The Rose & Her Thorn

Part 23

Shikha tried to memorize the maze Vikram was guiding her through, in case a fight or a flight situation arises, and fighting him was not an actual option. Much to her surprise, neither Vikram's grip nor his pull was rough; it was as gentle as a petal waiting to kiss the ground as it wafted in the air.

However, the gust of fear maneuvered that petal into a place reigned by terror. The place whose mere mention terrified her. The room of artillery and ammunition.

Terror gripped her as she walked into the inventory of artillery. The very feel of the room was bereft of hope that she could feel the bile rising to her lips. Those lifeless and cold objects had snatched lives and livelihoods from people. They had replaced peace with terror and love with hatred, and she hated those weapons surrounded her.

She could feel his cold and clammy hand on her wrist, but the paranoia got to her. She could not imagine losing her way in that dark dungeon of devastation, which screamed fear, violence, and death.

Death.

Was he going to give her a threat of death?

The probability that someone would hear her scream, if at all she had the chance to, is almost negligible, and that did not help Shikha's nervousness at all. She wanted to die, she still did. But not at his mercy. Not without a choice in it.

Vikram could feel the goosebumps that blanketed her and the slight quiver of her arm, but he did not stop his feet from leading his way to his desired destination.

Their feet stopped moving when Vikram's eyes travelled to the wall opposite them and there was a sudden shift in his demeanor. His shoulders had relaxed, and he heaved a sigh of relief. A whimsical and barely there smile found its way to his lips, and his eyes gleamed with a warmth.

Shikha followed the line of his sight to arrive at two lifesize photos of two beautiful women, after observing the changes the sight brought to the tough man beside her.

Shikha read the names of the ladies, written at the footer, louder than she had intended to.

"Shanti Yadav. Manasvini Malhotra."

"That is my mother and Nikita's mother. Father was double-timing with them."

A feminine gasp broke through the deadly silence, which engulfed the sorrow-filled room.

"Both of them were under the belief that he was just theirs, but he wasn't. He had betrayed them both and when the women, agonized by their husband's betrayal, committed suicide, he followed them like he loved them all his life."

A wry chuckle escaped his quivering lips as he traced their names with tears stinging in his eyes. It had been years since the unfortunate day, but it haunted every day of his life henceforth. The wound it left on his soul ached like a new one would and tore him apart like an old scar would.

"I was fourteen then. Nikita was thirteen. But it feels like it was just yesterday. Such a douchebag and scumbag he was. He met Manasvini ji during a trip to Punjab. Her parents had passed away when she was a child, and it made his task of manipulating her easier. He married her on one of those trips. Maa and Manasvini ji belonged to high-class families like his, so they had a chance of meeting each other, which they did, so he asked them to keep their maiden names. They remained unaware of each other's place in their lives and he named it as a gesture of affection and love."

He clenched his jaw and eyed the two women smiling for their portraits. They bore the signs of a married woman, and the resplendent glow on their faces would convince the observer of the marital bliss they basked in. The smile, like their happy marriage, was a mirage.

"That day at their funeral, I made a few vows to myself. To never let a woman suffer the plight of a lover who was not hers. To love only one woman, the one who would be my wife. That was you. You were that woman."

Vikram expelled the breath which he had been holding. Shikha stood stupefied and rooted to her place as she threw an incredulous look in his way.

Shikha sympathized with the man for his unfortunate face being an orphan herself, but his fate was worse. She did not see her parents' death, nor did she have any memories associated with them, least of all the bitter memories like Vikram had. Vikram Singhal had not just seen them leave the mortal world, but he had seen his mother writhe in pain helplessly and bore the burden of hatred for his father for years.

"Why me?" she asked, bracing herself for his answer.

"You reminded me of my mother. The innocence. That radiant smile. The selfless nature. Almost everything. She had the same warmth in her eyes as you do, and your innocence was magnetic. I come here every day. When I came here to see my mother, the day I met you for the first time, your thoughts plagued me instead of the horrific memories of the day she committed suicide. You had given me respite from what I was running for years. I wanted every day to be like that day, and I knew I wanted you by my side. It was not love. It was an obsession. And the means do not matter in obsession."

Vikram paused and let an apologetic smile play on his lips as he hung his head. "I realized how problematic my behavior was and how selfish I was when I saw your emotionless mask and your lacklustre behavior. The flame of innocence that pulled me like a moth had extinguished, and I was the fool who doused it. The means suddenly mattered, because I had fallen for you in these few weeks, Shikha."

Shikha stumbled back at the impact of his words, and disbelief whirled in her eyes. She shook her head, unable to believe what she heard.

"I love you, Shikha. Believe me when I say I want to relieve you of this pain. I proved to be my father's son. Heartless. Self-centered. Blind in lust for something forbidden. I hesitated to give you the way out because of Nikita. She would hate me for this, but I cannot see your pain anymore, Shikha. I cannot stay selfish any longer. I have committed horrendous mistakes, and I will accept the punishment."

Vikram turned around to hide the lone tear struggling its way towards the ground, but Shikha had seen the unshed tears. She could not be heartless enough to let him believe she considers his sins to be equivalent to those of his father.

That's what he had hoped for when he revealed the truth to her. A sense of shame washed over his conscience for using the death of his parents, but the pragmatic part of him brushed away the complaints with the explanation that his agony was true. His struggle was real. If he could use to open the doors for a joyous future, why shouldn't he do it?

The repentant part of him pointed out that it was yet another manipulation. The obsessed side of him rebuked the remorse and declared it was deceit she could never unravel. She would never know he had bared his heart with the sole intent of weakening her nonchalance.

Whether it was helplessness, if it was guilt that would bind him to her, it did not matter. He could not let her go. He needed her to accept him. And that was his last-ditch effort.

And it had worked.

"You are not like him. Because if you were, you would not be opening up on your past and giving me a chance to leave from here. You are selfish. Incredibly selfish. But you are not blind. And that sets you apart, Vikram."

The utterance of his name from her lips reinvigorated the dying hope in his heart. He turned around to face her when Vikram's pooled orbs met Shikha's warm eyes, reminiscent of his mother. The tears unshed over the years rolled down his eyes. He collapsed onto his knees as he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head against her warm bosom. Before she knew it, her hands had found their way into his hair and had rubbed soothing patterns into his scalp.

In that moment of togetherness, every complaint and sorrow remained forgotten, and every forsaken emotion had found its way out.

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