50. I will be back, butterfly!

Niharika was in the living room when a servant came running with a parcel in hand, saying, "Queen, a parcel has arrived for you." Her brow furrowed in curiosity as she took the package, noticing that it had no return address. She opened it carefully, her heart pounding as the rustling of paper filled the room.

Inside was a simple letter, folded neatly. She unfolded it, and as she read the short message, her breath caught in her throat:

"I will be back, butterfly."

Her hands trembled as she held the letter, her legs feeling like jelly. The word butterfly struck her like a bolt of lightning. Only one person had ever called her that—Kanishk.

Her mind raced back to the past, to a time when Kanishk was an important part of her life. He was her cousin, someone who once made her feel seen and special, but that was long ago. Why now? she thought. Why is he reaching out to her after all this time?

The room suddenly felt colder, the walls closing in around her. She whispered the name under her breath, almost as if saying it out loud would make it real, "Kanishk..."

Memories flooded her mind—their childhood, his sudden disappearance, and the unanswered questions that had haunted her since. She felt her heart race in both fear and confusion. Why had he sent her this letter? What did it mean that he was coming back?

Niharika’s legs wobbled beneath her, and she leaned against the table to steady herself. The past, it seemed, was not done with her yet.

Niharika’s heart pounded in her chest as she clutched the letter in her hands. She couldn’t keep her composure any longer. The emotions—fear, confusion, and something deeper she couldn’t quite place—rushed through her like a tidal wave. She moved quickly toward the staircase, trying her best to mask her turmoil. Her mind raced, but she forced herself to act as if nothing had happened.

But as she reached the corridor near Shivaay’s office, her legs seemed to give way. The weight of the letter, the words that still echoed in her mind, threatened to crush her. Without thinking, she ran to their bedroom, closing the door behind her with a quiet but decisive click.

Inside the room, she felt like the walls were closing in. She sank onto the edge of their bed, clutching the letter to her chest, trying to steady her erratic breathing. The familiar scent of the room did little to calm her nerves. Her hands trembled as she rested the letter beside her, her mind spiraling into memories she had tried so hard to forget.

Her breathing became more rapid as the haunting memories resurfaced—Kanishk, his playful smile, the way he used to protect her, and the sudden, unexplained distance that had come between them. The last time she had seen him, everything had changed. He was gone. Vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions.

She shut her eyes tightly, as if that could erase the visions in her mind. No, this isn’t real. He’s gone, she thought desperately, but the memory of his words echoed louder now than ever before. I will be back, butterfly...

Her hands clutched the bedspread tightly as her thoughts ran wild. She tried to push the memories away, to focus on the present, on Shivaay, but the ache in her chest wouldn't go away. She felt trapped, overwhelmed by the past crashing into her reality. And there, in the silence of the room, her heart ached for something she had lost long ago.

Niharika’s mind replayed that night over and over again, a haunting memory she had tried to bury deep inside her. The night when everything changed—when Kanishk, the person she had once trusted, had crossed a line.

She remembered how he had looked at her with intense eyes, his hands trembling as he reached for her. She had tried to push him away, tried to remind him of the bond they shared, but he wasn’t the same. His desperation, his need for something more, had clouded his judgment. The person she had known—the playful, caring Kanishk—was gone, replaced by a man she no longer recognized.

Her breath quickened as she recalled the forceful grip he had on her, the way he tried to control her, as though she were some object to possess. She could still feel the coldness of his hands, the sharpness in his voice when he said things that made no sense, things that cut deeper than she ever imagined. His words had stung, leaving scars that time couldn't heal.

Niharika, you belong to me. You always will. No one can take you away from me.

The weight of his words, the authority in his tone, had made her feel powerless. She had been just a shadow of herself, unable to escape, trapped in that moment that had shattered something inside her. She had begged him to stop, to listen, but he had only grown more aggressive, more determined to get what he wanted. It was the first time she had felt so helpless, and she hated herself for not being able to stop him.

Tears blurred her vision as she lay on the bed, her chest tightening with the weight of the memory. She had promised herself she would never let anyone have that kind of power over her again, yet here she was, tangled in the past and its torment.

Her breath hitched as she realized she couldn’t keep running from what had happened. Kanishk had once been a person she trusted, someone she thought would protect her. But now, his actions haunted her, and his words—I will be back—left her with a lingering fear that she couldn’t shake.

Niharika stepped into the bathroom, her heart still racing from the flood of emotions she couldn’t contain. The letter from Kanishk had shattered the fragile calm she had worked so hard to build. She needed to forget, even if just for a moment.

Her eyes were blurry with tears as she carefully unwrapped her teal green saree, the fabric slipping off her body like the weight of the past slipping from her shoulders. She needed to escape, to lose herself in something—anything—that could quiet her thoughts, if only for a while.

Without thinking, she stepped into the bathtub and sank down, the cold water from the shower hitting her skin like a sharp jolt. The droplets splashed over her, each one a fleeting distraction, like tiny needles pricking her mind to focus on the physical sensation instead of the emotional weight pressing down on her chest.

The cool water, which would have been a relief under any other circumstance, now seemed to only emphasize the shivers running down her spine. She closed her eyes, letting the water cascade over her body, but the memories—the images of Kanishk’s face, his words—kept resurfacing. I will be back, butterfly.

Her body trembled not just from the cold, but from the inner storm that refused to settle. She was wearing the saree she had worn just hours ago, its fabric now soaked, clinging to her skin like a second layer of sorrow. The water that should have been soothing only deepened her sense of helplessness.

Her breathing grew uneven as she clutched the fabric of her saree, now waterlogged and heavy, around her body. The cold didn’t numb the ache inside her. She could still feel the force of Kanishk’s grip, the weight of his control, and the suffocating dread that followed.

Sitting there, in the quiet, cold solitude of the bathtub, Niharika let herself feel everything—the fear, the anger, the confusion—and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to acknowledge the darkness that still lingered.

Why did he have to do this? she thought. Why did he have to come back into my life?

But deep down, she knew the answer. He was a part of her past, a part she couldn’t fully escape. And now, as the water swirled around her, she realized that no matter how far she tried to run, she could never erase the scars he had left.

And that terrified her.

Niharika’s fingers trembled as she harshly rubbed her hands over her shoulders and neck, as if trying to scrub away the lingering sensation of Kanishk’s touch. Her mind screamed for relief, her heart thudded in her chest with a wild desperation to rid herself of the overwhelming feeling of impurity she was drowning in.

She didn’t care that the water was cold, didn’t care that the pressure she applied to her skin made it sting. She just needed to erase it all—the touch, the forced intimacy, the helplessness. Every motion, every harsh sweep of her hands, was an attempt to cleanse herself, as though she could wash away the memories, the fear, the trauma that still clung to her like a second skin.

Why couldn’t she just let go? she thought, her breath shallow and frantic. Why did his presence still haunt her so deeply?

Her movements grew more frantic, more desperate, as if she could physically purge herself of the shame and disgust that had plagued her since that night. The tears she had held back for so long finally began to fall, mixing with the cold water cascading down her face.

It wasn’t working. No matter how hard she tried, the memories wouldn’t disappear. The reality of what had happened—what he had done—was still there, burned into her soul. The more she scrubbed, the more she felt the walls closing in, her breath caught in her throat, unable to escape.

She stopped, exhausted, her body trembling from the emotional and physical effort. The water continued to run over her, but it couldn’t wash away the ache in her chest. She sat there, in the cold, as if frozen in time, her heart breaking all over again.

Why does it still hurt so much?

The answer came slowly, painfully. Because it wasn’t just what he had done to her—it was the part of herself that she had lost in the process. The trust, the innocence, the sense of security that had been shattered with his cruelty.

Niharika sank lower into the water, her hands dropping limply by her sides. She knew she would never be able to fully escape from what Kanishk had done to her. But in that moment, as the water washed over her, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she could begin to heal. And that, even if it felt impossible, she could try to rebuild the parts of her that he had broken.

Niharika’s hands were still trembling as she stepped out of the bathtub, the cold water still clinging to her skin. She wrapped herself in a towel, feeling oddly disconnected from her own body. She tried to shake the haunting thoughts from her mind, but they lingered, pushing against her thoughts, threatening to break through.

In a daze, she walked towards the drawer by the bedside table, her eyes unfocused. She opened it with a shaky hand and rummaged through it, her fingers brushing past various items until they landed on the first aid kit. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to open it.

Inside, she found the usual contents—bandages, antiseptic wipes, cotton balls—but her eyes zeroed in on something else. A small, sharp pair of scissors.

She picked it up slowly, her mind clouded by an overwhelming urge to do something, anything, to feel in control. She stared at the scissors for a long moment, mesmerized by the cold metal, her wrist throbbing slightly under her gaze. The wild, chaotic thoughts swirled in her head like a storm, making it hard to think clearly.

Her fingers tightened around the scissors, the temptation growing stronger with each passing second. She wanted to feel something else. Anything else. A sharp pain, a release, a way to escape the internal turmoil that had taken over her life.

But just as the thoughts became too much, she snapped out of it. Her chest heaved, and the scissors fell from her hand onto the floor with a soft clink. Her breath quickened, and she backed away from the drawer, suddenly feeling dizzy and lightheaded.

What was she thinking?

Her mind was still reeling, but in that moment, she knew she couldn’t go down that path. Not now. Not like this. She couldn’t let the pain win, even though it seemed to consume her. With a deep, shuddering breath, she closed the drawer and stepped back, feeling both relieved and shaken.

She wasn’t ready to let go of herself—not like this. Not because of the memories of Kanishk, or the overwhelming shame. But she knew she needed help. Somehow, she would find a way out.

Niharika took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she stood before the mirror. She changed into a simple peach-colored suit, the soft fabric offering a small sense of comfort against her still-damp skin. She lightly dabbed moisturizer onto her face, her fingers trembling slightly.

She picked up a small bindi and placed it carefully between her brows, her reflection staring back at her, questioning her every move. She then reached for the sindoor and gently filled her parting with the red powder, its vibrancy a stark contrast to the dull ache in her heart.

Lastly, she applied a touch of gloss to her lips, the subtle sheen adding a semblance of life to her pale face. For a moment, she stared at her reflection, searching for the strength she knew she needed to muster.

Her thoughts turned to Shivaay. She hesitated, debating whether to tell him about the letter. The word butterfly haunted her, the memories it brought back threatening to overwhelm her again. But she knew she couldn’t keep this from him. He needed to know—he deserved to know.

“I should inform Shivaay,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. Gathering her resolve, she stepped out of the room, her mind still reeling but her heart determined. She couldn’t let the shadows of her past consume her. If anyone could help her fight this battle, it was him.