8. The Wound That Never Healed

As soon as Abhir stepped into the grand Goenka mansion, an overwhelming sense of suffocation engulfed him. The polished marble floors, the towering walls adorned with family portraits, the familiar scent of sandalwood—it all came rushing back, a flood of memories that felt more like a storm than a homecoming.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides as his breath hitched. This house… this place… it was never mine, was it?

A thousand voices echoed in his head—the sound of his mother’s soft lullabies, the hushed whispers of adults deciding his fate, the cold silences that had filled these halls after she had left.

He could hear himself as a child, crying for his mother. He could see himself waiting near the door, hoping she’d come back for him. He could remember the painful realization that no one had ever fought hard enough to keep him with her.

Abhira noticed the change in his stance, the rigidity in his body. She gently touched his arm. “Bhai…?”

But Abhir suddenly pulled away, his eyes wild and filled with a storm of emotions.

“This place…” His voice trembled, barely above a whisper, but it carried a weight that made everyone in the room freeze. “This house feels like a cage.”

The elders exchanged worried glances, sensing the storm brewing in Abhir’s gaze.

“I should never have come here,” Abhir murmured, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He took a step back, as if trying to escape the walls that threatened to close in on him.

“Abhir, what’s wrong?” Ruhi asked, stepping closer, concern lacing her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Abhir let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

His gaze shifted to the center of the room, to the old man who had once been the most powerful figure in his childhood—Manish Goenka.

A bitter smile curled Abhir’s lips as he looked at the man who had shaped his fate without ever considering his wishes. “You,” he said, his voice breaking. “You did this to me.”

Manish stiffened, his brows knitting in confusion. “Abhi—”

“Don’t say my name like you have a right to it!” Abhir exploded, his voice loud, raw, unfiltered. The years of bottled-up resentment and pain poured out all at once. “Do you have any idea what you did to me? What you took from me?”

Abhira’s eyes widened in panic as the room fell into a suffocating silence.

She reached for Abhir’s hand, trying to steady him. “Bhai, please—”

But he pulled away again, his body shaking.

“I spent my childhood waiting,” Abhir continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Waiting for my mother to come back. But she didn't. This man abandoned my mother and left us homeless when we needed him the most, had he supported her that day my life wouldn't  have shattered. You took me away from my own mother!”

"I lost my mother,” he whispered, voice shaking. “And I wasn’t even there near her in her last days to grieve her.” His gaze flickered toward Swarna and Surekha, who wiped silent tears from their cheeks. “You took everything from me.”

Manish, who had always been a strong, unwavering presence, looked taken aback by the outburst. His grip on his cane tightened, his expression shifting between guilt and defensiveness. “Abhir… I didn't know my decision would ruin your lives like this.I thought it was right to keep Akshu and you away from us at that point”

Abhir let out a bitter laugh, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “You didn't know?” He took a step forward, his gaze unwavering. “You didn’t care about us enough to know anything. You only cared about your so called ego. "

Ruhi, who had been standing in shocked silence, finally found her voice. “Abhir, stop! B nanu loves you! He—”

“Love?” Abhir cut her off, his voice shaking with anger. “Love isn’t forcing a child to grow up without his mother. Love isn’t deciding what’s right for someone else without even asking them! You—” he turned back to Manish, his eyes burning with rage and pain, “you made me and my mother feel unwanted.”

Manish looked down, his face pale, his hands trembling. The weight of Abhir’s words crushed him, but he had no defense, no argument to justify the past.

“Enough, Abhir!” Ruhi stepped in front of Manish, her eyes brimming with hurt. “B nanu made mistakes for my sake, but he never stopped loving you. I was a kid who lost her mother and I mistook maasi did it , for me he made maasi and you go. But you don’t get to insult him like this!”

Abhir scoffed, shaking his head. “You were a kid  Ruhi. But this man you won't understand.” His voice turned softer, filled with quiet devastation. “Because you never had to fight for your place in this family. You always belonged. I and my mother didn’t.”

Ruhi’s face crumpled, her own past grievances clashing with the painful reality of what Abhir was saying. She had always felt entitled to her family’s love. She had never questioned it. But for the first time, she realized that Abhir’s wounds ran deeper than she had ever cared to see.

Abhira stepped between them, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. She placed a hesitant hand on Abhir’s arm, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bhai… I know you’re hurting. And I won’t tell you that you’re wrong to feel this way. But please… give them a chance.”

Abhir clenched his jaw, his breathing heavy.

“They can’t change the past,” Abhira continued, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling around them. “But they can try to make things right now. If you let them.”

Her words cut through the thick air, reaching the part of Abhir that still longed for a family, for a sense of belonging. His shoulders sagged, his anger dimming just enough for exhaustion to take its place.

Manish, with great difficulty, took a step forward. His voice was softer than anyone had ever heard it before. “I was wrong, Abhir. I… I should have let you stay with your mother. I should have never let you go.” His eyes glistened with regret. " I’m sorry.”

Abhir’s lips parted slightly, as if the words caught him off guard.

“I can’t ask for your forgiveness, not after everything,” Manish continued. “But I can tell you that I regret it. I regret not fighting for you the way I should have.”

The room fell into silence, everyone watching, waiting for Abhir’s reaction.

His heart pounded in his chest, his mind still trapped between the past and the present. The child inside him wanted to reject these words, to push them away as too little, too late.

But another part of him—the part that had spent years craving the warmth of family—wanted to believe them.

His heart pounded in his chest, his breathing ragged as he turned to Abhira, eyes filled with conflict and sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “I know I promised you, but I cannot stay under the same roof as this man.” His gaze flickered to Manish, the pain in his eyes sharp as a blade.

Abhira’s heart clenched. She had hoped—prayed—that coming back here would help heal the wounds of the past, not deepen them. “Bhai, please,” she pleaded, stepping closer, desperation lacing her voice. “For me, for Mumma… for Papa.”

But Abhir shook his head, his jaw tight. “Abhira, you don’t know this man.” His voice was laced with a bitterness that no amount of pleading could soften. “He will abandon you the first chance he gets. He did it to me—he did it to Maa.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Even Maa wouldn’t have wanted me to come back here. I know it.”

Silence fell over the room. The Goenkas, usually full of words and wisdom, stood speechless. Manish looked away, his guilt evident, but he said nothing to refute Abhir’s words. What could he say? The past was undeniable.

Abhira’s lips parted, but for the first time, she had no words to argue with him. Because deep down, she feared he was right.

Abhir exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair before taking a step back. “You want me to stay closer to you, right?” he asked, his voice softer, as if trying to meet her halfway. “I’ll move to Udaipur. But I can’t stay here.”

Abhira’s throat tightened, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “Bhai…”

“You should go home,” Abhir continued, his tone final. “I’ll check into a hotel. You can meet me whenever you want.”

Manish’s hands trembled, his age weighing on him more than ever. “Beta please don't go, if I could go back and change everything, I would.”

“But you can’t,” Abhir replied, the cold finality in his voice cutting deep.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unbreakable.

Then, without another word, Abhir turned away once more.

Abhira panicked, stepping forward, but Ruhi held her back.

“Let him go,” Ruhi murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Abhira turned to her, shocked. “Ruhi, how can you—”

Ruhi’s own eyes were filled with tears as she looked at her brother’s retreating figure. “He needs time,” she whispered. “Forcing him to stay here will only make things worse.”

Abhira’s shoulders slumped. She knew Ruhi was right. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

As the heavy door swung shut behind Abhir, the house that had once been filled with warmth and love now felt emptier than ever.

Abhira wanted to fight, to beg him to stay, but she saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the years of hurt that no amount of persuasion could erase.

Manish closed his eyes, as if bracing himself for a pain he had long ignored.

Charu and Kiara stood near the staircase, silent spectators to the emotional storm that had just unfolded before them.

Abhir’s words, the raw anguish in his voice, and the broken expressions on the faces of the Goenkas lingered like an unshakable heaviness in the air.

Kiara swallowed hard, her eyes still locked on the door Abhir had just walked out of.

She had always known there was something haunting about Rudra through the pain woven into his songs—the deep vulnerability, the melancholy that clung to every lyric he sang. But she had never realized just how deep his wounds ran.

Leaning toward Charu, she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness, “I always knew he had a painful past, that something haunted him… but I never imagined it was this brutal.”

Charu remained silent, her gaze distant. She had spent years dealing with her own share of heartbreaks and  resentment towards her own father, but watching Abhir unravel in front of his family—watching the pain consume him—felt heavy.

For the first time, she wasn’t just seeing Abhir the egoistic rockstar. She was seeing a man who had been forced to carry the weight of abandonment, betrayal, and grief since childhood.

A man who had spent years building walls around himself, only for them to crack the moment he stepped into the house that should have been his safe haven.

Kiara suddenly stepped forward, as if making up her mind. “I think I need to go check on him,” she said with determination. “He looks too broken, Charu Di.”

Just as she moved to follow him, Charu caught her arm, stopping her.

“No,” Charu said firmly, shaking her head. “Not now.”

Kiara looked at her, confused. “But—”

“We both have seen first hand how he behaves in anger,” Charu said softly but with conviction. “This isn’t just pain, Kiara. This is years of bottled-up betrayal, grief, and resentment breaking free all at once. Right now, he doesn’t need comfort. He needs space to process this, or else he’ll just push people away.”

Kiara nodded helplessly, biting her lip. She understood what Charu was saying. But watching Abhir storm out, looking so shattered, left a gnawing ache in her chest.

For so long, she had admired him from a distance. Rudra was the voice that had given life to her emotions, the singer whose melodies felt like poetry woven in pain. She had thought it was just an innocent crush—an admiration for the artist behind the lyrics.

But now, standing here, witnessing his pain firsthand, she realized it was so much more than that.

She didn’t just admire Abhir.

She has started to fall for him as a person genuinely.

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