The Rose & Her Thorn

Part 22

Anand Mahal.

The name of Singhal Mansion never felt more ironic than the day of Mehndi. The mansion appeared silent and bereft of every kind of happiness.

The sounds of drums and trumpets reverberated through the halls of the Anand Mahal, but the sacred tunes could not disrupt the tranquility which invaded the heart of the bride and drowned her in its depths.

A tight and courteous smile remained plastered to her lips, but it did not reach her eyes. Her doe-like decadent eyes did not bear any semblance to those that of a bride.

Anyone who could look beyond facades would not dismiss the deduction that the look which lingering over the bride's angelic features did not express the ecstasy of her marriage. Instead, they appeared reminiscent of those indulging in mourning of the death of someone dear. It was not false as Shikha mourned the death of her dreams, her freedom and her will to live.

Nikita's endless teasing made a 1000-watt smile break out on her lips for the world to look at. However, it was not a coy smile of a woman in love, but the cynical and condescending smile of a broken woman.

Vikram was waiting for his ashen lady to speak something to someone or at least fire insults and accusations at him just to see her escaping the somber chambers of silence in which she had locked herself in, but she seemed to care less for his demands.

Intricate patterns adorned her hands, and with every stroke of the henna, he saw her smile falter and her eyes blink to stop tears from pouring out.

A quandary more complex than he could ever imagine had surrounded him. He could let Shikha go, and free her from every kind of torment he put her in, but he would have to pay a price of losing both her and his sister in the due course. The mere thought of the same made his insides turn and heart pound away against his ribcage. But it surpassed his limit for tolerance to see her shut herself away from the world and from her own emotions.

But Vikram Singhal was not one of those people who would wait till someone else took an action to help his situation. After all, he had made his own destiny. He descended the stairs and made his way to the ground floor where the ceremony was taking place, against the pleas of his dear sister, and held Shikha's arm to pull her along with him. She offered no resistance, and she was as complaint as a doll.

He loosened his grip on her as they entered the safe premises of his room, only to find Shikha trying to pull away her dupatta as she eyed him with a hint of mockery in her deep hazel eyes.

"Shikha, what are you doing? Stop it!"

Vikram shut his eyes, embracing the darkness which engulfed him. The darkness appeared better than the sight which he had beheld. The sight of his love leaving every single sign of what she was.

"You wanted this, right, Vikram? Then why this hesitance now?"

It hurt Vikram that she thought he had excused them both from their own Mehndi ceremony to exercise his right on her, to exploit her, when he only wanted to hear her talk. And when finally she did, all it did was to break his heart into pieces just as he shattered the dreams she held onto as her dear possessions.

"Shikha, it is not as you think. I just wanted you to talk to me."

His words fell from his quivering lips like a trail of whisper and he hoped to see some reaction, any reaction, from her, but it appeared as if the destiny had turned its back to him as she remained as nonchalant as anyone could be.

An inkling of pain appeared in her eyes and vanished as fast as it appeared, but Vikram's eyes, which were looking at Shikha without blinking, captured it.

"How weird, isn't it? You have restricted and manipulated me over the past few days, snatched my autonomy and my freedom. Now, when you want me to talk, I don't even know what to say."

He felt his insides melt in pain to acknowledge the fact that he left her in a state where she was just swinging between pain and void, and nothing beyond it.

He wanted to curse himself, but he knew it would not help the situation. The life he had lived refused even the briefest flicker of light. He etched the lessons which his previous generation had learned the hard way in his soul deeper than he could fathom. They ruled his actions, scripted his words, and transformed the young Singhal.

"I am sorry, Shikha."

Shikha looked up to see him straight in the eye as she heard his apology. Her lips stretched into a smirk, showing her contempt for him.

"I wish it could make a difference to me, Vikram."

Vikram gulped the remorse which formed a lump in his throat. Repentance and guilt stung at his eyes and filled them with tears.

"I want to show you something, Shikha. Will you come with me?"

Vikram's broken voice seeded a feeling of surprise in Shikha's barren heart, and it grew before Shikha could control it.

"Do I have a choice, Vikram?"

He knew that the sarcasm which dripped from her voice would haunt his thoughts for days to come.

"You do, Shikha. It is my request. That's all. Please. Allow me the privilege of showing you what I hid in the deepest realms of my heart. Please."

The sincerity and softness in his eyes itched the very soul of hers, and the only way to scratch that itch was by accompanying him to see this enigmatic thing that he spoke of.

Her soul took the reins and compelled her to nod in approval, while Vikram nodded with a weak smile before guiding her towards their destination.

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