Samyukta's POV

"Hey! Sam, someone is asking for your presence in the lounge."

"Ask them to wait for a couple of hours," I responded.

Currently, I'm in a meeting related to my campaign.

Here, many people come to visit us without appointments. Most of them are Syrian refugees. They often come to our center with their sick kids and parents, and we're always on standby to provide them with treatment. Some also come to discuss plans and schemes for the refugees. Since I was not alerted to an emergency, I suppose the person waiting is here to discuss a similar scheme.

After finishing the meeting, I gathered my notes and took a deep breath. The meeting had been intense, but productive. I stood up, stretching slightly before heading towards the lounge. As I walked down the corridor, my mind was still on the discussions we had, the plans we were setting in motion to help those in need.

Reaching the lounge, I glanced around, expecting to see someone from the refugee community or another humanitarian worker. Instead, my heart skipped a beat. There, standing nervously near the entrance, was Abhimanyu.

He looked up as I entered, and our eyes locked. For a moment, I was frozen in place, my emotions swirling. What was he doing here? How did he find me? All the questions I had suppressed for so long came rushing back.

"Samyukta," he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and desperation.

I noticed his disheveled hair, the dark circles around his eyes. His eyes were swollen too. 

Had he been crying? He seemed to have lost a lot of weight.

For a moment, I felt a pang of concern. This was not the strong, confident Abhimanyu I had known. This was a man who looked utterly defeated. But then, I reminded myself of the pain he had caused me, the reason I was here in the first place.

"What are you doing here, Abhimanyu?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He took a step closer, his eyes pleading. 

"Samyukta, please. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I need to explain."

I crossed my arms, trying to create some distance between us. 

"You had plenty of chances to explain, Abhimanyu. Why now?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. 

"Because I didn't realize how much you meant to me until you were gone. I was blind, Samyukta. Blind to my own faults and the pain I was causing you."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. 

"It's not that simple. You can't just show up here and expect everything to be okay."

"I know," he said, his voice breaking. "I know it's not that simple. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. I'll beg if I have to. I'll do anything."

I felt my resolve wavering. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable and broken, was not something I had expected. But I couldn't let myself be swayed so easily.

"Why now, Abhimanyu? What changed?"

He looked down, then back at me with a fierce determination. 

"Because I realized that without you, nothing else matters. Not my pride, not my ego, nothing. I need you, Samyukta. And I'm here to prove it to you."

I took another deep breath, my heart aching.

"You know right, this is not easy?"

"I know. I know. And please, take as much time as you want. But... but don't ask me to go away from you."

"That's something I want, Abhimanyu. Something for which I had to flee my country. Please, please don't tag around me. It'll be so difficult for me."

Abhimanyu's POV

Her words cut through me like a knife. I could see the desperation in her eyes, the pain that mirrored my own but was deeper, more profound. She needed space, and I had to respect that. But just as I was about to respond, she suddenly started breathing heavily, her eyes widening in panic.

"No... no, I can't do this," she muttered, backing away. "I can't... please, don't come near me."

"Samyukta, wait," I pleaded, stepping forward, but she screamed lightly, her voice filled with anguish.

"Don't! Just don't come in front of me until I'm ready," she cried, and then she turned and ran.

I watched her flee, her figure disappearing down the corridor.

I stood there, frozen, the weight of her words crashing down on me. She didn't want me near her, couldn't handle my presence. The realization was suffocating, and I felt an unbearable sense of loss.

Fine, I thought, my heart heavy with resignation. I will not come in front of you, but I will keep track of you. I won't let you out of my sight, even if you don't see me. I can't lose you, Samyukta, not again.

As I stood there, alone in the lounge, I made a silent vow. I would respect her wishes, give her the space she needed, but I would always be there, watching over her from a distance. My love for her was too strong to let go, and I would find a way to make things right, no matter how long it took.

I made my way towards our villa in Istanbul. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions, still reeling from the recent conversations with Samyukta. Her words echoed in my mind, each syllable tinged with pain and longing. 

Please, don't come near me.

I couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that gnawed at my insides, knowing that she was struggling and yet feeling powerless to ease her burden. Over everything, I'm the very cause of her turmoil.

As my Jaguar continued its journey towards the villa, my heart skipped a beat as my phone suddenly rang. Glancing at the screen, a surge of adrenaline shot through me.

Samyukta!?

I was simultaneously filled with doubt and hope. Why would she call? Could this be a sign that she had changed her mind? Did she want to give our relationship another chance?

"Hello? Samyukta?" My voice betrayed my excitement, tinged with a hint of trepidation.

"Maan! Maan! Please...please help me! They'll kill me! Maan!"

Her panicked voice crackled through the phone, sending shivers down my spine.

"Samyukta? Are you alright? Calm down! Where are you?"

"Maan! They'll kill me. Maan! Ahhhhhh..."

Her desperate cries pierced the air, fueling my sense of urgency.

"Samyukta? Samyukta? Samyukta!!!"

But there was only silence on the other end, leaving me paralyzed with fear and uncertainty.

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