After the nurse treated her minor injuries he was all set to carry her to the car in his arms as she again started struggling not come with him which led him to forcefully carry her to the car.
He partially understands why she is showing resistance today. He shouldn't have stab him infront of her. He guesses that might traumatized her.
He settled her in the room, guiding her gently onto the bed, but she quickly scurried away, retreating to the washroom and locking the door behind her. He watched her from a distance, his expression neutral, almost as if he had expected this.
"I don’t want you near me. Please... leave me alone... for a while," she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and exhaustion.
She knew that by asking him to leave, she was giving him another opportunity to impose himself on her. But she tried to make herself clear, hoping he wouldn’t interpret her request as an act of rebellion. It was more than that. She was traumatized, panicked, and needed space—something she felt she would lose if she didn’t establish boundaries.
Seeing the distress in her eyes, he simply nodded. He didn’t argue or try to protest. Understanding that she was in no condition for confrontation, he stepped away, quietly closing the door behind him.
After leaving her alone, he headed to the living room and collapsed into a worn-out chair, the fatigue from the day pressing down on him. His mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions, but he forced himself to relax. He’d given her the space she needed, or so he told himself.
Hours later, he returned to the room, his hand resting on the doorknob. It was locked. He stood still for a moment, the weight of the silence settling around him. He let out a deep sigh, releasing his grip on the knob, and stepped back. The door remained shut, keeping him out.
He could feel the tension tightening in his chest. The urge to check on her was overwhelming, yet he knew it would only disturb her if he forced his way in. So, he took out his phone, tapping it in his hand like a nervous habit, and activated the camera feed in the room.
The screen flickered to life, showing her cocooned under the thin covers, curled up tightly on the bed like a fragile silk worm. She looked peaceful, at least from the outside. But there was no blanket, and the night’s chill seemed to make her even more vulnerable. He stared at her for a long moment, feeling the weight of the situation.
She was finally getting some rest. He wouldn’t ruin that.
So, he waited. Hours passed. He continued to sit in the quiet, eyes flicking toward the door. But she didn’t come out.
It wasn’t until the afternoon when he could take the silence no longer. He stood up, his keys clinking softly in his pocket as he approached the door again.
His silhouette cast a long, imposing shadow across the room, framed by the bright light streaming in from the hallway. The room itself remained dim, shrouded in a haunting stillness.
Inside, she sat huddled in the corner, her small figure swallowed by the darkness. His presence seemed to amplify her fear, as she instinctively shrank further into the wall. The terror in her eyes was unmistakable, and he knew exactly why. He could read the raw, unspoken fear she harbored for him.
He took a step forward, his footfall breaking the silence, but before he could take another, her choked sobs stopped him in his tracks.
“Please… don’t… don’t come near me,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with panic.
Her words cut through the air like a knife. He was silent for a moment, before he softly asked, “Why?”
She didn’t answer immediately, her sobs coming in broken, shuddering breaths. The weight of her fear was palpable. Finally, her voice, barely a whisper, escaped through her tears.
“You terrify me,” she hiccuped, her voice trembling with the weight of her words.
He stepped back, unable to mask the sting those words caused. She wasn’t finished.
“You traumatized me… please, don’t come near me for a while… You haunt me,” she whispered, almost as if saying it aloud made the words too heavy to bear.
“Why?” he asked again, his voice softer this time, almost imploring.
She didn’t look at him, but the tears fell freely. Her voice was barely audible between the sobs, but the weight of her pain was impossible to deny.
"You shot my husband. The blood still haunts me. I still have nightmares," she said, her voice cracking with anguish. "And then, you killed another one—more brutally. And you... you rubbed his blood on me. It was too much... I couldn't—"
She broke off, her body trembling with horror. The room fell silent except for the sound of her ragged breathing.
She hiccuped, clutching her knees to her chest, as if trying to make herself smaller, more invisible.
“Your mere presence is putting me on edge,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please... for a while, don’t come near me. I beg you. Just… give me some space.”
He walked to the opposite side of the room, his steps deliberate as he slid down and sat on the floor, his back resting against the bed. The silence between them was heavy, suffocating almost, until he broke it with a low, almost casual tone.
"You probably see me as a big threat because I was a criminal, right?" he asked, his gaze never leaving her.
She didn’t respond, instead pulling her legs closer to her chest, her body curling inward as if to shield herself from him.
"I'm not a criminal," he added, his voice steady, but a faint edge of frustration crept into his words.
She looked at him, her eyes sharp, filled with disbelief. The image of him killing her husband in front of hundreds, cold and fearless, was still vivid in her mind. And now, another brutal murder, with the victim’s eyes gouged out, had only confirmed her worst fears. And the things he had confessed—the deaths of his own parents—those were the actions of someone beyond redemption. Only a true criminal could be so callous.
He could feel her distrust, and he couldn't blame her for it.
"I and my brother were framed by your mother-in-law," he continued, his voice growing softer, more vulnerable. "We spent eight years in jail because of her lies."
She glared at him, still not believing him, and he could see the skepticism etched on her face. But despite the hatred in her eyes, he couldn't help but find her glare strangely captivating. He reminded himself that this was a serious moment—her fear was real, and the last thing he needed was to let his emotions slip.
"And that made me a criminal?" he asked, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "For what your mother-in-law did to me, I took my revenge. I took her son from her, just like she took my mother from me."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with their shared history, and she paused, her mind clearly racing. Something about what he said seemed to click in her thoughts.
She remembered now—how he used to mention the injustice done to his mother, how her mother-in-law seemed to fear him, especially when he would talk about reopening the case. But even now, a bitter doubt gnawed at her.
She couldn't hold it in any longer. "Now don’t ask me what you’ve got to do with all this," he said, sensing the question she was about to ask.
She blinked, confused for a moment, but then her voice broke through. "What do I have to do with all this?"
Her voice was a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity. She needed to understand why he had inflicted so much cruelty upon her, more than she had ever suffered from her in-laws. Why her?
He stared at her for a long moment, and then, with a sigh, he answered.
"You attracted me," he said, his voice low and bitter. "From the very first time I saw you, I couldn’t stand the thought of you being with him. My bastard half-brother."
His words spat venom, but there was a deeper anger behind them, one she hadn’t quite grasped yet. The real reason, the truth that she didn’t even have a fragment of a memory of, was buried deep within him.
"If you wanted me, you should’ve come to me first," he continued, his jaw clenched. "You could’ve asked for my hand, kept things legal, kept things respectful. But instead, you chose vengeance. Why? What did I ever do to you?"
The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unanswered questions. He struggled with whether or not to tell her the whole truth—the past he had buried for so long.
"Me and my brother escaped from a jail in Meerut," he said, his voice rough as memories flooded back. "We were in hiding, but we couldn’t escape the place. Our faces were plastered everywhere, our wanted posters everywhere in the city. We were being hunted like animals."
She listened intently, her eyes wide, trying to process the gravity of his words.
"Then one day, a little girl helped us. She gave us her lunchbox. We ate the food she brought us, but the saddest thing happened later. She returned, but this time, she was with the police. She was too young to understand what she was doing, but I assume she had been approached by the police. She saw our posters and likely told them she saw us. And just like that, we were sent back to jail."
He stopped, the weight of the past pressing on his shoulders as he looked at her, his expression pained.
"And that’s why I held a little grudge against you," he said, his voice quieter now.
"Because that little girl was you."
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