Chapter 13: 13. Anklets

Third person's pov:

Mayura's eyes widened in horror as she took in the sight of Abhimaan standing before her, his hands covered in blood, his knuckles raw and bleeding. A chill ran down her spine as she struggled to process what she was seeing. Abhimaan's usual calm and composed demeanor was replaced by a fierce intensity, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and guilt.

"Abhimaan, whose blood is this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart racing with fear.

Abhimaan didn't answer. He stood there, his gaze fixed on a point beyond her, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

Mayura took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching out instinctively. She hesitated, unsure if she should get closer. "Abhimaan, please, tell me what happened," she pleaded, her voice trembling with concern.

But Abhimaan remained silent, his eyes locked on some distant point.

Her mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Who was hurt? Who was bleeding? A name flashed in her mind, a name that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Abhimaan, is Rajveer alive?" she asked, her voice barely audible, her eyes fixed on his face, searching for any sign of truth.

Abhimaan’s expression shifted abruptly. His eyes snapped back into focus, meeting hers with a mixture of shock and surprise. He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

Mayura’s eyes widened in disbelief. "He's alive?" she repeated, her voice laced with astonishment.

Abhimaan’s gaze dropped to his bloodstained hands, his shoulders squaring as if preparing for a blow .

He had been consumed by his rage, and now he was afraid she would be repulsed by him.

"You thought I would be scared of you," Mayura said firmly, her eyes locked onto his face. "You thought I would turn away, but I won’t."

Abhimaan's gaze snapped up, searching her face with a mix of guilt and surprise. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t anticipated that Mayura would stand by him, facing the darkness within him.

Mayura’s gentle touch and calm demeanor seemed to soothe Abhimaan’s frayed nerves. Without a word, she led him to the washroom. His eyes never left her face, searching for any sign of fear or disgust, but Mayura’s expression remained serene, her eyes filled with deep understanding and compassion.

She took him to bathroom.

She turned on the tap and began to clean the blood from his hands, her touch gentle and soothing. Each stroke was tender, as if she were washing away not just the physical evidence of his brutality but also the emotional scars. Abhimaan’s gaze remained locked on her face, seeking redemption and forgiveness in her eyes.

As she finished cleaning his hands, Mayura looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. "Take a bath, Abhimaan," she said softly. "You need to wash away the blood and the pain."

Abhimaan nodded, his eyes still fixed on hers. He began to undress, his movements mechanical, as if he were in a trance. Mayura helped him, her touch gentle and careful, her eyes never leaving his face.

As he stepped into the bath, Mayura turned to leave, but Abhimaan’s voice stopped her. "Mayura," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She turned back to him, her eyes locking onto his. "Yes, Abhimaan?"

Abhimaan’s gaze searched hers, filled with deep sadness. "Thank you," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you for not leaving me and for not calling me Mr. Shekhawat."

Mayura’s face softened, tears welling in her eyes. "Abhimaan," she said softly.

With that, she turned and walked out of the washroom, leaving Abhimaan alone with his thoughts.

Later, as Abhimaan walked into the living room, his fresh clothes starkly contrasting with the bloodstained ones he had worn earlier, he looked around the room. His gaze landed on Mayura, who was sitting on the couch, her eyes fixed on the TV as she watched the news. Her expression was somber, and next to her on the coffee table was a first-aid box, its contents spilling out.

He approached quietly, his footsteps soft on the carpet. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Mayura turned to him. The depth of understanding and compassion in her gaze struck him profoundly, and he knew he was not alone in his struggle.

I sat down, my gaze fixed on Mayura as she began tending to my hands. Her touch was remarkably gentle, each stroke soothing despite the gravity of the situation. But my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and questions.

Why wasn't she scared of me? I had just tortured Rajveer, my hands stained with his blood, and yet here she was, treating my wounds with the care of a devoted nurse. Any other woman would have fled in terror, horrified by my brutality. But not Mayura. Why?

Her eyes met mine, and for a fleeting moment, we simply stared at each other. I saw something in her gaze—an understanding that seemed impossible. And yet, here she was, tending to my wounds with such tenderness. I felt a pang of guilt and shame and looked away, my eyes dropping to the floor. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve her.

Mayura’s touch remained gentle, her hands soft and soothing as she worked in silence, her movements efficient and precise. When she finished, she sat back, her eyes still on mine.

“Abhimaan,” she said softly, her voice steady. “We need to talk.”

I nodded, my throat dry, my heart pounding with anxiety. What was she going to say? Was she going to leave me? I braced myself for the worst, keeping my eyes locked on hers, waiting for her words.

As she spoke, I felt a surge of anger, a fierce desire to go back in time and inflict more pain on Rajveer for daring to harm my wife. But Mayura’s next words stopped me cold.

“It’s not your fault, Abhimaan,” she said, her voice tender and reassuring. “That night, you weren’t in your right mind. You were drugged . You didn’t know what you were doing.”

A lump formed in my throat as I looked at her, her eyes filled with compassion and understanding. She was forgiving me, absolving me of my guilt and shame. But I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness.

“Mayura,” I whispered, my voice breaking with emotion. “I don’t deserve this. I hurt you. I caused you pain and suffering.”

Her face softened, tears filling her eyes. “You were innocent too, Abhimaan. You were hurt and drugged. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

Her words were a balm to my tormented soul, soothing my guilt and shame. I nodded, my eyes never leaving her face. She needed time to heal, to recover from the trauma inflicted by Rajveer’s betrayal and my subsequent actions. I understood that and was determined to give her all the time and space she needed.

But when she mentioned that she might flinch when I was near her, my heart ached. I didn’t want to be the cause of her pain, even if it was just a physical reaction. I wanted to be the one to comfort her, to make her feel safe.

“Mayura,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I understand. I’ll give you all the time you need. I’ll be patient. I’ll be here for you, whenever you’re ready to face me, to face us.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, a small, gentle nod. “I know, Abhimaan,” she said. “I know you will. And I’ll try to heal, to overcome this. But please, don’t mind if I flinch or pull away. It’s not because of you, it’s because of what happened. It’s because of the trauma.”

I nodded, my throat tight with emotion. “I won’t mind, Mayura.”

Then I remembered something and quickly got up from the couch, leaving Mayura looking confused. I rushed to our room, my heart racing with a renewed sense of purpose. I knew exactly what I was looking for. I opened the drawer and retrieved the jewelry box my mother had given her—the traditional jewelry of the daughter-in-law in our family.

Returning to the living room, I pulled out the anklets from the box. Mayura looked up at me, her eyes questioning.

“Why didn’t you wear these?” I asked, my voice laden with emotion.

Her expression shifted, and she looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was just a business deal for you, Abhimaan. I thought it wouldn’t be right to wear them.”

I looked at her, regret filling my eyes. I had told her that our marriage was nothing but a business arrangement, and now she didn’t feel comfortable wearing the anklets that symbolized our union. But I wanted her to wear them, to show that she was mine, that she was my wife.

I knelt before her, reaching out to take her feet. Mayura protested, her voice firm yet gentle. “Abhimaan, no, please don’t touch my feet. It’s not right.”

But I couldn’t stop myself. I gently grasped her ankles, my fingers wrapping around them with a tender grip. Mayura tried to pull away, but I held firm, my eyes locked on hers.

“Please, Mayura,” I said, my voice low and husky. “Just wear them. For me, if not for yourself.”

I slowly slid the anklets onto her feet, my fingers grazing her skin. She shivered, her eyes never leaving mine. I saw the protest in her eyes, but also a glimmer of acceptance she couldn’t hide.

“Okay, Abhimaan,” she said finally, her voice cold and detached. “I’ll wear the anklets. But I want something in return.”

I looked up at her, curiosity piqued. “What do you want, Mayura?”

Her eyes narrowed, a fierce intensity blazing within. “I want to see Rajveer. I want to see him suffering. He tried to hurt me; now it’s my turn.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I looked at her, her eyes ablaze with a vengeful fire. This was the woman who had almost beaten me in a game of chase. My wife. I realized, with a mix of awe and obsession, that Mayura was different. She wasn’t scared of blood, nor did she flinch at the brutality I had inflicted. She accepted me for who I was and wasn’t afraid of getting closer.

And now it was my turn to accept her fully as my wife, as my life partner.