Her Nightmare | 18+

| Anshika's Homecoming |

PARINIDHI

Hatred surged through me like a relentless storm, a force so potent it eclipsed all other emotions. We often temper our use of such a word, "hatred," to avoid inflicting unintended wounds, yet within me, towards Devansh, it had grown unchecked, consuming every other sentiment.

From dawn to dusk, Devansh remained conspicuously absent. As I sat rigidly in my chair, each passing moment seemed to tighten the coil of frustration within me. Despite my relentless calls for aid long after Devansh had departed, my pleas echoed back to me unanswered.

The maids drifted in and out, their presence a bitter reminder of Devansh's disdain towards Rahul and their own disdain towards me for Anshika's plight. Some would cast mocking glances my way, a cruel imitation of Devansh's disdain.

Amidst their ranks, a few showed kindness, yet even their compassionate gestures were tinged with fear, a fear so palpable it suffocated their natural inclinations towards empathy.

With each passing hour, my condition deteriorated, my thirst growing more insatiable. Then, like a beacon of hope in the gathering gloom, Reshma appeared, a clandestine savior offering water in secret.

"I fear this is all I can offer. Please forgive me," Reshma spoke, her voice tinged with apprehension and remorse.

"I understand the risk you take in aiding me. Your act of kindness is a blessing," I replied, gratitude mingling with understanding.

Reshma glanced anxiously around the corridor before discreetly passing me the glass, a silent testament to her courage amidst the shadow of Devansh's tyranny.

A singular dread consumed me: the fear that Devansh, driven by his unbridled fury, might cross a line with Ajit.

In my heart, there exists not just care for him but also a profound respect. Ajit had been by my side since our college days.

He stood unwaveringly by my side after my father's passing, shouldering burdens and offering steadfast support. Despite my repeated refusals, he remained steadfast.

His affection for me originated in our college days, openly expressing his feelings. Yet, my heart could not reciprocate beyond friendship. Despite the ebb and flow of financial troubles post my father's demise, while many friendships waned, Ajit's loyalty endured.

His dedication and benevolence were deeply ingrained, so much so that when he proposed two years ago, I found it difficult to decline. I still regard him as a dear friend and had even promised to marry him.

Ajit's words echoed persistently, "I understand, Pari, that you may not harbor romantic feelings for me. But if you stand with me, the love I hold for you in my heart will be enough for both of us, for a lifetime."

His memory was a sanctuary, a testament to his unwavering respect for my feelings. Unlike Devansh, who breached boundaries within days of our marriage, Ajit never once crossed the line during our two-year relationship.

The audacity of comparing them left me seething with self-reproach. How could I equate Ajit, whose heart is open to love, with Devansh, whose heart seems as cold and unyielding as stone? Such a comparison felt sacrilegious.

I was ensconced in my own world, distant and detached, until the clamor from outside jolted me back to reality.

The door, slightly ajar, allowed glimpses of the hurried staff scurrying past, leaving me puzzled by the sudden flurry of activity.

Then Reshma bolted towards me, her hands reaching out. Startled, I cautioned her, "Reshma, you could get in trouble. You should leave."

But her face lit up with an intense glow, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Ansh baby is on the way home!" she proclaimed, her words hitting me like a bolt of lightning.