As the days stretched into weeks, the silence between us grew deafening. 

Nandini Maa's casual mention of his calls to her, and the discussions with Suraj Bhai Sa and my father-in-law about business matters, only served to highlight the void in our communication. It seemed he was reaching out to everyone but me.

Each day, I dialed his number in a futile attempt to bridge the distance between us, but he remained unreachable, his silence- a constant reminder of the gulf that had formed between us. Now, I don't even have tears left to shed anymore.

At the hospital, I threw myself into my duties with a fervor bordering on desperation, burying myself in long surgeries, deliveries, and patient visits. Anything to avoid the questions that lingered at home, the inquiries about his well-being that I had no answers to: Did he call? Did he mention if he had lunch? How's he doing? But how would I know if he doesn't even let me talk to him?

Nandini maa sensed that something was amiss. She inquired the day after he left.

"Tum dono ke beech sab thik hain na?" she asked, her concern palpable. 

(Is everything alright between both of you?)

I offered her a tight smile and reassured her that everything was alright.

I didn't want to divulge the details of our situation to anyone. It was a matter between the two of us, and we needed to work it out without involving our loved ones unnecessarily. 

But it was Shree who saw through the facade. One day, while I was on call duty and walking through the corridors she cornered me in the hospital corridor by dragging my arm. Before, I could react, she threw tons of questions towards me.

"What's wrong with you? Your face has lost color. I heard bhaiyaa left for Bangalore, suddenly. Is everything okay?" 

Her questions came rushing forth like a tidal wave, each one a painful reminder of the reality I was desperately trying to escape. 

A single tear betrayed my composure, slipping down my cheek before I could stop it. Shree's expression softened with understanding.

"I'm fine, Shree, and he is too. Just a little argument...you know," I said, attempting to manage the situation.

"A little argument and he left you? He's not like this. Sam, don't lie to me. Tell me if you want to keep matters private, I'll understand, but at least don't take me for a fool who'll accept this excuse," she said, her tone tinged with anguish. 

Her concern was valid.

"Yes, Shree, we want to keep the matter private. Please don't let anyone in both families know. Please, I beg you," I pleaded, joining my hands together, which she quickly held as she nodded in understanding. "Especially, both of our mothers. They'll become very sad and stressed. Also, Samrat bhai sa. Please," I added.

"Okay. But if you ever need me to talk to him, let me know without hesitation," she said, hugging me tightly as I hugged her back.

Three weeks have passed, and still, I have no idea how he is, what he's doing, or if he's even okay. Enough is enough. I can't bear this pain of separation any longer. Not even six months into our marriage, and we're already at this point where we're drifting apart. I can't sit idly by and let it happen. I need to reach out to him. I'll confront him, face whatever it is that's driving us apart, and work together to mend our relationship. It's time to take action and fight for what we have.

I discreetly collected his Bangalore addresses from my father-in-law during casual conversations without tipping him off about our turmoil and decided to set off on my journey to Bangalore, determined to confront him and salvage our relationship.

Today, I informed the family that I would be visiting him as a surprise and instructed them not to let him know beforehand. I prepared his favorite gajar ka halwa all by myself, packed it neatly in a glass tiffin carrier, and set off for the airport.

Boarding our private jet, I arrived in Bangalore within a couple of hours in the afternoon and wasted no time heading straight to his office.

Entering the emporium, I was led to the twenty-fifth floor where his cabin was located via a panoramic elevator. The Bangalore branch of the Rathores' was slightly smaller than the headquarters back in Jaipur.

As I walked through the corridor, I observed the interior of the floor, embellished in beige and gold. Each step echoed softly against the polished tiles. The walls rose majestically, adorned with ornate frames housing timeless jewelry artworks. Soft lighting cast gentle shadows, creating an ambiance of quiet elegance that belied the storm raging within my heart.

Yet, amidst the opulence that surrounded me, I felt a sense of urgency driving me forward. The need to reach him, to bridge the distance that had grown between us, fueled my every step. 

As I navigated the corridors, each turn bringing me closer to my destination my heart thumped loudly anticipating his reaction on seeing me here.  

As I stood before his cabin door, my heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. I had learned that he was not engaged in a meeting at the moment. So, with a steadying breath, I raised my hand and knocked softly, the sound echoing through the corridor like a whispered plea. 

"Come in." His voice, tinged with a familiarity that stirred emotions long buried, beckoned me inside, sending a rush of emotions coursing through my veins.

As I pushed open the door, my eyes met his, and for a moment, time stood still. The weight of his gaze bore down on me, igniting a spark of recognition that blazed through the layers of distance and silence that had grown between us.

His face, illuminated by the soft glow of the room, held a mixture of surprise and something else, something I couldn't quite name. My gaze flickered between his face and the floor, the urge to rush into his arms and never let go almost overwhelming.

His eyes softened briefly upon seeing me. But then, as if realizing something he didn't want to acknowledge, he closed his eyes tightly, his breath escaping him in a heavy sigh. Suddenly, he stood up from his chair with a jerk, causing me to flinch.

"Why are you here?" His voice held a sharp edge of irritation, slicing through the fragile hope that had blossomed within me. The words pierced my heart like shards of glass, leaving me reeling with the realization that he was not as eager to see me as I had hoped.

For a moment, I struggled to find my voice, the weight of his disapproval pressing down on me like a leaden weight. But then, summoning every ounce of courage within me, I met his gaze squarely, determined to face the storm raging within him, even if it meant weathering the brunt of his anger.

Despite the fury in his gaze, I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling with the weight of my emotions.

"How are you?" 

He chuckled softly, a bitter edge to the sound that sent a shiver down my spine. I felt the sting of his hurt in that moment.

"Please leave," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, his stoic expression masking the turmoil within. 

For a heartbeat, I stood rooted to the spot, grappling with the devastation of his rejection. 

With no words left to offer, only the raw courage of desperation propelling me forward, I closed the distance between us, each step heavier than the last. His aura, suffused with danger and anger, threatened to engulf me, but I pressed on, determined to breach the fortress he had built around himself.

Finally, standing just inches away from him, I met his gaze, finding a reflection of my own pain mirrored in his eyes. 

And then, without warning, I surrendered to the overwhelming ache in my heart, wrapping my arms around him in a desperate embrace. His body stiffened at first, resisting the intrusion, but I held on tightly, refusing to let go. 

As my tears flowed freely, soaking his grey shirt with the weight of my sorrow, my voice cracked with the weight of my emotions. Each sob echoed loudly in the empty space between us, a haunting melody of despair that reverberated through the silence.

But despite my cries, despite the vulnerability laid bare in my embrace, he remained unyielding, his body rigid and unmoving against mine. The absence of his touch, the absence of any reassurance or comfort, only served to deepen the ache within me.

After a long time, he held my shoulders and I though he was giving in, but sadly he pushed my away from himself and stepped back to give me a tissue from his desk. 

I kept muttering 'I'm sorry' for the umptieth time as I felt the weight of his silence pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. His refusal to meet my gaze, to acknowledge my presence, only fueled the torrent of remorse that consumed me. 

He shifted his weight, leaning against the edge of his desk with his hip, folding his arms tightly across his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor as if searching for answers in the intricate patterns of the carpet.

With trembling hands, I dabbed the tissue at my tear-streaked cheeks in a feeble attempt to regain some semblance of composure. But even as I struggled to collect myself, his voice pierced the silence, drawing my attention back to him.

"Samyukta, it's not just about you," he began, his tone heavy with a mixture of frustration and resignation. "It's about me, too. I believe I had overly expected from you, so maybe I was overburde—"

"No, no, Maan, it's my fault," I interjected, my voice trembling with emotion. "I should've been there for you."

He clicked his tongue in disapproval, cutting off my protest with a sharp gesture.

"Tsk. Listen to me, Samyukta." He said, his tone tinged with irritation.

Does he hate me?

"We're way too different, Samyukta," he began, his voice tinged with regret. "You love to be around so many people, mingle with them effortlessly. But I'm not the same as you. I'm very much of an introvert. So, most of the time, I fail to make myself a part of the crowd. I don't think it's working. I don't think we're meant to be together."

His admission cut deep, slicing through the fragile hope that had clung to the possibility of our reconciliation. 

"Is this what our marriage means to you?" I choked out, the words catching in my throat like bile. "You'll not work for us?"

"There wasn't any 'us', Samyukta," he confessed, his voice heavy with resignation. "Only you. Only me. We've just been foolish to hurry up with the marriage."

His words pierced me to the core. 

"You're pushing me away from you with your insecurities, Abhimanyu," I accused, the bitterness of my own resentment coloring my tone.

"And you've pushed me away with your indifference, Samyukta," he countered, his voice tinged with a sadness that mirrored my own.

The weight of his admission hung heavy between us, a silent acknowledgment of the irreparable damage that had been done. 

"So, is this how we end up?" I asked, the pain of his betrayal etched into every syllable. "I thought you loved me."

"I did, Samyukta. I did," he admitted, his voice cracking with emotion. "But I can't pretend that I'm fine, that I'm happy forever."

His words were like a dagger to my heart, the final blow in a battle that had long since been lost.

"If you'd loved me, you'd have fought for us," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper as I turned away, the weight of his rejection pressing down upon me like a suffocating blanket.

With each step I took, the realization dawned upon me that there was no use in convincing a person who had already given up, who had already closed all the doors to a second chance. We were done, our love nothing more than a shattered illusion amidst the wreckage of our broken dreams. I realized that our bond had become little more than a distant memory, a ghost of what could have been.

"Wait. You may stay at the penthouse. My staff'll take you there," he offered, his voice tinged with a hint of reluctance.

I couldn't help but scoff at his sudden offer of hospitality. 

"Why do you want me to stay anymore when you've clearly stated that it's over between us?" I demanded, my voice laced with bitterness.

"It's over between us, but the families, Samyukta," he explained, his tone pleading. "Things will get awkward if we suddenly break things to them. We need to think together."

I shook my head in disbelief, the irony of his words not lost on me. 

"As you said, Mr. Abhimanyu Singh Rathore, there's no together. Only you. Only me. So thank you for offering the stay, but I don't want to stay around you even for a fucking moment."

He stood silent, his expression unreadable as I turned to leave. Tears spilled from my eyes, a betrayal of the facade of strength I had tried so desperately to maintain.

"And, regarding the families, don't worry," I added as I turned towards him to look into his eyes for the one last time, my voice trembling with emotion. "I know how to have real happiness in my life as well as fake my happiness. So that's not an issue."

With those words, I walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of our once-promising future. 

As I closed the door and made my way out of his office, a sense of realization washed over me that I no longer needed to concern myself with his wishes or desires. The weight of his expectations, the burden of his presence, no longer held sway over me.

In that moment, I made a silent vow to myself: I would not waste another moment worrying about him or his feelings. His jealousy, his insecurities—they were no longer my concern.

With newfound determination, I resolved to focus on my own happiness, to carve out a future that was free from the drama and turmoil that had come to define our relationship. If he believed that I was too involved with his family, then so be it. I would remove myself from their lives completely, for his sake.

From now on, I would only give him happiness, even if it meant sacrificing my own. 

And with that, I made a choice: to leave behind the people and the places that had once meant everything to me. For the sake of him, I was willing to let go of everything I once held dear.

˜”*°•°*”˜