The Oculesics- Ek Kahaani Junoon Ki

21.

Target - 110 votes.

Trayambak's POV -

Who the hell dared to mess with my wife?

Because clearly—it wasn’t me.

If I ever intended harm, it would be aimed straight at her bastard brother. And even then, I wouldn’t make a move if Dhimahi was anywhere near him. I know my wife. She would throw herself into the line of fire if it meant saving Dhanay. She would fight death itself. I'm not a fool—I’d never put her life at risk. If I were really behind this, I wouldn’t shy away from admitting it. I’m not a coward. I own my sins.

Yes, I want Dhanay to suffer. I want him to feel every ounce of pain he has caused. I want him begging for mercy. I want him gone. But not at the cost of Dhimahi’s peace. Not at the cost of her parents' smiles. I've seen what it means to lose a loved one. No one deserves that agony—not even the ones I hate. And especially not her.

But someone dared.

Someone moved in the shadows, thinking they could toy with my family and get away with it.

Not on my watch.

Dhimahi believes me—believes that I’m not behind what happened. But belief isn’t enough. She wants answers. She looks into my eyes like I have them, because she knows I have the means and resources to find anything. And she’s right.

But this time… things are different.

No number plate. No visible face. No CCTV footage. No trace.

I even put my best private investigator on it. Nothing.

This isn’t a mere drunk driver or a reckless youth. This is intent. This is precision. This is planned.

But I can't tell Dhimahi—not yet. Not until I can hand the man to her, tied and trembling. Until then, silence is my weapon. She’s already drowning—juggling the weight of her work and the burden of our home.

I see it in her eyes, the quiet exhaustion she tries to hide. I see it in the way she still ties her apron and walks into the kitchen, even when her hands tremble.

I want her to stop. I want to tell her—rest, Dhimahi, I’ll take care of everything. But I don’t. Because I know her. Cooking for me is her love language. She knows I wait for her food like a boy waits for a festival. If I ask her to stop now, she'll think I know her secret. Or worse—that I’ve lost interest. And I can't afford that suspicion. Not again.

Last time… she almost walked away from me. And it shattered me. It boiled me. Because I had pushed her too far, broken her too deep.

I can’t let it happen again.

It’s been two days since the near-accident. And every morning, the first thing she asks—
“Kuch pata chala aapko?” ["Did you find out anything?"]

And every night, the last words on her lips—
“Kuch pata chala aapko?” ["Did you find out anything?"]

She barely speaks to me otherwise. But when she does… it’s always that question.

And I? I burn inside. Because I still don’t have the answer.

If Trayambak Pratap Singh can’t find the truth… then that truth must be buried deeper than the devil’s breath.

I am failing. And I can't keep watching her break with every passing hour.

So I make a decision.

Until I find the real culprit—I’ll weave a story. One believable enough to give her a night's peace. One she can rest her head on. Because if I can’t hand her the truth right now, I can at least give her hope.