28. Realisation

As Shivaay sat back down in his study, his fingers pressed against his temples in frustration. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting thoughts, each louder than the last. He wasn't used to this-this storm of guilt and confusion that refused to leave him. For a man like him, emotions were a tool, never a weakness, but tonight, they felt like a shackle dragging him into an abyss he didn't understand.

His thoughts drifted back to Niharika's face, her tear-streaked cheeks, and the fire in her eyes when she defended herself. He had never seen anyone so vulnerable yet so unbreakable at the same time.

"I've never hurt any woman," he thought, his jaw clenching as the realization settled heavily in his chest. "Never. Not with words, not with actions. Then why did I do this to her? Why did I hurt her like this?"

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, as he buried his face in his hands. Every moment from their marriage replayed in his mind-the way he had dismissed her, the cruel words he had thrown at her, and the assumptions he had made without even giving her a chance to explain.

He wasn't this man. Shivaay Singh Ranawat was ruthless, yes, but he had always been fair. He had always prided himself on his ability to judge people accurately. But with Niharika, he had failed. Miserably.

Her words echoed in his mind: "You are more pathetic than my parents... I hate you... very, very much."

He winced at the memory. Her voice, trembling with anger and pain, cut deeper than he cared to admit. He had wronged her, and the worst part was that she hadn't deserved any of it.

"Why?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room. "Why did I say those things? Why did I let my anger and pride blind me to the truth?"

A part of him whispered the answer, one he wasn't ready to confront: fear. He had lashed out because the idea of someone else being important to her, someone who wasn't him, had ignited a jealousy he didn't want to acknowledge. It was irrational, yes, but it was there, festering like a wound he didn't know how to heal.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. His hand reached for the glass of water on the table, but even as he drank, it felt like he was swallowing sand. Nothing could quench the unease in his heart.

His eyes fell on a framed photograph on his desk. It was a picture of his family taken years ago, a reminder of the values he had been taught. Respect. Honor. Responsibility. He had always upheld those values, hadn't he? Then why had he failed so spectacularly when it came to Niharika?

"I don't deserve her forgiveness," he thought, his hands balling into fists. "Not after what I said, what I did. But..."

His gaze hardened, determination replacing the guilt in his eyes. "But I won't let this be the end. I will fix this. For her. For us."

He stood abruptly, his tall frame casting a shadow over the room as he looked out of the window. The cool night air brushed against the glass, but inside, Shivaay was burning with a resolve he hadn't felt in years.

She might hate him now, and he didn't blame her. But he wouldn't rest until he made things right. Until he proved to her-and to himself-that he was worthy of her forgiveness.

Shivaay couldn't focus anymore, no matter how much he tried. The book lay open on his desk, but the words blurred into meaningless lines. His mind kept returning to Niharika-her anger, her tears, and the way she had locked herself in her room.

Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh and stood up. Tossing the book aside, he grabbed his blazer, though he didn't bother putting it on, and stepped out of the study. His heart was heavier than it had ever been as he walked through the quiet corridor toward her room.

Pausing outside her door, he hesitated for a moment. What could he even say to her? Sorry? That seemed far too small for the weight of his mistakes. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to summon the courage to knock.

He raised his hand but then stopped, pressing his palm against the wooden door instead. His voice was low but firm as he said, "Niharika... I know you're awake."

There was no response.

"I just..." He paused, struggling to find the right words. "I wanted to check on you. I know I don't deserve a conversation, but-" He stopped, swallowing the lump in his throat.

The silence on the other side of the door was deafening.

Shivaay leaned his forehead against the door, closing his eyes. "I know I've hurt you... more than anyone ever should. And if I could take back everything I said, everything I did today, I would. But I can't. All I can do is ask you to let me try to make it right."

Still, there was no response.

He exhaled sharply and took a step back. "I'll wait here," he said softly. "If you need anything. Even if you just want me to leave you alone, I'll do that too. But please... just let me know you're okay."

For a moment, it felt like he was talking to the door itself, and he wondered if she'd ever forgive him. But then he heard the faintest sound-a muffled sniffle, barely audible, but it was enough to tell him that she was crying.

His fists clenched at his sides, the guilt clawing at him even more fiercely. He couldn't bear the thought of her crying alone because of him. But he knew he couldn't force his way in.

"Niharika," he said again, his voice softer this time. "I'll be here. Whenever you're ready to talk."

And with that, he sat down on the floor outside her door, his back against the wall. For the first time in his life, Shivaay Singh Ranawat was willing to wait as long as it took for someone.