71

The last chapter. It's over, guys. Say good bye to your favourite Rudra and his Esther.

-• the beginning •-

Rudra

Two Weeks Later

The blue door opens, and they bring the man in. I sit straight in my chair, legs crossed, my encompassed hands resting on my right knee. He shrugs off the constable's hands before sitting down in front of me, a glass barrier in place between us.

"What's your name?" He asks me.

"Rudra."

His impassive face loses its color. The realisation dawns in. "It was you?"

I nod.

"It was always you."

I nod again.

"You know that you didn't win, right?" He lunges forward, placing his cuffed hands on the desk. The constable tries to hold him back in case he lashes out and bangs on the glass but I stop him with a raise of my hand. It's a seventy year old man. What except pissing his pants is he capable of?

"I didn't?" I raise a brow.

"No." He shakes his head. "I might be sitting here, but I'm still more powerful than you."

"How so?"

"Because you were terrified, Rudra. You were terrified of facing me head-on. So you never even allowed me a fair fight. You played cheap tricks behind my back. Using Esther Industries, using your position as my son, using everything but honour and honesty. You took me down in the dark. You backstabbed me." He growls out. "Do you really think defeating me would have been possible if I had known your reality?" He scoffs out a chuckle and slumps back in his chair. "You're a coward. You all are. So this doesn't really mean anything. I still won."

I nod. "True. If I had to face you head on, I possibly would have lost."

His shoulders rise from their slouch.

"Because you're rabid, Abhimanyu." I spit out.

His eyes glaze with raw fury.

"And you know what they do with rabid animals?" I lean in, my tone condescending. "They chain them, cage them, and then shoot them dead. Because they're a virus. Only braves deserve a fair fight. Not rabids like you."

"I trusted you!" He screams.

"Told you, man, never owed you any loyalty."

He rubs his hands across his face. "The launch! The launch. You ruined everything."

I nod. "Yeah, that kind of was the plan."

"How did you survive?" He asks me, looking into my eyes with intrigue, searching for the answers he thinks he deserves. He doesn't. But I'm not one to lose an opportunity. If he wants me to rub the salt on his wounds, be my guest.

"Your son." I tell him. "He realised the similarities I share with your youngest son. So he kept me alive in hopes I'll replace Shourya one day in future and handover the Rajawat fortune to him." I chuckle, shaking my head in mock amusement. "By the way, your son is with me right now." His eyes grow wide in shock. "Shourya is in the car outside. I suggested he meets you, but he said he's fine. He doesn't remember you anyway. He hates you."

Abhimanyu stares at me unblinkingly before he bursts out laughing. And he laughs until the tears spill out of his eyes. He laughs until his weak ass lungs struggle to pump oxygen in his body, causing him to fall in a fit of coughs. The constable brings him a glass of water but he shoves it away, and the metal glass falls to the floor, a sharp clank resounding across the room.

And then he breaks out in tears. He sobs. His body shudders, right in front of me, hunched forward in the chair, he cries so loud the sound pierces the silence, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be. My peace lies in his chaos. And I watch in absolute content as he falls apart a few feet away from me. His body crashes to the floor, knees on the ground, shoulders caving in, and he buries his face in his hands, crying unrestrained, until he has to gasp for breath.

Twenty five years.

It took me twenty five years to reach this moment.

I get up and button my blazer.

"I didn't know about your dementia. Death is a blessing for you. The last sliver of mercy from the gracious hands of humanity. You're lucky. Because you don't deserve it."

Turning around, I put on my sunglasses and walk out of the room, heading down the narrow hallway. Stopping at the front desk, I note down my exit time in the entry book and thank the officers for their assistance.

Shourya looks up from his phone and watches me through the windshield as I make my way to the car. Sliding on the driver's seat, I put on my seatbelt and pull back on the road.

He's quiet for the first five minutes, but his restless hands fidget around, fiddling with the volume control, dashboard, and the visor.

"Do I make you nervous, Shourya?"

He flinches hearing my voice. Then he spares me a glance but quickly looks away when I turn to meet his eyes.

"Do I?"

"A little." He mumbles. "Do you hate me?"

"Hate you? Why?" I ask softly.

"We look the same. Except for our eyes. It's slightly creepy. We're not even twins."

"We've inherited most of our mother's features. And no, I don't hate you. I did in the past. But after you went into coma, the only thing I felt towards you was guilt."

He nods. "Good to know. I don't want us to hate each other."

"Then what do you want?" I probe.

"Nothing," he whispers. "Where are you taking me?"

I picked him up from the Veer Mahal this morning. The prison fell on our way, and I felt the need to stop, meet the old man one last time. I want him to remember my face when he takes his last breath. The man who looks the same as his son, the man who destroyed him and he didn't ever see it coming.

"To the person you'll be living with from now onwards." I answer.

I park my car in the visitors' parking lot of the apartment building. He gets out after me and I lead him inside the humongous lobby. We take the elevator to the top floor and the doors open to reveal a lavish, fully furnished loft.

I step out and he follows me, dragging his suitcase along.

Sara rounds the open kitchen island upon noticing us. Stirring the spoon in her honey lemon water, she approaches us with warm eyes, sans any smile. I don't think I've ever seen this woman smiling. Not genuinely at least.

"Shourya?"

The young man next to me stands ram rod straight, as if he has to impress this woman somehow.

"I'm Sara Rajawat," she holds out her empty hand to him.

He shakes it firmly. "Shourya."

She nods and pulls her hand back. "I'm Virendra's daughter. We have a slightly complicated relationship, but let's just consider each other cousins. That's much better."

Shourya nods obediently.

"Your room is on the left," she points past his shoulder. "There are no maids here, and there will be none in future. I expect you to clean up after yourself when you make a mess. Sometimes I'll cook, and sometimes our uncle. It's okay if you don't know how to, but you'll have to wash the dishes. There are no rules here. Consider it your home. You can bring friends, if you've any, or your girlfriends. I don't care. Just make sure your private escapades don't cause any sort of inconvenience to others. I've had your room cleaned this morning, you can go ahead and settle down."

Shourya nods obediently, hauls his bag with its handle and throws me a last glance before walking away.

"Your father went to the supermarket an hour ago to pick up the groceries,"

My head snaps to her, "Sorry?"

"You kept looking around. I thought you were searching for him." She shrugs and settles down on the grey sectional sofa. I sit down across from her on the divan.

"No, I was just looking around the house. They did a good job with the interior and all."

She nods.

"So, how's the relocation coming along?"

"Good." Putting the spoon down, she puts the rim to her mouth and takes a sip. "Is there anything I can help you with?" She sounds curious, but there's no way to tell if she's genuinely interested or just wants me to get the fuck out of her place. I assume the latter.

"No." I get up and stuff my hands into my pockets. "Have a great day ahead."

She nods, leans back, and fixes her gaze outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping quietly on her drink. I peel my eyes off the woman, turn and head inside the elevator that takes me back to the ground floor.

During the drive back home, I receive a call from my wife and the tension that has been rolling off me in waves since this morning disappears in an instant. I quickly lean over to accept the call. "Hey,"

"Rudra, where are you? You told me you'd be back by one. It's three in the afternoon and I'm doing everything on my own- HEY!" Janet's offended screech makes me chuckle. Ignoring her, Tara continues, "Do you know how much clothes you have? When did you become such a fashionista?" She grumbles. "I remember you only had one jacket back in the college."

"No, he had many, in just different colours. Your husband is a psycho." Janet grunts.

"Throw her out." I tell Taranya.

"I'm leaving anyway, you loser. I've a date. My boyfriend doesn't make me wait, unlike you."

"I don't make my wife wait either."

"Yeah, your wife just talked my ear off how much of a workaholic you are. You've no room to defend yourself."

"Fuck off. I'm getting better. Tell her, Taranya."

"Mahashay, aap pehle Ghar toh aaye!" She jabs.

Janet laughs. "I don't know what she said, but you deserve it."

"Whatever. I'll be home in twenty." Rolling my eyes, I hang up on the women.

To pacify my angry wife, I buy some flowers on my way back home. Twenty minutes later, I'm parking my car in the underground lot and making my way towards the elevator. It opens on our apartment floor and I walk out, holding the bouquet in front of my face after I ring the doorbell.

Taranya opens a few seconds later.

"Hey!" I yank the bouquet down.

Taranya bursts out in tears.

"Fuck! I'm sorry. Is it because I'm late?" I steer the sobbing woman back inside the house. She shakes her head, clinging to me as if I'm about to disappear in thin air. "Then is it because of the flowers?" She shakes her head again. "Did I do something?" I drop the flowers on the drawer chest and surround my arms around her petite body, rubbing her back soothingly. "What's wrong, Esther? At least tell me if they're happy tears or sad tears? Is it mood swings? PMS?" Then, I gasp. "Are you pregnant?"

She chuckles through her tears.

"No?"

A shake of her head before she buries her face in my chest. "Then what is it?" When she pulls away, it's to show me a piece of paper she holds in her hand. I frown. "I was unpacking your suitcase when I found this," and she cries again. I take the paper from her, turning it around to see what it is that has my wife crying like she's mourning a death.

My heart comes to a startling stop upon realising it's the letter I wrote for her, and the stunned organ restarts with an erratic rhythm that echoes in my ears.

"When did you write it?"

I pull away gently, lowering my gaze to the floor. I don't know whether I'm embarrassed or vulnerable. Maybe both. While I always hoped she reads this letter one day, I don't think I was fully ready for when the day actually comes. I had laid my soul bare on a piece of paper and I was afraid she'll tear it down to shreds and step over them to walk out of my life. But here she is, tears rolling down her cheeks, a heartstopping smile etched across her pretty face.

"When did you write it?" She steps closer, her hands clutching at my shirt desperately.

"The night you left to London."

She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "You're telling me you wrote this for me four years ago?"

I nod.

"Why did you never give it to me?"

"You didn't love me. You still don't." I whisper.

"Oh, but I do." She tilts her head to the side, a painstakingly beautiful smile playing on her lips.

That's it. That's where it ends. That's where I should have ended.

Because the time stops.

The moment stops.

Everything freezes.

Or maybe it's just me. As if the purpose of my existence lies in this exact moment, in the words she says, in my willing heart as it almost jumps out of my chest to hear her more.

"Wh- what did you just say?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I don't think I even hear it. I just know the question came out of my chaotic thoughts, for it's the only question that makes sense. Because I still can't believe if I'm hallucinating or if it's really happening.

"I love you."

"No, you don't." I shake my head softly, unable to believe the words.

"But I do. I love you. And I may not be able to express myself as poetically as you did, because c'mon, I'm dumb." She chuckles through her tears. And my own fill the threshold of my eyes. "But I just know that I love you. I love you so much it's almost like I can't breathe if you're not around." She animates using her hands, and I quickly wipe away my tears, because I need to see her. "I love you, Rudra. And I know that you know. You have to. Like c'mon, you had me crazy since I was sixteen! My friend used to call me mentally unstable for liking you. But I didn't care. When it comes to you, Rudra, I just don't give a fuck. You're so much more than just a man for me." She cups my face. "You're my soulmate. You're my confidante. You're my friend. You're my partner. I'm only ever complete with you. We're a team. Fifty-fifty. Always. And my fifty only ever wants your fifty. With anyone else, I'm either ten or a ninety, but not with you. Together we're equal, together we're one entity and two existences. Together we're us."

I fall apart. I fall apart like I'm meant to be in pieces with her. Because I want her to own every part of me. I want her to have me with the last sliver of my existence. I want her to see me through the crevices, through the chipped corners and uneven edges. And I want her to love them. I want her to love them so selflessly, so deeply, that they don't care if they're in pieces as long as they're with her, because with her they're whole even if not one.

She anchors when my legs give in, holding me tightly as I bury my face in the crook of her neck and sob muffled, wrapping my arms tightly around her waist, clinging onto her desperately.

She calms me down.

With her around, everything is just better. Even the most painful breakdowns. As long as she's with me, I'm fine.

Pulling away, I cup her face in my hands and look into her bright blue oceans. "I love you."

"And I love you."

"Thank you."

She shakes her head, tenderly brushing away the tears that roll down my eyes. "I don't love you out of obligation or gratitude. I love you because I have to. I just have to, Rudra."

I sigh shakily. "You've no idea how painful it was to love you all alone. It's like a ship loving the sea. I was wrecked, and I was sinking, and you just kept on coming at me in raging, crushing waves. I could not fathom how to breathe. But that's before I realised wrecked ships don't die in the sea-"

"They live there." She smiles tearfully.

I nod. "They live there. I live in you, Taranya."

She hugs me tightly. I sigh in content. There's nowhere else I'd be for the rest of my life.

When we pull away, I pick up the bouquet of white roses from the chest and hand it over to her. "Roses?" She inhales deeply, beaming up at me excitedly. "I love white roses! I'll just go put them in the vase." I nod, watching her head into the kitchen and put the flowers in a glass until she gets a vase ready.

My phone chimes with a notification. I fish it out and unlock the device.

Niharika: about to board my flight back to Delhi.

I hit her a quick reply.

Me: safe journey

Niharika: thank you for everything.

Me: you don't have to thank me

Niharika: I do. And also, sorry for everything.

Me: you already said sorry

Niharika: I did. Because I'm sorry for a lot of things.

Me: It's all in the past now.

Niharika: yeah, I know. But I want to move on, so the last sorry. Have a great life ahead, Rudra.

I smile at the genuine response.

Me: you too.

Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I approach my wife in the kitchen and hug her from behind as she carefully arranges the flowers in the porcelain white vase. She throws me a smile over her shoulder. I lean in and steal a kiss.

"You know white roses represent new beginnings?" She muses fondly.

"They do?"

She hums.

"To our new beginning," she holds up the vase flaunting the white blooms.

I kiss the side of her head and inhale deeply. "To our new beginning."

This is my confession.

I have always been in love with Taranya Singh Chauhan.

-• the end •-