Kashi X Adhikrit
✮⋆˙ 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 ✮ ⋆˙
"And since you mentioned I'm Agnihotri, you should know the powers I possess." My throat went dry as he spoke, and my heart filled with frustration towards him. He's too skilled wit...
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KASHI'S POV
He looked tired, worn out and weak as if he had run across the globe and lost weight. But there was something else in his eyes too-something that told me he knew. He knew what he'd done.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I should've been here. I should've-"
"Should've what?" I interrupted, my voice trembling with the emotion I'd been holding back for so long. "Been here? Kept your promise? Not left me waiting all night, thinking the worst?"
He lowered his gaze, but didn't say anything. He just stood there, looking at me like he didn't know what to do, how to fix this.
It was difficult for me to control myself from running into his arms and complain that he did bad to me. I was not feeling intimidated of his forest orbs today, they lacked their usual shine.
"It's okay. Sorry I just over reacted." I muttered wiping my face and tried to get down. He stepped to help me but I held up a hand stopping him in his tracks.
"I can manage." I whispered and stood down on my feet. My gaze was low, not at all wanting to meet his eyes at all. "I need to have my food." I muttered glancing at him, and made my way out.
His gaze was boring holes in my skin but I was not looking at him after what was done.
"Kashi, please." He held my arm stopping me. I removed his hold from my arm, "Mr Agnihotri it's fine. It's okay." I muttered walking away.
He didn't say anything after that, just let his hand fall to his side as I walked away. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy with regret, but I didn't turn back. I couldn't.
The dining room was cold and uninviting, and as I sat down to eat, I could hardly taste the food. My mind was elsewhere, replaying every moment, every word I wanted to say but didn't. I kept thinking about the look on his face-how tired, how worn out he appeared. A part of me itched to go back, to make sure he was okay, to ask him what was wrong. But the other part, the part that was still filled with anger and hurt, refused to give in.
That night, I didn't go back to our room knowing well he was there. It was quieter in the west wing, isolated, and right now, I needed that isolation more than anything. I lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling, my mind refusing to shut down. I knew he went to our room, but he didn't come downstairs for once.
༻❁༺
Three days passed in much the same way. Every day, he tried to talk to me, but I offered him nothing in return. I'm not his mistress, available whenever he pleases, only to be discarded like trash at other times. My responses were curt, and I could see how it affected him-each night, he looked more worn, more defeated. He didn't go to the office; instead, he stayed home, working most of the time or attending to whatever business he had in his study. But I couldn't bring myself to care, not like I used to.
