Page 62 of ARIDHI: His Never-Ending Desire

They say love changes a man.

What they don’t say is—it doesn’t always change him gently. Or in an affectionate way.

Sometimes, love twists him. Cracks him open, tears the softness out, and stitches rage into the hollow spaces she left behind.

It has been a week since she flew to Mumbai.

Seven nights since I’ve heard her laugh in person. One hundred and sixty eight hours since her voice echoed through the walls of this house and reminded me I had something to come home to.

And in her absence? I have time.

Time to finish what I should’ve the moment we left Jaipur. Time to do what mercy wouldn’t let me when she was near.

The six men who attacked her were still breathing.

That was not forgiveness. That was a delay. Death would be the easiest way to get revenge. And I didn’t want that.

From the moment we landed back in Delhi, I had them moved to the estate’s hidden cell—a space nobody remembers exists except the builders who were paid to forget it.

I didn’t act right away that time.

I was too caught up in her, making sure she didn’t see the storm in my eyes every time I looked at her and remembered her in that red saree, gripping a knife, undefeated.

Yes, she is strong enough to fight herself but I still can’t lift up the guilt of not arriving on time.

The fact that she fought alone, even after having me, does something wrong to my brain cells.

And now, she’s not here. And I have time. I am gonna do it. My hands have been twitching for a week.

I took the stairs down just like every night now.

Not like a man. Not like a lover. But like something holy.

Like wrath wrapped in designer linen and a heart too full of love to be sane.

The door to the basement didn’t creak. It groaned. Like it knew what I’ve done behind it.

They were tied up exactly how I left them—wrists hanging, mouths gagged some days, loose on others, depending on what I wanted to hear.

They looked like men who forgot what peace tastes like. Good. They forgot what she looked like, too.

Because the last time they saw her, she was fierce. Crimson. Vengeful. She carved herself into their skin with a goddamn knife and heels.

I’m just finishing her work.

I stepped in, and they all flinched.

It’s my favorite part.

The fear. The silence. The way their bodies stiffen like animals caught in a trap, too clever to escape.

I don’t ask questions anymore. I already know who sent them.

Manya’s the name that fell out of their mouths. And I knew it before they said so.

Maybe I was expecting grandma’s name too but no, according to them, Manya was the only name.

So, now? I’m just here for the music.

*

The whip I used isn’t leather. It’s copper wire—thin, cruel, personal.

The one with the sharp edge lost his voice two nights ago because he dared abuse my Ardhangini. The others spoke for him now.

Tonight, I walked to the center of the room, my boots echoing like I’m hunting them down.

“You thought she was soft,” I said, circling them slowly, “You thought she’d cry. Run. Beg.”

One of them, the smallest, made a sound. Maybe a sob. Maybe a breath.

“She gave you mercy. But I’m not built like that.” I grabbed the wire from the table, and wound it once around my fist.

It bit into my palm but I didn’t flinch.

“She fought six of you. Alone. In a damn saree and heels. And then stood on stage like a queen she is and took back everything you tried to take from her.”

I stopped in front of the one with the cracked ribs. He was shivering.

“You didn’t just try to stop her. You tried to shame her. Silence her. You wanted her to miss her moment.” I leaned in.

“Now I’m going to make sure none of you forget it.” And then I begin, hitting them one by one. Without any mercy.

They screamed loudly. Just like every night.

This isn’t my anger. It’s my devotion.

The kind that doesn’t let go even when it hurts. Even when it bleeds.

They cried. They plead. They said they were just ‘paid’.

Like that made them any less guilty. Like the money washed the fingerprints off their cowardice.

I didn’t stop until one of them collapsed. Not dead. Just wishing he was.

That’s enough for tonight.

*

Upstairs, the air was colder. Typical Delhi weather.

I walked through the halls of my own house like a stranger now. Even the walls felt afraid of me the way I have developed into this foreign personality.

But not the library, that’s the most familiar thing in this damn house.

I entered my room, into my study slowly. It’s almost done.

Her books were here. Her notes, her scribbled annotations.

The tabs she used to mark lines that made her cry or smile or rage at fictional men who never deserved her in the first place. Because I am the only one she deserves.

Stupid of me to get jealous over literally ink on paper.

Yes, I built this room like a temple. And it depends on her what kind of devotion she wishes to receive in the future.

Sitting in the chair she hasn’t touched yet, I closed my eyes, Imagining her here.

Feet curled under her, eyes half-closed, lost in a book while I pretend to work and actually just watch her live.

That’s all I want.

Just her. Breathing. Mine.

I spoke to myself. Low. Whispered, “You don’t know what I’ve become in your name.”

I love her.

Not the way people write poems about.

But the way knives remember their first kill. The way silence remembers screams. The way broken men remember the one moment they weren’t.

*

I hadn’t planned on leaving the house, much less stepping into a club where every beat of the music felt like it was trying to bury my grief under bass drops and cologne.

But Dhruv was persistent, annoying, and too damn loud about it.

“Bro, you’re starting to scare your own reflection. Let’s go out before you marry that library you’re building.”

God, it was almost a month already.

So I let him drag me to some exclusive rooftop bar in Delhi, where the dress code was expensive and the people were hollow.

The lights flickered like the place had something to prove. Damn, so much brightness.

Girls laughed like their voices were currency. Boys flexed bank balances and jawlines. And I stood in the middle of it all, feeling absolutely nothing.

Dhruv was already halfway through a drink by the time we made it to the VIP lounge.

Abhir joined us just for sport—he didn’t need to be here.

His family had already gone back to Mumbai, but the kid still had a semester left at his university.

And probably a few women waiting in line, though he never looked interested long enough.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m only here to piss off your sister because I got a dare.” He said when I gave him a look.

I still continued giving him the same look.

Regardless of my gaze, Abhir was leaning near the bar, scrolling through his phone like he was bored of existing.

And I was still stuck in my head—in bloody basements, in shadowed memories, in the way Aridhi looked under me.

I sat there, my eyes shifting to Dhruv who was gulping shot after shot.

Well, Nandini is going to have a problem.

That’s when it happened.

A girl walked toward me—who seems to be more interested in power than people.

“You look like someone who needs a passionate night.” She slurred, smiling.

I didn’t answer. I can’t give two fucks about a girl who isn’t Aridhi.

She moved closer, hand reaching out toward my chest, maybe to trace the buttons, maybe to feel something she’d never earn.

But before she could touch—I shifted. One inch.

Just enough for her hand to miss. Just enough to show her I wasn’t interested, without saying a word.

She tried again, stepping closer.

Her perfume was sharp, floral, synthetic, fake, nothing like the way Aridhi smelled when she fell asleep on my shoulder in long car rides.

My eyes darkened, just close enough for her to feel the rage storming in them.

“I don’t react well to anyone who isn't my wife.” I murmured.

She blinked, faltered, and backed off.

End of conversation.

But behind me, I heard a familiar chuckle.

I turned, and there he was—Abhir—phone up, already editing a clip of the whole interaction.

“Seriously?” I questioned, unimpressed.

“Relax,” He smirked, “It’s for research purposes. Also… let’s see how your wife reacts to this.”

He winked as he added a filter, “You looked like you enjoyed the attention.”

I gave him a blank stare, “The only attention I enjoy is of your sister’s.”

“You didn’t stop me.” He pointed out, all the teeth and mischief. Yes, I didn’t.

Maybe I wanted to see her reaction too.

Maybe a part of me wanted her to burn. Just a little. Just enough to remember I could still get under her skin.

A thrill. An excitement. A moment.

She didn’t text much these days.

Too busy. Too strong. Too independent.

And me?

I was still stuck somewhere between her voice and her silence.

*

I dropped Dhruv at Nandini’s apartment and Abhir had left in his ferrari.

The night felt heavier than usual when I arrived home. It was past 1 AM.

The city had shut its eyes. So, I didn’t turn on the lights either.

The clubs had quieted, the streets had emptied, and still—my mind was wide awake, pacing every inch of the memory that had her name scrawled across it.

I stood on my bedroom balcony, one hand on the railing, the other holding my phone.

I opened our chat for the fifteenth time that night. Still nothing. No texts. No missed calls. No voice notes. No angry emoji.

Not even a passive-aggressive meme.

Just that last message she’d sent one day ago, I love you my Ruvyyy.

I thought she was drunk. But no, that’s just her adorable side persuading an angry man which was me. I was angry at her for over working herself by the way.

She’d seen the video. I was sure of it. Abhir probably made sure of that.

He had recorded it just right—angled to make it look like I was letting that girl touch me, lean into me, flirt with me while I just sat there.

And when I shifted away, it was too late for it to matter in a thirty-second reel.

I wanted her to… what?

Burn? Break? Call? But she didn’t.

And now, her silence was louder than any scream she could’ve thrown my way.

I hovered over the call button for too long—long enough to feel pathetic.

But I pressed it anyway.

She was probably mad. Or worse, unbothered.

She picked up the call after the third ring, “What?”

No greeting. No softness. Just that flat, tired, biting tone she used when she didn’t want to admit she cared.

“Wow. Hello to you too.” I replied, walking back into my room.

“It’s 1:20 a.m.” Yet her voice didn't sound sleepy by any chance, meaning that she was awake too.

“Wae aren't you sleeping then? Why did you pick up my call?” I smirked, knowing well she can't see it. But she can definitely feel it by now.

“Keep talking and I’ll hang up.”

“Then this conversation will be the shortest thing you’ve committed to in a while.”

There was a pause. That kind of pause where she’s either rolling her eyes or trying not to smile.

I sat on the edge of the bed, ran a hand down my face, “You saw the video.”

It wasn't a question, it was affirmation.

“Which one?” She snapped, “The one where you sat like a goddamn mannequin while that club Barbie tried to make you her late-night project?”

God, I loved it when she was mad. I hated it too.

“I didn’t let her. She just couldn’t aim properly.”

“Oh, right. Your signature move—avoiding people with your deadpan gaze.”

A chuckle escaped my lips, “If I let her touch me even a fraction, believe me Ardhangini, I would have burnt down that shirt and bathed in Ganga.”

“Ugh. You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you are blushing.” My lips twitched when she became speechless, “You’re jealous. Hmm.” I teased.

“I’m not.” An immediate reply.

“You are.” Silence.

I could hear her exhale. Probably glaring at the ceiling. Or at herself—for still picking up when she swore she wouldn’t.

“She had long legs.” She muttered, under her breath.

I blinked, then laughed, “I didn’t notice.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’ve seen me lose all sanity over one anklet on your foot. You really think someone else’s legs do it for me?”

She didn’t answer, but the silence shifted. From sharp to soft. From annoyed to holding something she didn’t want to drop.

“Still,” She started, quieter now, “You let Abhir record it.”

“I knew you’d watch it.”

“So it was a game?”

“It was a test.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“If you’d call.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

“I’d have called anyway. Which I just did. So technically, I win.”

“You’re impossible.” She said, voice barely above a whisper.

“And yet... you’re still on the line.”

“Unfortunately.” She must be smiling.

“You love me.”

“Debatable.”

“You’d have strangled her if she actually touched me.”

“Absolutely.” She gritted her teeth.

I closed my eyes.

The city might have been sleeping, but her voice made my chest feel louder than anything outside.

That gentle shift in her breathing, the way her sarcasm softened just slightly—it was enough.

“Abhir’s video was bullshit, by the way.” Even though she might know by now, I still decided to clarify it by my side.

“I know.”

“You do? Huh?”

“You shifted away. Just a little. But I saw it at the end of the video.”

“So you stalked the video, sweetheart?”

“Shut up.”

Before the conversation could end, I asked, “Why didn’t you text me then?”

“Because if I did, I’d have said something mean. Like... I hope the girl breaks her heel and falls on your overpriced shoes.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“I imagined it five times.”

I laughed, genuinely after so many days, “You missed me.” I said, letting the silence hold.

That beautiful kind where I could imagine her narrowing her eyes at the phone, debating if I was worth entertaining.

She hadn’t hung up yet. That was enough.

“Don’t push it.”

“You called.”

“You called me.”

“You answered.”

“Cocky bastard.” She giggled.

God, I wanted to see her. Just for a minute. Just enough to watch that one vein on her forehead twitch when she laughs.

We laughed like that for god knows how much time.

“Did you really not like it?” She asked suddenly, her voice dipping into something too bitter.

“The club?” I asked.

“No. The attention.” She almost yelled.

I leaned back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling, my own reflection blinking back at me.

Yes, I had a mirror installed, just above the bed. Because… she is getting kinky day by day.

“Aridhi,” I called out, my voice turning serious, “I haven’t liked anyone since you. And even that didn’t feel like a choice.”

“Not even a little.” I added, without hesitation.

I imagined her lying in bed, phone warm against her cheek, probably hugging a pillow while smiling.

“You sound like trouble.” She murmured.

“You sound like mine.” I replied.

“Getting flirty, are we?” Her tone came out as a tease.

“Oh, Ardhangini. You don't know how much I crave you.”

And just like that, she laughed. The soft kind. The real kind. The one that didn’t have walls.

“You want me to come back?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“You know I can’t. Not yet.”

“Then I’ll come.”

Her breath hitched, “No, Ruvit. What if they get to know?”

“Did you forget I’m a businessman? I can travel anywhere as an excuse of meetings.” I answered.

“Oh, yes. I forgot about that.”

My eyes narrowed, “Wow.” Before I could speak, she interrupted, “I was told that you were mine.”

“Yes, I’m yours. I’m not a businessman. I’m not a human being. I’m nothing without you. So, yes, I belong to you. You have the authority to control me however you want.”

She must be biting her lips to stop the smile forming on her lips and I took it as a chance to tease her, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Confusion arose in her question.

“Don’t bite your lips. That I have the right to do.”

“How do you know about my body reactions?”

“I learnt it, jaan.” The words lolled out of my lips smoothly.

She inhaled, shaky, “You’re dangerous like this.”

“You made me this way.”

A pause. No tension. No awkwardness. Just comfortable silence with our breaths mixing with each other softly over the phone.

“Ruvyyy,” She called out suddenly and my jaw clenched. So, this is how my new nickname by her sounds?

Interesting.

“Ruvit?” She again called out and I hummed, “Wae are you doing this to me, sweetheart?”

“What I'm doing?”

“Can a nickname be this pleasant or its just your voice which makes it sound like my favourite word?”

I heard her chuckling, “What are you even saying?”

“Jaan, I love you.” I admitted, “Whatever I say, just means I love you very much.”

“Hmm?” She cooed, “Then I’m sorry for not calling you.” She said, out of nowhere.

“Don’t be.”

“I should have called you earlier.”

“You don’t need to do anything. Just exist. For you. For me. For us. For our children.”

“Shut up.” She said playfully, “Not the child talk.”

“Wae?” I raised my eyebrows, “You don’t want children?”

“Ruvit! That’s not what I meant.”

“Ahh, so you do want children.”

“Of course. No, wait. Yes. Ugh. Everyone has kids after marriage.”

Her flustered tone made me laugh too hard, “I will tell our kids about this.”

“Ohh, c’mon. That’s embarrassing.” She probably frowned.

“No. It’s not embarrassing. It’s cute.” I stated.

“Whatever,” As assumed from her tone, she must be rolling her eyes, “We should sleep now.”

“Sleep,” I murmured, “I’ll stay.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“You’ll fall asleep with the call on?” She questioned.

“Only if you snore.” I answered.

“I don’t snore.”

“Liar.” She laughed again.

It was the kind of sound I could play on loop in my head when everything else burned.

“Goodnight, idiot.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Rathore. Who’s still pretending she’s not.”

She was smiling.

And so was I.

And just like that, the world felt a little more breathable.

*

She didn’t hang up.

She just let the silence stay. Let me stay. And I stayed. Listening to her breath.

I laid back on the bed, the phone on the speaker beside me while my hand rested on my chest like I could anchor myself to the sound of her being real.

Because even after all this time, she’s still the only lullaby that works.