17 . His pain is mine
"His Bindani "
Happy reading yrra's ðâ¨
As he bid her goodnight, it took her a full five seconds to process his words. A lazy realization dawned on her: she was always the one falling asleep. Be it night, morning, afternoon, or even the stillness of midnight, she seemed to spend most of her time drifting off, lost in the embrace of sleep. She shrugged to herself, dismissing it as just another familiar habit. After all, what harm could it do? Sleep was simply her way of passing the time.
Raghav pov
As I entered the room next to hers, knowing that the one which used to be mine no longer belongs to me, a strange sense of loss washed over me. Her reaction caught me off guardâsometimes it feels like sheâs distant, almost as if Iâve wronged her. He was her real brother, after all. But still, no one, absolutely no one, has the right to touch her, harm her, or even cast their gaze on her face. Her beautiful, beautiful face, those eyes that always seem to hold arrogance and innocence togetherâexpressing a hundred emotions at once.
Yet, in moments like these, I feel this undeniable pull toward her, a need for her presence. Today, when she held my hand as I gently laid her on the bed, the way her fingers clung to mineâthere was something so pure, so mesmerizing about it. The innocence in her touch made my heart ache and swell at the same time. I donât know what this feeling is, but it's beautiful in its unfamiliarity. Seeing her like this makes me feel something deeper than words can express.
I crafted those bangles not because she asked for them, but because they reminded me of my mother. My maa sa always loved wearing unique bangles, ones that symbolized protection and foresight. When I saw her for the first time, I couldnât help but draw a comparison to my mother, even though they are worlds apart. Itâs not a competition, but I couldnât stop myself from seeing the resemblance in spirit. Her small, delicate handsâalways trying to grasp my larger ones, never quite succeeding, but always trying.
Maa sa always had a way of thinking beyond the present, always preparing for the future, and I admired that about her. Even when I was too young to understand fully, I remember feeling awe at her strength and foresight.
The way she holds my handâit does something to me. Thereâs no real explanation for why it makes me feel good. Itâs odd because happiness isnât something Iâve ever really known, not in my life. But somehow, with her, Iâm enjoying moments, even though Iâve always believed happiness wasnât meant for me. I never had plans for a wife, never even thought about including someone in my life. But she came into it, and before I could even understand what was happening, I had already let her in.
When her brother speaks, itâs strange. His words, though meant for her, feel like theyâre directed at me too, as if sheâs not just his sister but someone I already consider mine. Itâs unsettling how much that affects me.
Sometimes she seems happy, other times confused, and I canât tell if sheâs content with everything around her. She often brings up the idea of divorce, and I donât oppose it, but I never agree either. My ancestors always taught me that relationships are meant to be understood and nurtured. You donât break them when they get difficultâyou learn from them, strengthen them. Maybe thatâs why Iâm still here, even though I donât fully understand whatâs happening between us.
But still, why does she keep asking for the one thing Iâve already said no to? Why does she want to leave me, leave this place? These questions have been spinning in my mind all this time, like a storm I canât escape.
Even now, despite everything, as madam instructed, I didnât touch any work today. Not a single thing. Itâs strange how much control she seems to have over my actions, even when I donât want her to.
*(Readers in the background: "Itna to banta hai!")*
But I canât avoid the most pressing matter, the one thatâs waiting for me in that very roomâmy personal and only *saale sahab*.
Still drenched in blood, tied up in the corner. As I entered, the air thickened, the heat rising with my every step. I ordered a guard to bring a bucket of acid.
Taking a seat, I slipped on the protective glovesâsomething I usually donât bother with. But this time, the stakes were different. The tension in *rani saaâs* eyes, the fear that glistened in her tearsâthatâs the last thing I want for our future.
I much prefer her in her fierce form, when she gives me orders or flashes those fiery, angry eyes at me. Thatâs the side of her I adore. Sure, her puppy eyes are cute when sheâs pleading with me, but I canât stand the idea of her asking for anything. Sheâs my queenâher place isnât to request, but to command. And Iâll make sure she never has to beg me again.
She is the queen of the world, yet she remains unaware of her own power. The Crimson Empireâan empire built on blood, the blood of enemies and traitorsâis mine, and Iâve grown to love it. She might turn a blind eye to that part of my life, but I want her to be strong enough to stand tall, even in that brutal world. Itâs trueâIâd do anything for my queen. But what I fear most is that someone could hurt her in my absence, or worse, if something happened to me one day.
I can't bear the thought of her being left alone and helpless. Sheâs not just my queen; sheâs a queen who deserves to be treated as such. A queen must always live like a queenânever in need, never vulnerable. And Iâll make sure sheâs ready for that, no matter what the future holds.
As soon as I finished prepping, the guards handed me the bucket. Without a second thought, I stood up and hurled the acidâillegal, lethal stuff that melts human skin in less than a secondâright at him. But not before saying, *"Jis desh mein Pooja unhe, tune waha unka vyapar kiya"* (In a land where they are worshipped, you made them a business), *"Aaj mai tujhe batata hoon, ye desh tujh jaise daanvon ko kaise poojta hai"* (Today, Iâll show you how this land worships demons like you).
By the time I finished my words, his skin had already melted away, dissolving into nothing but bone. What was once a man had now become just a skeleton, stripped of all humanity in mere moments.
It was a sight that should have horrified any normal person. But instead, I found myself smiling. For the first time, killing someone this brutally didnât just feel like a necessityâit brought me joy, a twisted sense of satisfaction that seemed to rise straight from my heart.
Ah, thanks to this filthy work, my clothes were slightly ruined. So, I changed themâit was my first time doing so here, when they didnât even have full stains yet. If itâs blood on them because of her, well, whatever it is, itâs fine by me. I guess I can live with that.
The bandages remained unchanged. I wasn't sure if it was because they were amusingly cute or if they somehow felt strong enough to hold on a bit longer. I, a king, yet here I am, with a small sticker on my bandage â a playful mark I know for certain my queen placed while I was lost in my thoughts. I could almost picture her smiling softly as she did it, a gentle tease for her absent-minded king. As soon as I noticed, I left for home, eager to find her and ask about this sweet little gesture.
Siya pov
Jindagi khudgarj thi ya mai samjh nahi aata, jisse kuchh na chaha usse samnam Mila or jispe sabse jyada bharosa kiya usse dhoka, fareb sab kuchh Mila.
(I donât understand if life was selfish or if I was; the one I didnât want gave me respect, and the one I trusted the most betrayed me, giving me deceit and everything hurtful.)
Mere apno ne becha mujhe,
Gairo ne sambhala hai.
(My own people sold me, but strangers took care of me.)
Mere jindagi tuti thi,
Kisi bikhare ne sambhala hai.
(My life was shattered, but someone broken helped me hold it together.)
Khud ko chhod mera khayal rakha,
Apne aasu chupaye mera shahara bana hai.
(He neglected himself to care for me, hid his tears and became my support.)
Rishta jo bhi mera,
Magar safe feel karti hu.
(Whatever our relationship is, I feel safe.)
Uske pass hone se,
Mai bilkul nhi darti hu.
(When heâs around, Iâm not afraid at all.)
Vo pass rahe to sukoon sa hota hai,
Mere liye mere apni se ladta dekh usse aaj Khushi huyi, dhukh hua, dart hua magar achha tha jo bhi tha bura to nhi tha.
(When heâs close, I feel at peace; seeing him fight with my own people brought me happiness, sorrow, fear, but it was good â it wasnât bad.)
Kuchh galt nahi laga.
(Nothing felt wrong.)
Ek pal ko sukoon mila laga yahi to chati thi mai.
(For a moment, I found peace â this is what I had wanted.)
Fir dusre hi pal yuh Mamta sa ahesas hua.
(But then, in the next moment, I felt a motherly affection.)
Kya ye jaruri tha?
(Was this necessary?)
Mgr glti bhi to ki thi na.
(But I had made a mistake, hadnât I?)
Becha tha mujhe.
(He had sold me.)
Mara tha mujhe.
(He had hurt me.)
Kya mai ye deserve karti thi?
(Did I deserve this?)
Ladki hu mai, gudiya to nhi, jb haha chaha bhej diya.
(I am a girl, not a doll, to be sent away whenever they wish.)
As I lay there, my thoughts drifted back to the car ride, an intense blur of anxiety and care. He had been desperately trying to rouse me, his every move filled with a mix of urgency and fear. Despite his relentless efforts, my eyelids remained stubbornly shut, a barrier I couldnât cross even though I was acutely aware of his distress.
His heart was pounding with a fierce, irregular beat, like a drum echoing the terror of the moment. Each beat seemed to resonate with his fear and the gravity of the situation. I could almost feel the vibrations of his heartbeat through the shared space between us, a reminder of how close we were, even as I lay immobilized by my own unresponsiveness.
In a moment of desperation, I reached for his hands, feeling them envelop mine with a comforting strength. As I clung to him, the size of his hands struck meâvast and enveloping, almost double the size of my own. They felt like anchors in a stormy sea, grounding me despite my disoriented state. His hands, so much larger and stronger, were a symbol of his unyielding support and protection. In that brief touch, I felt a profound sense of security, as if his very presence was enough to shield me from any threat. Even as I struggled to stay awake, his hands reassured me that he was there, steadfast and unwavering, a pillar of strength in the midst of chaos.
The pain in his hands, those injured, bruised hands, pierced my heart. I don't even know why I reacted the way I did, but somehow his pain felt like my own, like something I couldn't just ignore. It must be hurting him so much, his heart must be crying too.
I leaned forward, gently blowing on his hands, hoping it might ease the pain, even if just a little. I didn't plan to say those words to him, but they slipped out naturally. And strangely, it felt... right. Comforting.
But why did he do this to himself? Why did he hurt himself so brutally? Was it because of me? Was it because I held his hand? Or was it something else? Maybe because he had the courage to hold me in front of his guards? I don't know the reason, but at that moment, none of that mattered. I was only feeling his pain.
This relationship between us, I donât fully understand it yet. Yes, we are married, but Iâm only 19. I canât do this... not now, not like this.
SUkriya ji ð
Love you all ð
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