Chapter 52: Forty Three

Abhimanyu sat alone in the garden, gazing at the evening sky, feeling a rare sense of calm. He had just been anxiously pacing over a small bruise on his wife's the same woman he’d spent months arguing with.

"Why was I so concerned?" he wondered, a faint smile crossing his lips as he tried to pinpoint the reason.

"Maybe it’s because I want her friendship," he muttered, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

"I think that’s it. I just wanted to be friends with her; that’s why I felt that way." He sighed. These thoughts were too confusing.

But then he frowned.

"Yet she refused my friendship. My friendship. All these businessmen would give anything just for a minute of my time, but she….." He shook his head, half-amused.

"Well, she is Misha Abhimanyu Rathore, after all," he reminded himself with a chuckle.

"She's too feisty, too challenging to handle. This woman is….. impossible to figure out." Abhimanyu faintly smiled.

He sighed, a faint smile lingering.

"I’ll wait. She’ll come around when she’s ready. Maybe then these confusing feelings will finally make sense." Abhimanyu sighed with a calm expression; he wanted an end to this.

With that thought, he sat quietly, his gaze drifting over the garden as his mind swirled with thoughts of Misha. Even though he didn’t fully acknowledge it, her presence lingered, filling the silence around him.

Misha sat quietly in her room, tears brimming in her eyes as she stared blankly at the floor. The air around her was heavy with an unspoken sorrow. The faint sound of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts, and she quickly wiped her tears when she saw Arthi entering the room.

"Misha Di…" Arthi called softly, her voice carrying concern as she stepped closer. Misha forced a smile, turning toward her.

"Arthi, come sit," Misha said, patting the sofa beside her. Arthi frowned, noticing the hollow expression behind her sister’s smile. It was unlike Misha, who was always so composed and vibrant.

Arthi sat down but couldn’t hold back her curiosity. "Misha Di, is something wrong?" she asked gently, her brows knitting in worry.

Misha chuckled weakly, trying to dismiss the question. "Why would you think that? I’m fine, Arthi. Just tired from work, that’s all." Misha faintly smiled, but Arthi frowned.

Arthi wasn’t convinced.

"You’ve been off for the past few days, Di. You leave early in the mornings, and when you come back, you look….. like this." She gestured at Misha’s pale face. "Something is wrong. Please, tell me." Arthi said with a soft tone, assuring her.

"It’s nothing, really," Misha insisted, shaking her head with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Just a little work pressure, nothing more." She faintly smiled with a not-so-convinced look.

"Misha Di….." Arthi’s voice softened as she took Misha’s hand. "I know you better than this. It’s not just work. Is it Abhimanyu Jeta? Did he-?" Arthi trailed off with a frown.

"No, Arthi." Misha cut her off, her voice firm but tired.

"Abhimanyu isn’t being a jerk anymore-at least not for now." She let out a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. She explained how Abhimanyu had treated her bruised wrist with care, brushing off Arthi’s worry about the injury with the same story she had told Abhimanyu.

Arthi listened carefully, her frown softening. She was relieved it wasn’t a fight between Misha and Abhimanyu. But something still felt off.

"Then why are you so distant and quiet these days?" Arthi pressed gently. "You always look worried, Di." Arthi expressed with a pity look.

Misha sighed and looked away, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. She hesitated, unsure if she should open up. Arthi noticed the conflict in her eyes and gave her space.

"It’s okay, Di. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand." Arthi’s voice was soft, reassuring. She reached over and lightly tapped Misha’s hand before standing to leave.

But just as she was about to step away, Misha grabbed her hand.

"Wait….." Her voice cracked, and Arthi turned back, startled.

Misha broke down, tears spilling freely as she hugged Arthi tightly. Arthi froze for a moment, shocked by the sudden outburst, but she quickly wrapped her arms around her sister, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Di, please don’t cry," Arthi whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

"If you cry, I’ll cry too. You’re like my real sister, and it hurts to see you like this. Please, tell me what’s wrong." Arthi said with an almost cracking tone.

Misha sobbed into her shoulder, unable to hold back anymore. After a few minutes, she pulled back, her face red and puffy. Arthi wiped her tears gently, shaking her head.

"You’re not the type to cry, Di. Please, tell me what happened," Arthi said softly, her eyes filled with worry.

Misha sniffled, taking a shaky breath. "I don’t know why, Arthi, but… I’m scared." Her voice quivered as she finally voiced her fear.

Arthi’s frown deepened. "Scared of what, Di? Arthi looked on with confusion and concern.

Misha hesitated, her hands trembling as she turned toward Arthi.

"I haven’t told anyone this before, but I can’t keep it in anymore." She paused, gathering her thoughts.

"When I was in my first year of college, studying business management, everything was fine. I was a bright student, and life seemed perfect. But by the third year, I started feeling… watched. Like someone was always there, observing me." Misha said her face already showed the fear she felt.

Arthi leaned closer, her face etched with concern.

"Watched? Did you see anyone?" Arthi's concern and worry grew as she heard Misha.

Misha shook her head.

"No. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But then, strange things started happening. Every day, I’d find a bouquet of Gardenia's favorite flower- on my desk. And not just that… I’d also get handmade chocolate cookies. My favorite." She laughed bitterly at the memory.

"It was sweet at first, but it didn’t feel right," Misha said with fear as she at First thought it came to her by mistake.

"Did you ever find out who sent them?" Arthi asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No." Misha’s voice grew softer.

"I tried ignoring it, focusing on my studies. But it didn’t stop. Every single day, the flowers and cookies would be there. By my fourth year, I was terrified. I couldn’t understand why someone was doing this." Misha said with fear enchanted on her face

Misha’s hands clenched tightly as she continued.

"Then, one day, I was cornered by a group of students. They accused me of using my father’s influence to get the top marks. It wasn’t the first time I’d been accused of something like that, but this time, it escalated. They surrounded me, shouting, and I was frozen in fear. That’s when he showed up." Misha said with a soft tone as she looked at Arthi, who frowned.

"Who?" Arthi asked, her heart racing.

"A senior from my university. He stepped in, scolded them, and took me away." Misha’s eyes grew distant as she recounted the memory.

Flashback.

It was during her bachelor's degree in Business Management when Misha Mehta was at the pinnacle of academic excellence, consistently topping her university through sheer hard work. However, being a topper came with its own set of challenges. Some students, fueled by jealousy, frequently accused her of leveraging her father's influence to secure the top position. Though these accusations stung, Misha had learned to ignore them, choosing not to waste her energy on baseless claims.

One such incident spiraled out of control. A group of students surrounded her, hurling false accusations and attempting to intimidate her. Cornered and anxious, Misha found herself frozen, unsure of how to defend herself. Just then, a calm but authoritative voice interrupted the chaos.

"That's enough," the voice commanded. The students fell silent as a tall, composed figure stepped forward. Misha looked up to see a young man with sharp, confident features. He exuded an air of authority that silenced her tormentors in an instant.

"Do you have proof for your accusations?" he questioned coldly, his piercing gaze shifting between the group. The students stammered but had no reply. With a dismissive wave, he scolded them and escorted Misha away from the scene.

Still shaken, Misha found herself being led to a quieter corner of the campus. The area was lush and serene, surrounded by greenery and dotted with groups of students engrossed in discussions. Misha ta ook a deep breath, finally beginning to relax.

"Thank you so much for standing up for me," she said softly, her voice still tinged with gratitude as she offered him a faint smile.

The young man turned to her, his expression softening. "It’s no problem at all," he said before pausing.

"But I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I’m Aadhiran Raisinghania." Aadhiran said with, smile the charming one.

Misha nodded politely. "Misha Mehta," she replied, her smile growing more genuine.

Aadhiran was strikingly handsome, his features sharp and his demeanor calm yet commanding. Misha couldn’t help but notice the effortless confidence with which he carried himself.

"I haven’t seen you around here before," Misha remarked, her brow furrowing in curiosity.

Aadhiran chuckled. "That’s probably because you’re always too busy studying. I’ve seen you buried in books more often than not." Aadhiran titled his head with smile.

Misha let out a small laugh, easing into the conversation.

"Well, I do love my books," she admitted.

"But sometimes," Aadhiran said, his tone shifting slightly, "you need to look up from those books and stand your ground. Why didn’t you fight back against those students? You had every right to." Aadhiran said with frown one of firm look on his eyes.

Misha sighed, her smile dimming.

"It’s not worth the effort. This sort of thing happens all the time. Why waste my energy on such silly things?" Misha smiled knowing it wasn't worth a fight.

Aadhiran raised an eyebrow but nodded thoudo ghtfully.

"You’re right; most of the time, it’s not worth it. But there are moments when silence isn’t the answer. Sometimes you need to teach people a lesson so they think twice before crossing you." Aadhiran said his tone firm and commanding.

His words carried a subtle edge, a mix of advice and something else Misha couldn’t quite place. She felt a twinge of nervousness but nodded politely, unsure of how to respond.

Sensing her discomfort, Aadhiran chuckled lightly.

"Don’t worry. I get it. You’re not the confrontational type." Aadhiran smiled to comfort her nervousness.

Misha offered a small, relieved smile.

"I should probably get going now," she said, glancing toward her car.

Aadhiran stepped aside with a gracious gesture. "Of course. It was nice meeting you." Aadhiran smiled genuinely.

"You too, sir," Misha replied before catching herself. "I mean, Aadhiran," she corrected with a slight blush.

"Aadhi," he said with a playful smile. "For you, it’s just Aadhi. We’re friends now, aren’t we?" Aadhiran said with rised eyebrows his lips had a small smile.

Misha hesitated but nodded.

"Alright, Aadhi. Thank you again." Misha smiled one last time and walked.

With that, she walked toward her car, her pace quickening as she tried to process the encounter. Aadhiran watched her retreating figure, a faint smile playing on his lips. But as soon as she was out of sight, the warmth in his smile faded, replaced by a sly smirk. His eyes glinted with something far more calculated than casual friendliness.

Misha returned home after her classes, and was sitting on the plush sofa with a faint smile. Her father, Rajeev Mehta, sat beside her, his face etched with concern.

"Beta, you should’ve been more careful," Rajeev said, his voice filled with worry as he glanced at her bandaged toe. Earlier, Misha had stumbled on the stairs, hitting her toe hard enough to cause it to bleed.

"Dad, it’s alright. There’s nothing to worry about-it’s just a scratch," Misha said, trying to reassure him. She could see how deeply her minor injury troubled him, and it warmed her heart.

"Nothing to worry about? Can’t you see the blood?" her mother, Gayathri, exclaimed as she approached, already teary-eyed, holding a small first-aid kit.

"Mom, please don’t cry," Misha said with a frown, trying to console her emotional mother. Gayathri ignored her and sat down beside Misha’s feet, determined to tend to the wound.

"Mom, I can handle it myself. Just give it to me," Misha said hesitantly, trying to pull her foot away. But Rajeev gently held her leg still and nodded toward Gayathri.

"Beta, it’s not wrong for your parents to care for you. You’re the Lakshmi of this house," Rajeev said with a soft smile. His words made Misha’s eyes well up with emotion as she sat silently, watching her parents tend to her injury with utmost care.

"Gayathri ji, go slow! You might hurt her," Rajeev said, his voice tinged with concern as Gayathri applied ointment to the wound.

Gayathri immediately turned to glare at him.

"I am being gentle, Rajeev. Don’t start lecturing me!" she snapped, her tone a mix of annoyance and affection.

Rajeev fell silent, his intimidating demeanor-the same one that made everyone at the Mehta company tremble-now replaced by a sheepish look. He seemed more frightened of his wife than any boardroom full of executives.

As Gayathri carefully worked on Misha’s injury, Rajeev winced and made faces as though the pain was his own. His exaggerated reactions amused Misha, and she giggled.

"Why are you making those faces? It’s not your injury!" Gayathri chided, but Rajeev quickly looked away, pretending to focus on something else.

Finally, Gayathri straightened up and smiled. "Alright, it’s done." As Misha sighed with smile.

Rajeev let out a dramatic sigh of relief, prompting Misha to burst into laughter. Her parents' little yet adorable arguments always lifted her spirits.

"Your dad was acting like the injury happened to him instead of you," Gayathri said with a chuckle as she and Rajeev sat on either side of Misha.

"Gayathri ji, when one of you gets hurt, it feels like I’m the one in pain," Rajeev said earnestly, his eyes reflecting the truth of his words. Gayathri and Misha exchanged warm smiles at his heartfelt confession.

"I can’t bear it when either of you is hurt. It pains me more than anything else," Rajeev added, his voice heavy with emotion.

Gayathri gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Rajeev Mehta, you’re such a softie for your family. Now, how about earning a hug from us before dinner?" she teased, her tone light and playful.

Rajeev’s face flushed slightly at her words, and Misha laughed. Her parents had always been like this-loving, unchanging, and full of affection.

"Dad, you shouldn’t have touched my feet," Misha said with a pout. "It’s not right for elders to touch their children’s feet. It’s not auspicious." Misha said with soft tone.

Rajeev chuckled softly. "Beta, as I said, you’re the Lakshmi of our house. Forget touching your feet-we should worship the ground you walk on. Daughters are a blessing, and when they’re loved and cared for, the whole house beams with happiness. Just like ours. See how we’re all smiling?" Rajeev said with smile as Gayathri also smiled.

His hand brushed gently over Misha’s hair, and he pinched her cheek playfully. Gayathri joined in, pinching Misha’s other cheek.

"Ouch! Dad, Mom, stop!" Misha squealed, wincing at their combined affection. All three burst into laughter, their shared joy filling the room.

"Alright, I’ll go prepare dinner now," Gayathri said, standing up. She leaned over to give Rajeev a quick hug before heading to the kitchen.

Misha glanced at her father, who smiled back at her warmly. They sat together, talking and enjoying the moment, their bond stronger than ever.

It was a quiet morning, and Misha had no classes today. She planned to spend the day at home, still upstairs in her room, likely taking her time getting ready.

Gayathri, busy with her usual household chores, was on her way upstairs from the kitchen when the house guard’s voice echoed from outside.

"Ma’am, there’s a courier!" The guard said about the courier.

Frowning, she paused mid-step and turned toward the front door.

"A courier? Rajeev’s at the office, and his packages always get sent there. What could this be?" she thought as she made her way out.

As Gayathri stepped outside, she was taken aback by the sight before her. A delivery man stood holding a stunning bouquet of fresh gardenias, paired with a neatly wrapped box. She accepted the items hesitantly, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

"Flowers?" she murmured, glancing at the arrangement as she turned to reenter the house. This is strange. Who could’ve sent these?

Once inside, she placed the box on the table and carefully examined the bouquet. Nestled within the blooms was a small card. With a growing sense of intrigue, she plucked the card and read the message aloud.

"To Misha Mehta, Whispering Wind," Gayathri said slowly, her voice tinged with confusion.

Her frown deepened.

"Rajeev would never send me flowers like this-he knows I prefer orchids. Could this be from one of Misha’s friends?"  Then, a thought struck her. With a soft chuckle, she sighed.

"Oh, right! How could I forget? Gardenias are Misha’s favorite flowers," she said, shaking her head at her momentary lapse. Placing the bouquet on the table, she called out to her daughter.

"Misha, beta!" Gayathri called out for Misha.

Upstairs, Misha heard her mother’s voice and responded cheerfully,

"Yes, Mom?" She came down moments later, her face lit up with a warm smile.

"Look here," Gayathri said, gesturing to the table. "Your favorite flowers gardenias!" Gayathri said with smile.

Misha’s smile faltered the moment her eyes landed on the flowers. Her heart sank, and a chill ran down her spine. The sight of the bouquet froze her in place, her face draining of color.

"Someone sent them to you," Gayathri continued, unaware of her daughter’s reaction. "Maybe it’s from one of your friends?" Gayathri suggested.

"Misha, what happened?" Gayathri asked, her voice filled with concern as she noticed her daughter’s pale face and stiff demeanor.

Misha looked at her mother, a storm of emotions churning within her. Should she tell her the truth-that these flowers had been sent by someone she didn’t know, someone who seemed determined to unsettle her? The mere thought of her parents finding out made her heart ache. Ever since that small injury, her parents had been so worried, nearly breaking down over her safety. If she told them about this, they would undoubtedly be terrified.

"No, I can’t let them worry about this. I’ll handle it myself", she decided, forcing a smile onto her face.

"It’s nothing, Mom. I’ll take care of them," Misha said, trying to sound casual despite the hesitation in her voice.

Gayathri studied her for a moment, sensing there was more to the story, but decided not to push. She nodded with a faint smile. "Alright then," she said before turning and walking back toward the kitchen.

The moment her mother disappeared, Misha snatched the flowers and the box from the table. Her breath quickened as she hurried upstairs, her heart pounding in her chest.

Once in her room, she locked the door and placed the bouquet and box on her bed. Her hands shook as she reached for the card again, her eyes scanning the words.

"To Misha Mehta, Whispering Wind," she read, her tone tinged with bitterness.

The title "Whispering Wind" made her blood boil. What kind of game is this? she thought angrily. With trembling fingers, she opened the box. Inside were handmade chocolate cookies, their rich aroma filling the air.

Her stomach churned. It’s always the same. Flowers, cookies, and this infuriating title. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the bouquet and box, storming out to her balcony.

She stood there, staring down at the garden below. For a moment, she hesitated. "Should I keep them? But no-I can’t. This has to stop". With a deep breath, she hurled the flowers and box over the edge, watching as they landed unceremoniously in the grass below.

Unbeknownst to her, someone was watching.

From a car parked just outside the mansion, a pair of dark eyes followed her every move. When she tossed the gifts, the man’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. His teeth ground together in frustration, and his jaw clenched with barely restrained anger.

With a furious growl, he slammed his hand against the steering wheel, the loud honk reverberating in the still morning air. His temper flared as he started the engine, revving it loudly before speeding off, tires screeching against the pavement.

All of you

I updated soon this time.

Great day for all