The night was empty without him.

Vamika had cried until her chest physically hurt — until her body stopped responding and sleep swallowed her like darkness.

Morning crept in slowly.

The haveli’s entrance opened with a dull echo as Yudhveer walked in. His hair was messy, kurta creased, jaw hard. There was cold air and smoke lingering on him — the kind that came from a night spent anywhere but home.

Manorama was lighting incense when she saw him.

"Arey beta, tu abhi kahaan se aa raha hai?"

(Beta, where are you coming from right now?)

His voice came out flat, emotionless.

"Bas... kaam tha. Subah nikal gaya tha."

(Just... had some  work. Left early.)

She narrowed her eyes.

"Kaisa kaam?"

(What work?)

His stare didn’t waver.

"Aupcharik."

(Formal work.)

Manorama didn’t believe him — but she also knew better than to ask when his shoulders were that tense.

She sighed instead.

"Mujhe laga tu kamre mein hai, isliye main andar nahi gayi. 8 baj gaye hain. Jaa jaakar apni patni ko utha. Koi kartavya bodh nahi hai usko."

(I thought you were in the room so I didn’t go in. It’s 8 already. Go wake your wife up. She has no sense of responsibility.)

He simply nodded, even though every word grated through his skull.

He knew she was asleep because of him — but his anger was nowhere near done.

He walked upstairs.

Vamika was curled under the sheet, her face blotched and swollen from hours of crying, breathing shallow from exhaustion. She wasn’t resting — her body had just surrendered.

He looked at her for one silent moment, he felt pity but now was not the time, he can't be weak and let Vamika take advantage of his weakness.

He grabbed the water jug on the side table and poured it over her.

She jerked awake, trembling, soaked, breath breaking in her throat.

He stood there — like stone.

"Tujhe sulane ke liye yahan nahi rakha."

(I didn’t keep you here so you could sleep.)

His voice did not rise.

It didn’t need to.

It cut.

"Jaa. Jaakar khana bana. Mere parivaar ke liye."

(Go. Make breakfast. For my family.)

The words landed like a blade.

My family.

She was suddenly not part of it.

Her heart cracked loud enough she could hear it.

She reached out and gently held his wrist, voice small, broken.

"Suniye…"

(Please listen…)

He yanked his arm away like she was filth.

"Tere iss randi rone ke liye samay nahi hai mere paas."

(I don’t have time for this whore-like crying.)

Her throat tightened.

Breath stuttered.

Tears rose again.

His voice stayed cold.

"Jaldi ja warna mujhe der ho jayegi. Tujh jaise logon ke liye main apne kaam ko andekha nahi kar sakta."

(Go quickly or else I'll be late for work. I can’t let someone like you interfere with my work.)

Then he turned and walked out.

The door slammed.

Vamika sat there — drenched, shaking, a bruise of grief spreading inside her.

She missed him.

The him who brushed her hair behind her ear.

Who said "meri chand" like it was a prayer.

Who fasted for her.

Who held her as if she was the only gentle thing he had left.

Now she saw hatred in those same eyes.

Disgust.

As if she had dirtied something sacred.

And she blamed herself.

She should have told him.

She should have trusted him.

She should have spoken before silence turned into a wound.

Her body hurt.

Her heart hurt worse.

But she still got up.

She washed her face.

Wiped the tears.

Forced her trembling feet to carry her.

Because that’s what women do when their world collapses —

they still walk.

Vamika stepped downstairs, quiet, fragile, carrying a night that had destroyed everything she thought was safe.

Vamika moved around the kitchen slowly, every limb aching, but her face blank—expressionless. She made breakfast like any other day: the rotis, the sabzi, the chutney. When she served the table, no one noticed the stiffness in her steps, or the faint tremor in her fingers. And today, unlike other days, Yudhveer didn’t tell her to sit and eat with them.

That hurt more than any slap.

Because it meant two things—

He didn’t care.

And she wasn’t considered a part of the family anymore.

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to breathe normally. She sat beside Yagya, helping him eat. The little boy looked up at her with sleepy eyes and she gently brought the morsel to his lips.

Yudhveer, sitting on the opposite side, leaned forward and softly placed his hand on Yagya’s head.

"Jaldi nashta karo beta, aaj aapke naye master ji ayenge na?"

(Eat quickly, son, your new tutor is coming today, right?)

Yagya nodded with a small smile.

Yagya had turned a little over three now. Old enough to start learning—but still too shy, too quiet to be sent to school yet. He didn’t like meeting new people.

So Yudhveer had decided that for a few months he would be home-tutored. Let him grow comfortable, learn his basics, gain some confidence—and then he would be sent to the village primary school.

Vamika watched them—father and son—together like that. A sight that used to warm her heart once.

Now it only made her feel… distant.

Like she was watching her own life, but no longer belonged in it.

Like every other day, Yudhveer didn’t leave for the office. He stayed home because he knew Yagya would need him. Everyone in the haveli understood it now—Yagya didn’t interact easily with strangers. His silence wasn’t just shyness. It was the after-effect of that day—the day he watched his biological mother burn alive. The trauma had rooted itself so deeply that new faces, new voices, unfamiliar presences… they scared him.

He only felt safe around three people—

Yudhveer.

Vamika.

And Manorama.

These three had become his entire world.

So whenever someone new came—like the home tutor who was supposed to arrive today—one of them had to act as a bridge. They had to introduce the person slowly, gently, while Yagya watched from a safe distance.

And today, it would be the same.

Breakfast ended quietly. After feeding Yagya, Vamika finally sat and ate—small bites, barely tasting anything. The moment the last morsel went down, Yudhveer stood up without even glancing at her. He lifted Yagya in his arms and walked upstairs to his room. Vamika watched silently, her fingers tightening around the edge of her pallu. She didn’t expect warmth…but the cold still stung.

She got up and started with the daily chores. Her movements were slow—her body still sore, her mind heavier. While she was wiping the dining table, she glanced out of the window. A man was entering through the main gate. A well-dressed man with a satchel.

Yagya’s tutor.

And the confirmation came when she saw Yudhveer walking downstairs to greet him. His posture straight, his face composed. Anyone would think everything was normal.

But Vamika could see the tension in his shoulders.

They exchanged a few words, then Yudhveer led the tutor upstairs. A few minutes later, Manorama appeared near the staircase and called out:

"Master ke liye chai bana de."

("Make tea for the tutor.")

Vamika nodded softly, "Ji Maa ji." (“Yes, Maa ji.”)

She went to the kitchen and started preparing tea. But while boiling the milk, her heart whispered something reckless, something hopeful. So she made two cups—one for the master, one for him.

Maybe… maybe if she took the tea to him… maybe he would look at her. Maybe something in his eyes would soften. And even if it didn’t—at least she would get to see him a little longer.

She plated some namkeen and biscuits too, arranging everything carefully like she always did for him.

Then she walked upstairs.

But when she entered Yagya’s room, Yudhveer wasn’t there. Only Yagya and the tutor were in room. She blinked—just a second, but disappointment pricked.

She served the tea and snacks. The tutor gave her a polite smile and she returned a faint, polite one back—just basic courtesy.

She was about to leave when a small hand tugged the end of her pallu.

"Maa… aap ruk jaiye na."

(Maa… stay, please.)

Vamika froze.

Her eyes widened. It wasn’t appropriate for a woman to stay alone in a room with another man—especially in those days

She shook her head gently.

"Nahi beta, aap padhai pe dhyan do. Hum sab yahin hain."

(No son, focus on your studies. We are all right here.)

But Yagya’s little voice grew stubborn, trembling with a fear only he understood.

"Aap yahan nahi rahogi to main bhi nahi padhunga."

(If you don’t stay here, I won’t study.)

She tried to persuade him softly, but he wasn’t listening. The tutor spoke then, his tone calm and sincere:

"Thakurain ji, thodi der aap yahin rahiye. Warna bachcha padhai par dhyan nahi de payega. Uske dimaag mein dar ghoomta rahega."

(Madam, please stay. Otherwise the child won’t be able to concentrate. Fear will keep circling his mind.)

She hesitated—but she couldn’t refuse. Not when it came to Yagya.

So she walked toward the corner, intending to sit far from the tutor. But Yagya held her hand and insisted:

"Nahi Maa, yahan baitho."

(No Maa, sit here.)

He tapped the bed beside him.

"Nahi beta—"

(No, son—)

But he was already pulling her hand, making her sit beside him.

And the moment she sat down—

The door opened.

Yudhveer walked in.

His steps stopped.

His jaw tightened instantly. His hands curled into fists.

He didn’t say a word. His eyes spoke enough.

Vamika stood up in panic, her breath stuck. She rushed to leave, head lowered, heart hammering.

But before she could step out, his voice cut through the air—cold, sharp, devastatingly calm:

"Maa ko yahan aane bol, aur tu kamre mein baith jaa ke."

(Tell Maa to come here and you go to our room.)

Vamika nodded immediately, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Ji."

(Yes.)

And she left the room, feeling her pulse echo in her ears—like she had done something terribly wrong just by sitting beside the child.

She told Manorama that Yudhveer had asked her to go to Yagya's room. As soon as she went there, Yudhveer said, "Maa, aap yahan baitho." (Maa, please sit here.)

Before Manorama could answer, he left the room with a hard look and strode back toward his bedroom.

Vamika sat very still at the corner of the bed, fingers folded tight in her lap, every movement small and careful as if she might break. When the door shut with a sharp click, the sound made her look up.

He came to her without a word. The air between them felt thin and dangerous.

"Wahan kya kar rahi thi tu?" (What were you doing there?) His voice was low and cold.

Vamika’s throat worked. She stammered, "Chai… chai dene gayi thi." (Tea… I went to give tea.)

Yudhveer’s mouth twisted into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Chai dene gayi thi? Kyu—haveli pe naukar-chakar nahi hain kya? Ya phir saare kaam tujhe hi karne the? Kitni acchi bahu hai. tu to." (You went to serve tea? Don’t we have servants for that? Or were you expected to do all the work? What a dutiful daughter-in-law you are.)

He paused, and the venom in his next words cut deeper.

"Aur jab chai dene ho gaya tha to tu wahan baithi kyu thi? Master jo wahan baitha tha—tujhe mardon ko lubhane mein bohut mazaa aata hai na?" (“And why were you sitting there if the tea was served? The tutor was there—seems you like attracting men.”)

Vamika’s eyes widened at the vicious accusation. Her voice came out small, hurt and pleading.

"Yagya ne kaha tha baithne.... main to chai dene gayi thi… mujhe laga… mujhe laga aap kamre mein hi honge. Agar pata hota ki aap wahan nahi ho, main nahi jaati." (Yagya asked me to sit...I went to serve tea… I thought… I thought you’d be in the room. If I had known you weren’t there I wouldn’t have gone.) Tears pricked her eyes.

Yudhveer laughed — a short, bitter sound that held no humour.

"Kitna khayal rakhti hai tu mera, kitna pyar karti hai mujhse—hain na?" (How much you care for me, how much you love me—right?)

Vamika opened her mouth but could not answer.

He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a hard whisper that nevertheless filled the room.

"Bohut garmi chadi hain na tujhe? Teri saari garmi aaj raat ko nikalunga."

(You're feeling very hot, aren't you? I'll get rid of all that heat tonight.)

Vamika’s expression changed slowly, shock, then the raw peel of humiliation, then the soft breaking of someone who loved and had been rejected. Her chin trembled. Her hands went white from gripping the cloth. Tears spilled over; she tried to blink them away but they came anyway. She felt the world narrowing to the point where his voice had been—each word like another weight pressing her to the floor.

He didn’t wait for her reply. He straightened, cold and final.

He opened the door and left the room without another look.

The door slammed shut, leaving Vamika alone with the echo of his threat, her body trembling uncontrollably.

Yudhveer went to Yagya’s room and found Manorama at the doorway.

"Maa, aap jaa sakti hain abhi. Main aa gaya hoon."

(Mother, you can go now. I'm here.)

Manorama nodded without question and stepped out.

Yudhveer stayed inside for a moment. On the little table he noticed an extra cup — still warm, still damp at the rim. He didn’t need any more proof. He already knew Vamika hadn’t been lying. That fact did not soften him. If anything, knowing the truth made his anger sharper; he trusted her character, but he was furious   — and hurting her now felt like the only way he could let that fury out.

Vamika sat frozen in her room, stunned by his words, the argument, the way he’d treated her. Tears blurred her vision; she felt hollow. When Manorama came up looking for her and found her, she spoke without ceremony.

"Arey maharani, thoda kaam bhi kar lo. Ya phir humein bhookha maarne ka iraada hai?"

("Oh queen, do some work. Or are you planning to starve us all?")

The words snapped something in Vamika into motion. She realised it was nearly time to make lunch.

She pushed herself up, but the world tilted—the room spun—and for a heartbeat she almost fell. Her hand closed on the edge of the bed and steadied her.

She went to the washroom, splashed cold water on her face, tried to wipe every trace of crying away. The water stung, the towel smelled of soap, but she couldn’t hide the redness around her eyes; they still betrayed the night she’d spent weeping. She straightened her saree, took a breath, and walked back out to the chores, each step measured and quiet.

Lunch was prepared quietly. Vamika served everyone like always. No one noticed how her hands trembled… or maybe they noticed and simply ignored.

She sat beside Yagya, feeding him small bites as he rolled his little toy car on the table. Yagya giggled softly, lost in his own world.

Manorama watched him for a moment, a soft smile forming.

"Kitna pyaara lagta hai khelte hue."

(He looks so sweet while playing.)

She paused… and the softness faded.

"Agar iske saath ek aur bacha hota to socho ghar kitna bhara-bhara lagta."

(If there was another child with him, imagine how full this house would feel.)

Her voice sharpened as her eyes shifted to Vamika.

"6 mahine ho gaye. Ab tak tujhe din nahi chadha."

(It’s been 6 months. And still, you haven’t conceived.)

"Pata nahi kab khush khabri sunayegi tu."

(God knows when you'll give us good news.)

Vamika froze. The food in her hand stopped just near Yagya’s mouth.

Before she could respond, Yudhveer spoke. His voice was calm… too calm.

"Maa, jab hona hoga ho jayega."

(Mother, it will happen when it’s meant to.)

Then his eyes slowly turned to Vamika — cold, sharp, deliberate.

"Aisa toh hai nahi ki yeh pet se na hone ki dawai le rahi hai."

(It’s not like she’s taking medicine to avoid conceiving.)

"Mil jayegi bohot jald khush khabri aapko."

(You’ll hear the good news very soon.)

The sentence was not for Manorama.

It was a warning — for Vamika.

Her heart stopped. Her stomach twisted.

The spoon trembled in her hand.

She didn’t dare look up.

The room felt silent.

But inside Vamika… everything was shattering.

Their lunch was over and like any other day, Yudhveer didn’t go to their room. Instead, he stood up, dusted his hands on his kurta and said,

“Chalo beta, abhi hum thodi padhai karenge.”

(Come son, now we will study for a while.)

Yagya’s face scrunched up immediately. He didn’t want to study.

“Nahi baba, abhi khelenge… raat ko padhenge.”

(No father, let’s play now… I’ll study at night.)

Yudhveer didn’t raise his voice. His expression didn’t change. But the firmness in his tone was enough.

“Nahi. Bohut khel liya. Abhi padhna zaruri hai.”

(No. You’ve played enough. Studying is important right now.)

Yagya’s lower lip trembled slightly. He looked at Vamika — eyes pleading —

“Maa…”

But Vamika already knew. She couldn’t go against Yudhveer — and more importantly, she knew this was something good for their child.

So she said softly, brushing Yagya’s hair,

“Nahi beta, aise nahi karte. Aap abhi padhai kar lo, phir hum dono baad mein khelenge. Theek hai?”

(No dear, we don’t do this. Study now, then later you and I will play. Okay?)

Yagya swallowed his disappointment and nodded. He knew he wouldn’t get support today.

Time slipped by quietly. The afternoon turned to evening. Then finally, it was time for dinner.

The meal passed in silence . Just the quiet of a home holding too many unsaid thoughts.

After dinner, everyone departed to their rooms.

As Vamika pushed open the door to their room, her hand trembled just slightly on the wooden handle. The room felt colder than it usually did — though the windows were closed. The light from the lamp fell softly across the bed, the same bed where both love and wounds had lived.

She stepped inside slowly, almost cautiously — like someone walking into a place where something unseen waited.

Just as Vamika walked inside, Yudhveer's cold voice cut through the silence.

"Darwaza band kar." (Close the door.)

Her hands trembled as she turned and pushed the heavy door shut, the click of the lock sounding like a final, terrible verdict.

Before she could even turn back to face him, his command came again, low and uncompromising. "Idhar aa." (Come here.)

He gestured for her to come to him. When she didn't move, frozen by fear, he took two swift strides and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to the center of the room. There was no prelude, no tenderness. His hands moved over her clothes, not in a caress, but with a brutal efficiency. Hooks were ripped, saree was torn.

He undressed her as if he was in a hurry to perform a duty, a hollow ritual devoid of all emotion, his face a mask of detached purpose.

Just as he undressed her, Vamika's hands instinctively shot up to hide her breasts. Yudhveer gave a short, mocking laugh.

"Saari sharam pati ke saamne aati hain?" (All your modesty emerges only in front of your husband?) he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Tab toh master ke saamne behaya aurat ki tarah baithi hui thi." (Because back then, you were sitting like a shameless woman in front of the master.) He leaned closer, his eyes glinting with malice. "Shayad kamre mein Yagya nahi hota toh tu baithne ke jagah let jati." (Perhaps if Yagya hadn't been in the room, you would have laid down instead of just sitting.)

Vamika, enraged by his vile words, acted on pure impulse. Her hand rose automatically to slap him. "Aapki himmat kaisi hui aise bolne ki?" (How dare you speak like this?)

In an instant, Yudhveer caught her wrist in a vice-like grip, his fingers digging into her flesh. The amusement vanished from his face, replaced by cold fury. "Tere muh se yeh sab acha nahi lagta," (These words don't sound good coming from your mouth,) he growled, pulling her closer. "Tujh jaise aurton ko ache se janta hu main." (I know women like you very well.)

Vamika's voice trembled with hurt and fury. "Aap mere baare mein aise kaise bol sakte hain? Main aapki patni hu!" (How can you say such things about me? I am your wife!)

Yudhveer laughed, an evil, hollow sound. "Patni?" (Wife?) he mocked. "Patni wale aise konse kaam kar liya tune?" (What exactly have you done that is worthy of a wife?) He released her wrist only to gesture dismissively at her and the room. "Roj raat ko tu jo mera bistar garam karti hain, wo koi bhi kar sakti hain. Aur yeh jo haveli ki kaam karti hain, yeh bhi naukraniyon se main karwa sakta hu." (Any woman can warm my bed at night, which is all you do. And this housework you do, I can get maids to do that too.) He paused, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Acha han, main to bhool gaya tha. Tu toh naukrani hi thi. Abhi meri naukrani ke saath saath rakhel bhi ban gayi. Itni bhi kuch khaas nahi hai" (Oh yes, I had forgotten. You were just a maid. Now, along with being my maid, you've also become my mistress. Don't think about yourself that you are special.)

The words stung Vamika like a whip. Humiliation and anger boiled over. "Toh dhundh lijiye kisi dusri khas aurat ko!" (Then go find some other woman who is 'special' !)

Her words acted like a trigger. A possessive, dark rage flared in Yudhveer's eyes. No matter how toxic he was, the mere thought of being with anyone else was an unimaginable blasphemy. She was his, and his alone.

He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw clenching. In one swift, dominant motion, his hand rose and gripped her jaw tightly, forcing her to look at him. "Bohut muh chalta hain tera," (Your mouth runs too much,) he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Abhi dikhata hu tera muh kaha chalna chahiye." (Right now, I'll show you where your mouth should be running.)

And the next second, Yudhveer’s hand shot forward.

He grabbed her arm — hard — forcing her head up.

“Uth.”

(Get up.)

His voice was cold. Not loud — but dangerous.

She stumbled as he dragged her down, making her sit on her knees on the floor.

Her breath trembled.

“Yeh… yeh kya kar rahe hain aap?”

(W-What are you doing?)

Yudhveer leaned close, his face inches from hers — his voice a whisper laced with venom.

"Tere muh ka sahi istemaal."

(Using your mouth the right way)

Before Vamika could process anything, Yudhveer opened his dhoti and boxer. His length sprang up.

Her eyes widened, a silent scream trapped in her throat. A hot wave of shame flushed her cheeks, burning under his gaze.

He cupped her face, his thumb tracing a false caress along her cheekbone before the sting of a light slap made her gasp.

"Muh khol."

(Open your mouth.)

Her jaw unhinged, a puppet on his string.

"Chal ab yahan muh chala"

(Run your mouth here)

In an instant, his warm, thick aroused length invaded the warmth of her mouth. Her eyes watered instantly, blurring his triumphant face. The thrusts  were brutal, robbing her breath.

While Yudhveer was on the euphoria of pleasure, Vamika was gasping for breath. A gag reflex seized her, her teeth scraped against his dick in an involuntary spasm.

Another light slap came again, not to hurt her but to humiliate her.

"Dhyan se meri rakhel."

(Careful my slut.)

Vamika's eyes watered, jaw pained but Yudhveer didn't stop, he kept on thrusting with more brutality with each passing second.

The world narrowed to the rhythm of his thrusts. Then, a new sensation- salty and bitter, flooded her tongue. Yudhveer spilled inside her mouth, with a moan.

It was the final violation, a mark of his ownership written in the most intimate of spaces.

The tears that fell then were not just from the physical intrusion, but from the utter annihilation of her self.

The last of Vamika's energy had seeped away, leaving her limbs heavy and her mimd foggy but Yudhveer was not done yet.

"Ab bistar pe jaa," (Go to the bed,) he said, the order leaving no room for debate. "Raat bali hain. Abhi tujhe mera bistar bhi garam karna hain." (The night is still left. You will warm my bed now.)

A weak protest died in Vamika's throat. She knew this tone, it had no scope for a "no". With a quiet, resigned sigh, she pushed herself up and moved to the centre of the bed, the part of her that was truly exhausted warring with the part that had already stirring with anticipation.

He was on her before she could find a comfortable position, his body a heavy, welcome weight. His hands were not gentle as he gripped her throat to glue her to the position of submission, that grip stole the little breath she had left.

The next second he thrusted his dick inside her. The initial thrust was sharp, a jolt that made her gasp. He didn't wait for her to adjust, setting a punishing, aggressive rhythm from the start.

Humiliation warmed her cheeks as a traitorious moan escaped her lips. Her body, betraying her mind's fatigue, arched to meet his thrusts, heat pooling low in her belly. She was tired, yes, but the raw, unfiltered possesion was unraveling her completely.

He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear, his voice a rough, triumphant growl against the sound of their bodies meeting. "Bohut acha lag raha tha na uss master ke paas?" (You really liked it when you were in front of that tutor, right?) he taunted.

Then came a particular deep thrust, "bhaga diya uss bhosdiwale ko. Kal se adhyapak nahi adhyapika ayegi mere bacche ko padhane." (I sacked off that tutor. From tomorrow, a female tutor will come to teach my child.)

He paused then, the sudden stillness more jarring than his movement. In an instant he changed the position. Now Vamika was on her fours and Yudhveer entered her from behind, earning a deep gasp from her. His hand came down on her butt- a sharp, stinging spank that made her cry out. The sound was a mix of shock and sharp pleasure.

"Yeh sab," (All this,) he hissed, his voice dripping with a feighed anger, "teri wajah se hua." (happened because of you)

The accusations, the spank, it was the final key that broke her completely . Any lingering resistance shattered. As he resumed his thrusting from behind-harder and faster now. Her moans came freely, a continuous stream of sound that filled the room. She was a vessel for his will, her pleasure inextricable linked to his dominance.

He drove into her, chasing his own release, his grunts becoming more guttural. When he finally came undone inside her with a low, primal groan, it sent a powerful shudder through her own body.

Once they were done, Yudhveer didn’t even look at her.

He simply stood up, his movements cold… mechanical… emotionless. He adjusted his dhoti like she meant nothing, like what had just happened had been nothing but an act for him.

Vamika stayed where she was—broken, trembling, her hands clutching the bedsheet like it was the only thing holding her together. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung. Her knees ached. But none of it compared to the ache inside her chest.

Yudhveer walked to his side of the bed and lay down, turning his back to her. No words. No touch.

No kiss on the forehead.

No hand caressing her hair.

No quiet whisper of “so ja chand” like he always used to.

Just nothing.

Nothing.

The coldest nothing.

He pulled the blanket over himself.

And that was it.

He slept.

Vamika stared at him, her vision blurry.

A voice cracked inside her.

"Kya main koi maaine nahi rakhti aapke liye?"

(Don't I have any importance in your life?)

She had never felt this kind of humiliation.

Not even when the world had scorned her in the past.

Not even when life had been cruel before.

This—this was different.

This was the kind of hurt that didn’t just bruise the body—it scarred the soul.

She felt used.

Discarded.

Thrown aside like she didn’t matter… like she was some object, some slut, some thing.

She curled into herself, silently, careful not to make a sound… because even crying felt dangerous now.

Her body shook as she whispered:

"Aap aise kaise kar sakte hai mere saath…?"

(How could you do this to me…?)

But Yudhveer didn’t answer.

He was already asleep.

Or maybe he was just pretending.

Either way—

Vamika cried alone.

In the same bed.

Next to the man she loved more than anything.

And yet—

She had never felt more unloved.

_____________________________

Don't forget to vote, comment and follow.