Book - 2
Lord Shiva says,
Purest form of love can't be expressed with words. It is the embodiment of the devotion within a lover's heart.
Abhimanyu Acharya,
Reserved, responsible and creative. Yearns to respect others and the relationships that god...
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"Amara... You are my soul."
I whispered with everything I had in me.
With every emotion I could feel pulsing through me. Through every drop of blood in my body.
"I love you... Abhi." Kiss "I love you... Abhi." Kiss "I love you... Abhi."
And every single time she kissed me I felt a part of my soul coming back to life.
I felt that... I felt the marks being washed off me. I felt the nightmare being replaced by a dream.
I felt that maybe... maybe I had a reason to live.
Maybe... I was wanted by someone... Maybe... I could love Amara...
Despite my flaws. Despite my scars. Despite my past.
I look at the glass piece still between both our hands. And the teary face of the girl who did not run away after seeing the monsters that haunt me.
Maybe God was real.
"Eva di... was right. God couldn't come to save me... so he sent his angel."
I gulped harshly the numbing feel in my throat from the time she touched me was now slowly being replaced by a lump that turns into sobs every time Amara... touches me.
I brought her hand close to my lips and brushed my lips against her knuckles.
"Thank you." I placed my forehead on her knuckles fresh tears leaving my eyes.
I still felt the pain on my back. I still felt the marks on me. I still felt unholy.
But... She had given me a reason to survive.
"Can you fucking live for me!" Her words rang repeatedly in my ears. Till they reached every corner of my heart.
And even though I had always been afraid that I would end up hurting Amara because of my love for her.
I realised that her love was also something I could not live without.
The moment she confessed her love.
I felt my heart finding a kind of acceptance that I had always craved.
Craved from my parents. Who never gave it to me.
I realised that I was so desperate for love. For the feeling of being loved by someone that I had developed a phobia of ever loving someone just to hurt them like my father.
After all I was his son. No matter what.
At some point the blood will show it's true colour. Just like my mother told me the day I tried to tell her about my father's mistress.
