA
My hands trembled uncontrollably, my chest tightened, and my mouth hung open as I struggled to breathe, thrashing helplessly against the suffocating grip of my own lungs. Panic clawed at me, stealing the air from my throat as my heart raced in my chest, each beat hammering against my ribs.
The door to my room burst open with a loud thud, and heavy footsteps echoed ominously across the floor. Terror surged through me, freezing the tears on my cheeks as I shrank back, my body curling inward, trying to become invisible.
"Please... don't... hurt me," I whimpered, my voice barely more than a whisper, raw with fear. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for whatever was to come.
"Divya..." A deep, familiar voice cut through the darkness, laced with concern. Slowly, I forced my eyes open, peering through the gloom. Even in the inky blackness, I could make out his eyes-those stormy grey eyes, now softened with worry. More tears slipped free, tracking down my face as he knelt in front of me, his hands moving awkwardly, trying to help but not knowing how.
"What's happening?" he asked, his voice unsteady as he gripped my shoulders, wiping at my tears in a desperate attempt to comfort me. But the tears kept coming, spilling over uncontrollably as I gasped out a single, broken word.
"Nycto... Nyctophobia..." I managed to stammer, my voice trembling. My gaze locked onto his, those grey eyes that were the only anchor in this sea of fear. "Please... turn... on... the... light," I begged, my fingers clutching his shirt with all the strength I had left, clinging to him like a lifeline.
He cupped my face in his hands, his touch gentle yet firm. "The lights are out. They'll come back soon," he assured me, his voice steady, though I could hear the tension underneath. But his words only fueled my panic, sending my heart into another wild frenzy. My lungs tightened even more, each breath a painful, desperate struggle. I rubbed my chest in a futile attempt to ease the tightness, but it was no use. The darkness was closing in, suffocating me.
Raghav lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Relax, Divya. Everything will be fine," he murmured, his hand threading through my hair in a soothing gesture. His touch was warm, comforting in a way that words couldn't be, but still, I felt like I was drowning in the dark.
"Is there anything I can do until the lights come back?" he asked, his voice edged with desperation. My grip on his shirt tightened, fear gnawing at me that if I let go, he would vanish, leaving me alone with the monsters lurking in the shadows. He wiped the tears from my face, his thumb brushing softly against my skin, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.
"Distract me," I murmured, my voice barely audible, each word a struggle. I knew it wouldn't work-no distraction ever did when the darkness swallowed me whole-but I was willing to try anything to keep the panic at bay, if only for a little while.
He hesitated, then slowly wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer. I rested my head against his chest, feeling the quick, nervous beat of his heart beneath my cheek. He stiffened at first, this closeness as new to him as it was to me, but then he relaxed, his arms holding me more securely. I wasn't used to being touched by other men, but with Raghav, it felt different. It felt safe. I wanted to be close to him, to bury myself in his warmth and block out the darkness pressing in from all sides.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest as he began to rub my back in slow, soothing circles. His touch was calming, grounding me in a way nothing else could.
"Breathe... just breathe, my little angel... breathe," he whispered, over and over, his voice a steady mantra that I clung to. I tried to follow his command, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths, but it still felt like I was suffocating, like the air just wouldn't reach my lungs.
Tears flowed silently from my eyes, soaking into his shirt as I pressed closer, desperate for any comfort. And then, through the haze of my panic, I heard it-a soft, tender sound that cut through the darkness like a ray of light.
Thump
Thump
Thump
"Your heart..." I mumbled, feeling the rapid thump against my ear.
"What about it?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It's racing too fast," I said, my words trembling in the quiet room. He let out a small chuckle, the sound comforting in its warmth.
"Is it?" he murmured. I closed my eyes, focusing on the steady, frantic beat beneath my cheek. For some reason, the sound of his heartbeat was the most soothing thing I'd ever heard, and almost instantly, it began to calm the storm raging inside me. It was like the sweetest melody, one that drowned out the echoes of fear in my mind.
A few seconds later, he started humming a tune, one I didn't recognize, but it felt nice, almost like a lullaby. His hand continued to rub my back in slow, comforting circles, while I clung to him, burying my face in his chest, grounding myself in his warmth and the rhythm of his heart.
My breathing gradually began to steady, the tightness in my chest easing as I let myself be enveloped in the comfort of his embrace. And then, with a soft click, the room was suddenly bathed in warm light.
I opened my eyes and immediately met his gaze-those grey eyes that were now filled with something unspoken, something that made my heart flutter in a way I couldn't quite understand. Quickly, I disentangled myself from him, creating some distance as I felt the flush rise in my cheeks. He stood up and extended a hand towards me, a simple gesture that felt unexpectedly significant. I hesitated for just a moment before taking it, feeling how small my hand seemed in his.
I swallowed nervously, the blush deepening as I remembered how I had been wrapped in his arms just moments ago. It felt surreal, almost like a dream.
No one had ever been able to pull me out of a panic attack like that before-not even Diya, who had tried so many times. The trauma I had endured was something that no psychiatrist could help me with. They all said I needed to find my own way through it.
But it seems like, for the first time, there's someone in this world who can help shield me from the monsters my own parents created. Someone who can stand between me and the darkness that has haunted me for so long.
I wasn't always afraid of the dark. It all started when my mother, in a fit of anger, locked me in the attic as punishment. The most terrifying part wasn't just being left in the dark-it was that she forgot about me. I was trapped in that cold, suffocating darkness for nearly a day, alone with nothing but my fear. The memory is like a shadow that lingers, always threatening to consume me if I let it.
I closed my eyes, desperately trying to push away the haunting memories that clawed at my mind. My hands balled into tight fists, knuckles white with the strain as tears burned fiercely at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over. A wave of anguish crashed over me, and I couldn't help but wonder about the cruel irony of parenthood. Why do people choose to have children if they can't provide the love and care they need? Are we merely possessions, kept when convenient and discarded when inconvenient? Parents move on, but children are left with scars that last a lifetime. They suffer the consequences, while those who should have cared remain unscathed, leaving our lives shattered.
I struggled to shake off these dark thoughts, but his voice, calm and steady, gently pulled me back to the present, a lifeline amid the storm of my emotions.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. When I looked up at him, his eyes were still watching me, searching for any sign that I might slip back into that dark place. I nodded, unable to find my voice just yet. He hummed in acknowledgment, turning as if to leave.
"Thanks..." I blurted out, my voice stopping him in his tracks. He paused, tilting his head slightly to look at me, though he didn't turn all the way around. "...for everything," I added, my words barely audible.
He hummed again, a soft, almost dismissive sound, and started to walk away. A pang of disappointment shot through me, thinking he was still upset with me-and I couldn't even blame him. I had pushed him away, treated him coldly, and now he was returning the favor.
But then, to my surprise, his voice called out from the doorway. "Do you want to have dinner in the room, or would you rather go downstairs?" he asked, his tone neutral, but not as cold as before.
I blinked, looking at him in surprise. He hadn't left like I thought he would. He stood there, hands in his pockets, waiting patiently for my answer.
"Let's go downstairs," I replied, trying to sound casual. "I need some fresh air." It was a half-truth, a flimsy excuse. The truth was, I just wanted to spend more time with him. If we stayed in our rooms, we'd eat separately, but going downstairs meant we'd be together, even if just for a little while. This might be our last meal together, and I had something important to tell him tonight.
"Just give me a second," I said, hurrying into the bathroom to freshen up. I splashed cold water on my face, washing away the tear stains, and stared at my reflection, debating whether to tie my hair back or leave it down. Time was short, and I didn't want to keep Raghav waiting, so I decided to keep it loose, letting it fall around my shoulders. Running my fingers through the long strands to tame them, I grabbed my phone and hurried back out.
Raghav was waiting patiently, just as I had left him. "Let's go," he said simply, standing up. He grabbed his phone and the room key from the coffee table, and we left the room together, with me trailing a step behind.
We slipped into the elevator, and he pressed the button for the ground floor. The silence between us was heavy, and I knew I had to say something. "I'm sorry for my earlier behavior," I finally said, my voice small. I knew I needed to apologize for the way I had lashed out, even though he had only been trying to help.
"It's okay, I understand," he replied, his eyes focused on his phone, not even glancing at me. His aloofness cut deeper than I expected, a sharp contrast to the warmth and care he had shown me just moments ago. I had grown used to his gentle concern, and this sudden return to his colder demeanor left me feeling hollow.
The elevator doors slid open, and I followed him out. He took a right turn from the reception area, leading us to a set of glass doors. When he opened them, I was greeted by the stunning interior of the restaurant-a sight that took my breath away.
The restaurant's interior is a harmonious fusion of old-world charm and modern luxury. Antique wooden beams run across the ceiling, contrasting elegantly with the sleek, contemporary lines of the furniture. Each table, draped in pristine white linen, is adorned with a simple yet sophisticated centerpiece-fresh flowers in muted tones, arranged in crystal vases that catch and scatter the light in a kaleidoscope of colors.
The soft murmur of conversation and the gentle clinking of fine china create a soothing symphony that fills the space. Waitstaff glide effortlessly between the tables, their movements precise and unobtrusive, dressed in crisp, tailored uniforms that echo the restaurant's classic style. Their presence is almost ethereal, a subtle blend of attentiveness and discretion, ensuring every guest feels like the most important person in the room.
At the far end of the restaurant, a grand fireplace framed by ornate carvings casts a warm glow, its flames flickering softly, adding to the room's cozy ambiance. Above it, a large gilded mirror reflects the scene, doubling the room's warmth and opulence. Along one wall, a series of arched windows stretch from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of the hotel's manicured gardens, where the last light of day fades into twilight, casting a dusky rose hue across the sky.
Raghav strode confidently towards the seat by the window, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. The soft hum of conversation died down as heads turned to watch him pass, a quiet reverence settling over the diners. He moved with the assured grace of a king, each step deliberate, exuding an aura of power that seemed to draw everyone's gaze. I felt the weight of their stares, and a flush of self-consciousness crept up my neck. Some eyes held admiration, others barely concealed envy, but all of them seemed to notice the two of us together.
When we reached the table, a waiter hurried forward to pull out my chair. I gave him a grateful smile as I sat down, trying to ignore the sudden heat in my cheeks. But from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Raghav's expression-his gaze was sharp, almost a glare, directed at the waiter.
"When we're ready to order, we'll call you," Raghav said curtly, dismissing the waiter with a tone that brooked no argument. The waiter, clearly flustered, quickly handed us the menus and bowed before retreating.
I glanced at the menu, craving something light. The loose tendrils of my hair irritated me, so I pushed them behind my ear, annoyed that I why had I opted to keep my hair open? The persistent strands continued to bother me.
Raghav's gaze met mine from across the table. He sighed, stood up, and walked behind me. My grip on the menu tightened as I felt his presence close to me. With swift, deft movements, he gathered my hair and tied it in a bun. I tries to breath normally through the whole process. His strong spicy scent invades the air I breathe Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to my neck.
A gasp escaped my lips, his touch lingering longer than necessary. My cheeks flushed, and butterflies erupted in my stomach. He straightened up and returned to his seat. My fingers instinctively reached for my hair, curious about how he had managed to secure it without a hair tie.
I felt something cold and metallic-a pen. Glancing at his coat pocket and noting the absence of his usual golden pen, I realized he had used it to tie my hair. My heart swelled with happiness; no one had ever cared for my small discomforts in such a thoughtful way. His deep voice pulled me from my reverie.
"So, what do you want to order?" he asked.
"A grilled chicken salad," I replied. He hummed in response and called the waiter over.
"We'll have one grilled chicken salad and honey garlic glazed salmon with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon," he said. My eyes were fixed on him, taking in every detail of his face. He was perfect in every way-the way he spoke, the way he nodded his head. He seemed like a being sculpted by God with meticulous care and precision.
"Okay, sir," the waiter acknowledged our order and left, leaving us in a charged silence. I squirmed in my seat, feeling the need to break the awkwardness.
"So, what is Cabernet Sauvignon?" I asked, admitting my lack of knowledge about wine. Unlike my sister Diya, a wine enthusiast and collector, I knew very little. Thinking of Diya made me miss her even more.
"Cabernet Sauvignon is one of the world's most popular and widely grown grape varieties, known for producing full-bodied red wines," he explained. I hummed in response.
"I'm pretty sure you'll like it," he said with a smile. "I hope so," I mumbled back.
The tense atmosphere between us gradually melted away, replaced by a sense of calm that made me feel at ease. The mood around us seemed to lighten, the initial tension dissipating like a heavy fog lifting to reveal clear skies. It was a relief, and I found myself relaxing into my seat, feeling much better.
Soon, our food was served, presented with the kind of elegance and care that only a place like this could offer. But instead of diving into the meal, I reached for the wine glass. The deep red liquid shimmered in the soft light as I gently twirled the glass, watching the wine swirl and settle. I hesitated for just a moment, letting the anticipation build before bringing the glass to my lips.
I took the first sip of the Cabernet Sauvignon, and immediately, a wave of deep, rich flavors hit my palate. It was intense-full of dark berries, like blackcurrants and maybe even plums, their juiciness filling my mouth. As the wine settled, i started to notice more, something earthy and almost mysterious, like the smell of damp woods after a rainstorm, mixed with a hint of something warm, like tobacco or cedar.
The warmth surprised me, a slow heat that spread from the back of my throat and seemed to wrap around me, making the wine feel strong, almost bold. There was a touch of spice too, something peppery with a trace of vanilla that added a little twist, making me curious for another taste, just to see what else was there.
The tannins, i realized, were what gave the wine its backbone, a sort of gentle grip that left a faint dryness on my tongue, like brushing against soft velvet. And even after i swallowed, the taste lingered, long and smooth, the memory of those dark fruits and earthy notes staying with me, almost like a whisper in the background.
I closed my eyes, savoring the rich, layered taste of the wine. The flavors unfolded slowly, a symphony of dark berries and a hint of spice that warmed my senses. Suddenly, a soft chuckle pulled me from my reverie, and I snapped my eyes open.
"I assume you like the wine," Raghav said, a small smile playing on his lips. I nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed that I'd been so lost in the moment, and took another sip to cover my flustered reaction.
I picked up my fork and dug into my chicken salad. The flavors were perfect-crisp greens, tender chicken, and just the right amount of tangy dressing. It was exactly the way I liked it. I glanced over at Raghav, who seemed equally engrossed in his meal, cutting into his salmon with practiced ease. He looked completely at home in this luxurious setting, as if he belonged here, and I found myself watching him more than I should.
I finished my salad quicker than I intended, dabbed my mouth with the napkin, and set it aside. Leaning back in my chair, I lifted the wine glass again, sipping slowly, savoring the scene in front of me.
Raghav had rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms, where dark veins stood out against his skin, making his hands look strong and almost mesmerizing. I had a secret weakness for those kinds of hands-hands that looked like they could protect you, hold you close. As he expertly sliced through his salmon and took a sip of wine, I couldn't help but think he looked like a masterpiece, one I'd love to capture on canvas.
My mind wandered to what those strong arms might feel like wrapped around me, how it would feel to be held by him, to cuddle into the warmth of his embrace. I quickly shoved those thoughts aside, horrified at my own audacity. If Raghav ever got even a hint of what was going through my mind, he'd throw me out of his life without a second thought.
I shouldn't even entertain the idea of having feelings for him. We came from completely different worlds. He was unattainable, the kind of man who could have any woman with the flick of a finger, while I was just a simple artist-someone he probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't saved his life. The stark reality of our situation weighed heavily on me, and I averted my eyes, forcing myself to stop staring before I got caught.
I gulped down the rest of the wine in one go, hoping to drown the unwelcome thoughts. When Raghav finished eating, the waiter appeared to clear the table. Raghav leaned in and whispered something to him that I couldn't quite catch, but the waiter nodded enthusiastically before leaving.
I swallowed nervously, knowing I needed to tell Raghav about my decision. I opened my mouth to speak, but just as I was about to, the waiter returned with a new bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and placed it in front of me. I stared at it in confusion. Was Raghav planning to drink another bottle? I already felt tipsy after just two glasses.
"This is for you," he said, pushing the bottle towards me.
"For me?" I asked, bewildered. "I can't accept this, Raghav. It's too expensive."
He chuckled at my words, then fixed me with a steady gaze. "Nothing is more expensive than saving someone's life. You, of all people, should know that."
"Oh, please don't bring up the saving card again," I huffed, rolling my eyes and folding my arms across my chest. He raised an eyebrow in that warning way of his, silently challenging me.
"Divya, I've already paid for it. So take it or leave it. The choice is yours," he said firmly, locking his eyes onto mine, refusing to look away until I squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. It was one of his habits that I had come to know-he would stare until you became uncomfortable enough to divert your attention.
"Okay, fine. I'll take it, but this is the last time," I relented. He nodded curtly, accepting my concession.
"By the way, I need to tell you something," I said, hesitating as I searched his face for a reaction. He gave me an encouraging look, urging me to continue.
"Actually, I've been thinking... I'm going to go back to my apartment. I've recovered now," I said, bracing myself for his response. But to my utter disappointment, his expression remained blank, giving away nothing of what he was thinking.
"Okay, as you wish,"