The Oculesics- Ek Kahaani Junoon Ki

11.

Hey girlies, let's get one thing straight, don't be Dhimahi, okay?

Don't lose your brains over love and definitely don't start justifying abuse in the name of "possessiveness" or "intense love." This chapter isn't a guide, it's a red flag parade. So, don't you dare romanticize it.

And before anyone comes for me RELAX.

This ain't my personal diary, this is Dhimahi's messed-up mindset, not mine. So let's not get it twisted, alright?

Love yourself more than any toxic man.

Target - 55 votes
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Dhimahi's pov

It has been five days since Trayambak left. Five long, suffocating days.

I stand by the window, my gaze lost in the rain-streaked glass, but my mind is somewhere far darker. Everything inside me feels numb-and yet burning. How can silence hurt more than a slap? How can indifference cut deeper than violence?

I know he has anger issues. I've seen his rage, felt the sting of his hands. I had made peace with the bruises, told myself that maybe-just maybe-his pain ran deeper than mine. But never in my worst dreams did I imagine him as a cheater.

Surbhi.

That name alone tears at my chest like claws. Every moment of these past five days, I've imagined them together. Laughing. Whispering. Touching. I hate my own mind for conjuring those images, but it won't stop. The way he used to touch me. The words he once whispered in my ear. Were they all lies? Is he giving them to someone else now?

I gave him everything-my body, my soul, my silence, my loyalty. And he shattered me in ways no one else ever had.

I remember the first time he slapped me. It should've ended there. But it didn't. Not when I told myself that it was just a moment of anger. That he loved me. That it wasn't him. But it was. It had always been him.

That first slap came when I refused to marry him.

FLASHBACK

They were just rumours. That's what I kept telling myself. But rumours don't trend on business pages unless there's some truth to them.

"Trayambak Pratap Singh is likely to tie the knot with Taapsi Oberoi, heiress of the Oberoi conglomerate."

Every time I read that line, my chest clenched. I knew Trayambak-his love, his intensity. But he was also him-the powerful, unreachable Pratap Singh. And I? I was just a middle-class girl who still travelled by bus sometimes, who saved her salary to gift him a watch on his birthday.

And then came Lochan uncle's interview.

"Would you support a union between your son and Taapsi Oberoi?" the reporter asked.

He smiled. Calm. Charismatic.
"Main Trayambak pe kabhi pressure nahi daalta. Lekin agar ye sach hai, toh main khush hoon." ["I never pressurise Trayambak. But if it's true, I'd be happy."]

That one line shattered something in me.

Even his father thought Taapsi was better for him.

That night I didn't sleep. I stared at the ring on my finger-the one he gave me when he asked me to be his forever-and all I could think was: Maybe I'm just a phase. Maybe I'm just the safe girl before the real one walks in.

By morning, I had made up my mind.

I stormed into his office, heart in my throat, palms trembling. He looked up from his chair, surprised.