Silent Hearts

9| Nine

"What means to be will always find a way, even in your darkest of days."

***

Fate had a twisted sense of humour.  Tushar had known it since the very day his love for Naitee could not have been confessed. He had always tried to win her attention, subtly; he knew he had all her attention, but never in the way he wanted. If he had claimed he was in love with her, before ever leaving the city, he would have not to be the way he was now. He knew Nandini was not at fault nor was it his. Regardless of how hard he struggled for his love, he knew fate loved to play with the lone souls, much more.

He could stand here at his balcony no more, the night outside gleamed with bliss, and as he glared at the moon who smiled brightly at him as if she was joyful about his marriage, he knew it was not right of him to leave everyone outside and mourn for his lost love, or lament for his aching heart. Oh, he could no more be selfish. He ought to make sure his wife was comfortable here, in his house; he ought to check on his guests, mostly the neighbours, if the dinner preparation was alright; he must check on his aunt. He had duties to comply with.

Revisiting the routes to the depths of his memories and thoughts, Tushar hadn't realised his hidden assumptions about his wife, Nandini. She was alone, too, just as he, might be much more. She was depressed and had been unhappy with her life for too long, even to the extents of killing herself. Nandini was shrouded in misery and he...

Unexpectedly, he realised something; the real reason behind his sacrifice and pain; the real reason behind this sudden and unwanted matrimony. His wife had been unwell, she needed him. His wife needed him more than he ever needed anything, even if she never accepted her need to move on, she did need him. He had been a fool to believe she would live. With or without him.

Tushar was at fault, he should not have left her alone. After all, he believed she suffered way more than him. Now, upon a guilty realisation, determined to have a communication, any sort, he strolled towards the room she was in. He knew being in such a mental state, Nandini would not try to leave the room or wander around the house.

Tushar looked at the door, it wasn't locked, it shouldn't be, deciding against his mind to knock once. But before his hand could touch the polished surface of the newly-painted, mahogany door, it stopped midway, hearing a subtle whimper from the other side. He could not tell if he should wait for a brief or call for her. Confused, Tushar concluded to linger by the door. However, his eyes widened when he heard the ruckus inside, and the loud sob that reached past the door to his ears disturbed his senses.

Nandini was crying?

Without a second thought, Tushar opened the door that suddenly, unknowingly, felt a barrier between his wife and him. She was not alright, and he was the reason for this. Had he not left her to catch up with his own jumbled up, pained thoughts, she wouldn't have been like this. Had he not been selfish enough..

The scenario inside hushed him to limitless boundaries; his body went rigid the moment his eyes fell on the shattered woman before him. Her trembling shape remained on the floor, her red saree tossed out near her, her jewellery thrown nearby, some pieces huddled up in the dressing-table that was another mess, her hair curtained her face, nearly making him narrow his eyes for a better look. Glancing at her form, his eyes, laced with pity and worry, traced a pattern through her hands, and that was when he noticed the absence of shakha-pola. He frowned upon the wretched stance of his wife.