"So, Mrs. Kashi Abhay Pratap Singh..chalte hai. Goodbye..". Saying this, he left her broken in this world of betrayal.
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Kashi, a simple girl from Banaras, is a very kind and beautiful woman in person. Lives with her Baba. Works as a teache...
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"Aur kab tak, Hukum Sa?"
The words held him captive, rooted him to the spot. He dared not turn around, for fear that his resolve would crumble under the weight of her gaze. The ache of her question, woven with longing and the ache of secrecy, left him bare. She saw right through him, challenging the walls he had so meticulously built.
"Aur kab tak?" she called again, her voice thick with emotion, trembling as if holding back a sob.
Vikram turned slowly, deliberately, and there she stood, gazing at him with eyes he would destroy worlds for. But in this moment, those eyes that once held such warmth for him now shimmered with tears—tears of heartbreak, of unanswered pain.
The moment had come. The man she had known as Vikram, who had appeared out of nowhere, becoming her shadow, her protector—now, he was something far more than she had ever expected.
It was him, her Abhay, concealed beneath a disguise for so long. All the pieces fell into place, the glances, the careful distance he maintained, his relentless protection. Every action spoke of a love that had never waned but had been forced into hiding.
The realization dawned with a force that left her breathless. Her Abhay—her husband—had been there all along, behind a mask, playing a part that denied them both of everything they had shared. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice trembling as she tried to voice the questions that crowded her heart.
As Abhay turned to face her, he was rendered motionless by the sight before him. There she stood, her presence regal, her eyes—a tempest of hurt and love—locked onto his. She had always been his guiding light, his strength, and now, standing just a few feet away, she seemed impossibly distant.
Kashi’s deliberate steps echoed softly, the anklets on her feet singing a haunting rhythm in the silent room. Her every movement was measured, calculated, as though she were closing in on a truth too profound to rush. Her fingers clutched the hem of her lehenga tightly, the fabric twisting under her grip—a small, unconscious effort to anchor herself as emotions churned within her.
Each step she took closed the physical distance between them, yet the weight of unspoken words and veiled truths hung like an impenetrable barrier. She stopped mere inches away from him, standing vulnerable yet commanding, her presence like a storm about to break.
Her fingers released the fabric of her lehenga, and her hands rose with purpose—slow, steady, and unyielding—to the mask that shrouded his identity. The moment froze as her hand found the edge of his mask, fingers trembling slightly as if sensing the magnitude of what she was about to uncover.
She began to lift it, but fate intervened—the room plunged into sudden darkness. Only the muted glow of a flickering candle and the silvery beams of the moon remained, bathing the space in an eerie, otherworldly light.
