Redemption of Royals (Royal #1: Book 3) | ✔

17

-• three more months •-

Rudra

Patience is a waiting game.
Rarely appreciated, though always expected.
A skill I had always lacked.

I was a man with the least emotions. I didn't believe them.

When you believe something, you give it the power to exist, and thus you feel this incandescent, indescribable need to acknowledge it, accept it. I had stripped off those emotions. Their identity. I wanted myself to be less of a human, so I'm never considered weak, flawed, or broken. But also more than a human so I'm always looked upon, envious of, reached for. I wanted to surmount myself with the cadence of my own nature, with the calibre of my own living. I wanted to be enough for myself that I'm never enough for anyone else. I wanted to be more me than I wanted to be loved.

And in all those perspectives of me, my and mine, I became so consumed, clad with high esteem and a sense of superiority, that I began to justify every sin I committed, every wrong I did.

Now I'm neither enough for myself, nor for anyone else.

Taranya walks past me, brushes me off carelessly, like I could be anywhere in the world, in the depths of a volcano or on the top of mountain Everest, and she'll still give me the same attention that she'll give to a stranger on the road.

That hurt.

I wish I had stolen off those laughs, smiles, love laced soft gazes and stored them somewhere safe.

The cruelty of memories lies in the hope of their return.

You'd be wearing a gloomy, miserable moment, and thinking about the memory that shone, sparkled, and clung to your soul like it was put together, woven to perfection, and embellished only for you.

That's what emotions do.

Make you more human.

And a monster who believed in a path led with destruction will only stumble if told to walk with you, feet aligned, steps in synchrony.

So how can she let go of my hand when I haven't learned to walk properly yet? How can she treat me with so much indifference when I'm still stumbling?

What will it take for her to turn back around, reach for me again, and hold my hand?

She suddenly stops and looks over her shoulder. Then she frowns. I watch as she climbs back those stairs, holds the door open as a group of students exit, and enters once they leave.

"Do you need me to mail you an invitation or what?" She snaps. "Stop wasting my time, c'mon!" Grabbing my forearm, she drags me outside. I look down where she holds me, and I hate that I'm wearing a suit today. I wish I had worn a t-shirt, or at least got rid of my blazer and rolled up my sleeves. It's been ages since I've felt her touch on my skin.

The cut near my jaw stings.

I smile.

A touch that's not a threat.

She takes me to her convertible. I don't care that I've come here in my car, and that my guard is probably waiting somewhere, wondering what's taking me so long. He'll be taken care of with a text. I can't miss this chance of driving with her.

She drops my arm and opens the door for me, dramatically insinuating that I get in. I obey. Closing the door with a loud thud, she storms past the bonnet and slides in. I watch her move gracefully to put on her seatbelt, her long, slender fingers deft, quick, conscious. I inhale a deep breath.