Ruhani ~ The Language Of Love

59 ~ Aashiq Tamed Aahil

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Sultan Aahil Aashiq POV

My fingers tightened over the sword as I searched with my eyes for the next one to rip apart.

The screams, the swords clashing, and the smell of blood on the battleground made me feel good, at least for some time. 

Suddenly, the trumpet blew, declaring that the Sun was setting and it was time to rest for the soldiers.

I fell to my knees, balancing my hand on the standing sword, my head bent forward, still fighting my own battle inside.

My steel sword turned red with the blood. It killed thousands, I killed thousands already, and I could feel my brain bursting any moment.

"Sultan,"

I lifted my head and looked at the head commander. He stopped before me and touched my shoulder to help me stand up.

"I can do it myself,"

He nodded, and I stood up again on my feet. My head was slightly spinning, and I wanted more killing; I wanted more blood to shed.

"This way, Sultan,"

He helped to guide me towards my tent.

Unknowingly tears were falling from my eyes, remembering just one face. The face for which I could smile, laugh, cry, the face that once was so dear to my heart and still was. Deep down somewhere.

My hand reached onto my warrior clothes as I moved my slightly trembling, blood-stained fingers to remove my armour. My biceps, chest and thighs had more cuts than I could remember. Not because my hand felt weak around the sword but because it was fearless to the extent that it provoked hundreds of them together to try and tame the beast. And those cuts were the fruits of that destructive fire roaring inside me.

And, it was not hatred or revenge; it was my pain that was bleeding off every pore of me. The more I tried not to think about it, not to imagine her face with the reality that I got introduced to, the more I fell deep into it.

It was like I was suddenly told that a person I believed to be known at the very best level turned out I knew nothing about. The person in front of you was the one you were in love with, open, naked and surrendered suddenly turns out to be different.

No, not different like a killer or molester or enemy, but yes, different. 

For six months, I tried to understand that she was not the one I was supposed to be in love with. She was not the one who was supposed to see all of me, every bit of me. Molested, Sexually assaulted, emotionally drained, alone, and weak. She should not be the one whom I fell in love with.

"Sultan,"

And it was running on my nerves now; the more I tried to hide, the more it got over my head. She was a seed planted into my heart, and with time its roots were growing and growing, reaching the end of every direction of my body. It was like the branches of it were encircling my veins and suffocating me, capturing me with each passing day and getting intense to the level that I could not even breathe without clouding my mind.

"Sultan,"

And now, it was going even more insane that even in my highly intoxicated state, my eyes kept bleeding tears, and my heart kept sinking deeper. It now stopped mattering that I close my eyes or keep them open; it was just her face, her smile, her eyes and everything that screamed in my head that she was freaking in love with me, and I was freaking in love with her. And, my soul, my inner conscience questioning me why the hell other things matter. Why the hell?