Forever 💘(completed)

Chapter 17

"Anila, you idiot! Now what does Rohit know?!" Ambalika shouted.

"Mom I said I don't know! He just placed the oil bottle in front of me and told me if anything else were to happen to Virat in future, he'd throw me behind bars," Anila rolled her eyes.

"Oil? Virat fell because of your oil?" Ambalika asked confused. "That was your big plan?" 

Anila averted her gaze, slightly embarrassed at her plan's failure. 

"Just--just lay low for a while you idiot child of mine! Or when you are behind bars, forget you had a mother!" Ambalika shouted and went out the door, slamming the door in Anila's face. 

Anila sank on her bed in despair.

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Weeks passed, and Rohit's workload remained relentless. It was frustrating for him, not being able to spend as much time with Virat as he wanted. Late nights at the office kept him away, and whenever he came home, Virat was always asleep. Rohit hated the distance, but work left him no choice. He promised himself it would get better soon, but that promise seemed harder to keep as the days blurred together.

Meanwhile, Anila and Ambalika had grown more irritated by Rohit's unwavering protection of Virat. Every time they tried to get at him, Rohit was there, his fiery defence keeping them in check. But now, with Rohit tied up in the office for longer stretches, they saw another opportunity. They didn't plan anything extreme this time—just a bit of trouble for Virat. The bigger plans, the ones where they could really bring him down, were for later.

One afternoon, with Rohit still away at work, Anila called for Virat as he was resting in the living room.

"Virat, can you go to the store room and fetch that old sewing machine from the back shelf?" she asked, her voice coated with sweetness.

"The storeroom?" Virat asked, surprised. He didn't know they even had one.

"Haan, just the machine. Mom and I need it for something, but it's kept at a height and you know, you're tall," Anila shrugged, shooting a quick glance at her mother.

Ambalika nodded, adding in her usual sugary tone, "Yes, beta. It's a small favour, please."

Reluctantly, Virat agreed. He walked down the dim hallway, toward the back of the house where the unused store room lay. The air grew musty, and the room was barely lit, with dust clinging to every surface. Virat stepped inside cautiously, scanning the shelves for the sewing machine.

He found it, covered in a thick layer of dust, tucked in the far corner. As he reached for it, the old door of the room creaked, slowly inching shut behind him. Virat didn't notice it at first, but when he turned to leave, the door had closed completely.

His heart began to race. He tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. The room was silent, except for his breathing, which was now coming faster and more shallow. He banged on the door, but no one heard him. The house was large, and this room was tucked so far back that it was isolated from the rest.

Memories flooded his mind—dark, haunting memories. His stepmother, Manika, locking him up as a child, again and again, in a room much like this one. The coldness, the fear, the isolation. Virat's body tensed as those traumatic moments resurfaced. His breaths came in gasps, and his vision started to blur.

"Maa open the door maa..."

"Maa please, I promise I'll be a good boy...."

"Maa please I can't breathe.... open the door..."