-• resentment •-
happy republic day 🇮🇳
Taranya
Rudra Rana Singh Rawal
I inhale softly, forcing my eyes to stay on him. It's not the name, no, it's the way he said it, owned it, as if he knows no man out there can take this away from him. It's him.
Rudra Rana Singh Rawal
That's him.
And he doesn't need to prove himself, he doesn't need to put on any fake lens to fool the world into thinking that it's him. He is. Esther Industries stands tall and proud to shut the mouths of people daring to wonder who it belongs to.
It's all so clear now.
He's so work obsessed, so dedicated to his business because that's where the real him is, that's where he belongs. And it breaks my heart that he doesn't realise it. This man never needed to be someone else to prove his worth. He is a fucking miracle, and anyone who made him feel otherwise should go choke on a mouthful of lead.
"Why are you running away from yourself, Rudra?" I ask in a whisper.
I'd love to stand next to him and address him as Rudra, not as anyone else. I want to hold his hand as his wife, not as Shourya's. Because I never married his title, or the position, I married him. My faith, my vows, my loyalty, it belongs to him, not because he's Shourya, but because he's my husband.
"I'd never be able to catch up with you if you keep running away from who you are."
He doesn't speak, doesn't say a word, not even a grunt to denote that he's listening to me. Except for his knuckles, branding the wheel so tightly they almost turn white, I've no other way to tell he hasn't already tuned me out of his head.
"Rudra-"
"Don't." He avoids looking at me, his gaze fixed on the road. "You've no idea what I went through."
"But I'm willing to listen." I insist.
I know about his past along the edges, but he never let me in fully. Never.
"I showed you my scars, what more do you want?" He smiles wryly.
"The story behind them." I whisper.
He struggles to cover up the vulnerability using a hostile mask, sealing his lips shut for the rest of the drive. I give up when we roundabout a familiar intersection, and farms start covering the roadsides instead of buildings and shops.
Fifteen minutes later, he's cutting off the engine in front of my family's farmhouse and getting out to walk up to the door without waiting for me. I sigh regrettably. Did I push too many buttons at the same time? We had a silly, stupid argument back at the palace, and then I quickly jumped on his past, eager to know more than the sliver he shows me.
Way to ruin the progress, Tara. Good job.
Ignoring the admonishing voice inside my head, I jog to catch up with his long strides. He thoughtfully slows down upon realising I'm struggling to match his pace. We step up the canopy porch. He waits patiently by my side as I hunch forward to ring the doorbell.
The door is swung open by my eldest brother.
"Is he fine?"
Yuvraaj nods, stepping aside to let me in. I walk inside as the two men get into a hushed conversation out of my eye sight. My gait slows at the main foyer noticing Vivaan descend the stairs. His eyes fall on me and he gives me a weak smile. He looks extremely worn out.
"Sorry for calling you so late. He couldn't stop asking for you." Vivaan rounds the couch and plops down tiredly. He didn't even hug me. Fuck that, he didn't even smile at me properly. He's so exhausted it's visible in the bags under his eyes and the swoop of his broad shoulders. My brother needs deep rest.
Yuvraaj walks in along with Rudra and I notice the same with the two. God, not just one, but all the fucking men in my life need some good, deep rest. But I know they're not stopping until they bring Abhimanyu Singh Rajawat to his brutal end. And I wouldn't want them to. It's a long war, and they cannot stop, not now.
"I'll brew some coffee for you guys." I say to the men.
Yuvraaj nods. Rudra glances at me but doesn't say no, so I take it as a yes. My eyes move towards Vivaan and pity fills me when I see him fast asleep on the couch.
"Viv-"
"Don't," I stop Yuvraaj. "Let him sleep."
Yuvraaj blinks at me. "I was meaning to suggest he sleeps in one of the bedrooms. More comfortable that way."
"I'm sure as a surgeon, he's used to sleeping anywhere he can get some sleep. Let him rest. You guys take your conversation somewhere else." I advise.
Yuvraaj looks at Rudra and jerks his chin towards the stairs. Then he takes the lead and my husband follows. I turn around to go to the kitchen. It's the same as I left. Aunt Farida doesn't have to cook or clean. Tiffins come from Veer Mahal and all she has to do is dish them out to Shourya. She comes in the morning at nine and leaves at eight, after making sure Shourya is fed and given his medicines.
As I brew some coffee in the glass carafe, my thoughts run back to the few hours ago, when Rudra and I had shed off the last layer of modesty to appreciate each other in a much more intimate sense.
But I'm hitched in the moment when he got up unceremoniously, buck naked, without even realising the humiliating rejection he put me through while he got dressed. As if whatever rushed to the forefront of his mind blanked him out and all he needed was an escape. It took him a glance at me, an accidental glance, to realise I'm still there, down to my flimsy undies, without anything else covering me. And I saw the change, as it slammed back, his face transforming into shock, as if he couldn't believe he was capable of walking out on me, in any situation, let alone when I'm almost naked for him. And then he scrambled back to me, apologising over and over, ashamed of his actions.
But could I really blame him?
I was hurt, yes, perhaps even slightly angry, but more than that, I hated that his past is strong enough to overshadow the most beautiful parts of his life. Because in that hall, on that stage, in each other's embrace, we were just us, me and him, princess and her mystery man, Esther and her self proclaimed bodyguard, but then his past came bouldering like a worked up storm, toppling over every moment we had carefully built that had led up to us finally together.
I want to know every little detail of his past, not because I'm curious, but because I want to know if he acts a certain way in a certain situation, it's not him, it's the ropes of his past controlling him, and maybe it'll become easier for me to understand him. I want to know him inside out. I want to know him the way no one does, not even his God. I want him to be mine in all parts of our lives, not just the beautiful ones.
The carafe releases a small wheezing noise and I turn off the stove, lifting it off the hot surface and pouring the coffee into two cups. Putting them on the tray, I carry it upstairs and follow the noise leading me down the hallway until I'm at the last door. Holding the tray to my chest, I knock twice on the wooden frame. The door swings open and Rudra stands in front of me.
"Coffee," I hold the tray to him. Instead, he steps aside, just the slightest, as if making room for me, when he really isn't because there's no way I can walk past him without rubbing our bodies together.
I swallow a mouthful of reluctance and squeeze past him. The ghost of his breath kisses my earlobe and my hands tremble. The tray almost slips from my hands had it not been his palm coming underneath to stabilise it. Our eyes lock and I take a soft, shaky breath to calm myself. His proximity isn't new, but the sensations it has started to evoke in me are freaking me out. I didn't think I was capable of feeling with so much intensity. And to think my feelings for him had scared me shitless. I think it has more to do with the fact that I believed I wanted both Rudra and Shourya, unaware they're one and the same. If the sixteen year old Taranya finds out about the future, I'm sure she wouldn't think twice before jumping into a fucking volcano.
"Rudra, come here,"
He springs back, creating distance between us while my head snaps to my brother on the couch, staring at his laptop. I heave a breathe of relief. Thank God for his workaholic nature that he's blind to the rest of the world.
My husband gives me a longing stare, one that says he wants me, needs me, hasn't gotten enough of me yet, and I fluster under his hungry gaze. Intimacy with him comes to me as easy as breathing does to a pair of greedy lungs. I find no inhibitions holding me back. I just can't resist throwing myself in his open arms. I want him to always want me, like I do. He's so God damn beautiful, the way his corded muscles flex when he holds me by the waist, the thick scrunch of his arched brows, his plump lips grunting out the moans of pleasure, his shiny skin sticky and wet, and the way his veins, so twisted and entwined, grow prominent every time he moves inside me, harder, but dragging out each stroke, as if he knows the pleasure is in the drive, and not the destination.
"Rudra!" Yuvraaj finally looks up.
I break the eye contact and quickly move towards the table where my brother keeps his laptop on. I serve him the cup of coffee, putting another next to his for the man who walks up to the couch and settles next to Yuvraaj.
I turn around and exit the room, closing the door to block out the deep timbre of his raspy voice, sleep induced and hazy with lust, it causes my heart to hammer into my chest, as if trying to shatter the walls of my ribcage and break free.
On my way, I stop in front Shourya's room and open the door to peek inside. Except for the hallway light that sneaks in until the foot of the bed, the room is doused in darkness. I push the door ajar, finally catching a glimpse of the peacefully sleeping man.
I had stopped coming here after returning to Rajawat Palace. I'm not a celebrity of any sorts, but I'm still a public figure, and I feared my frequent visits here might bring us some unwanted attention. When I told him that, surprisingly he understood me, and only requested I keep in touch with him through calls and messages, because in the whole world, he only has me now and he doesn't want to lose the last person he feels some connection with.
I don't know what I feel towards this man.
Sympathy, guilt, or pity.
Maybe all of them.
Sympathy for not being able to empathise with him, guilt because somewhere I'm responsible for his current state, and pity, because well, he's pitiful.
I close the door and head downstairs. My eyes soften at the sight of Vivaan rubbing his squinted eyes as he blinks to the bright lights. Feels like it's been ages since I've had a stress-free, happy time with my family, especially him. At least Agastya and the twins call once in a while, but I've lost contact with my elder brothers and it's like a gaping hole in my chest that never seems to close up. We don't act forlorn when we're in the same room, we act like a family, but being an adult has stripped me off the ease with which I used to approach and demand time from these guys.
So I throw the caution to the window, flip a bird to the creeping awkwardness and snuggle on the couch next to my brother. He startles for a second, then relaxes and his arms come around me, embracing me tightly. I feel small again. I feel like the sixteen year old Tara again who used to fall asleep in his bed and wake up grabbing a fistful of his fleecy sweatshirts in my hands.
Why do we grow up?
Fuck, I hate it.
I never got to live with all of my brothers properly. I never got to live with Vivaan properly. He was my favourite among everyone else, he still is. I fell in love with him because of his free, unbound nature of giving, and I stayed in love with him because he's all that no one else can ever be. No matter how much the world tries, it cannot ever come close to the perfection of Vivaan Singh Chauhan. He's a man made to love.
"Why couldn't you find me earlier? Why couldn't you find me when I was a child." My tone comes out accusing and I look up at him with tear filled eyes.
He appears stunned at the emotional shift in the room. I bet he didn't expect me to go there of all places.
"Tara,"
"Even after you guys found me, I still couldn't be with you."
"No, little star, one of us was always with you-"
"But not you!" I grit out.
"Tara," he whispers, his hand coming to cup my cheek.
"After dad's death, I wanted to be with you, Bhai. And I hated that I had to move out and go back to London again, even if it was my own choice. I wish you had stopped me. I wish you had said I didn't need to run away, and that you're always there for me."
"I was always there, Tara."
"Then why didn't you stop me? Why did you let me go?"
He hangs his head low. "Because I thought that's what's best for you. I thought that's what you wanted."
I shake my head, dropping my head on the headrest as I stare up at the chandelier. "I wanted to be with you. I wanted you to be there when I ate only soups. I wanted you to figure out something is wrong with me. I wanted it to be you and not Agastya. I hated that it had to be him. I hated how much it broke him, how shaken up he looked, how he had no idea what to do with me because he thought I was irreparable. I wanted you to be there for me. But you weren't." I sit straight, looking at him with hurt. "And now you know. Why not when I was struggling to fight this unwanted change in me? Why now that I've already accepted myself for who I've become?"
He fights the urge to reach out for me. I notice it in the twitch of his fingers and the way his arms retract to himself helplessly. He drops his elbows on his parted knees, staring at the floor.
"You need professional help."
"I needed you." I whisper.
"I'm sorry, okay?" He looks at me dejectedly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I didn't stop you. I'm sorry I let you go. Maybe I was hiding too. Maybe I wasn't strong enough to hold you together. And I'm ashamed. But please don't think that I abandoned you. I love you, Tara, and I hate to see you going through this. You need help, little star. It's a disorder. You can't survive on soups for the rest of your life."
I look away.
"Tara,"
"I'm not ready yet."
"You'll never be ready if you keep turning away from it. You've to face it."
"Face what?" I look at him perplexed. "I don't even know what caused this. What should I face, Bhai? That somehow, the last thing that I ate before Dad's death was the halwa he made, and I can't forget the taste of it, that my throat closes up at the very thought of eating something that doesn't have the same consistency? Do you know how fucked up that sounds?"
"You're trying to hold onto the last memory of him. It's not fucked up. I understand -"
"You don't!" I wrench myself off the sofa, glaring at him. "You've no idea what that day means to me! And we can't even imagine how Yuvaan Bhai is coping with all of this. It was his birthday! And we three celebrated it together before he was whisked away from us forever! You can't even fathom to understand what we're going through!"
His jaw falls slack. "What? Are you saying your grief is bigger than our?"
I shake my head. "I'm saying you knew that he didn't have much time. I'm saying you were prepared, maybe not that soon, but at least you were. But it was shoved in my face. I couldn't be with my father for more than four months because you guys shipped me off to London again. And when I came back, we had that accident, then Dad began to act so forlorn and distant, and when he finally came around, he was murdered. I never got my father. Never!"
"So you're blaming me? Blaming us?"
I suck in a deep breath. "I'm telling you. If I had to blame you, I'd have done that years ago. I'm telling you that in the place I'm right now, it's irreversible. I'm telling you to leave me be. I can't wake up one day and go to the psychiatrist because you said so!"
"It's for your own good!" He snaps. "Honestly, Tara, you're confusing me right now. What do you want?"
What do I want?
I don't know. I'm torn between victimising myself and blaming myself. I'm torn between remorse and rage. I hate that I don't know what I want. I hate that I'm seeking help from my family but they're turning me to the doors of a medical professional. I hate that I'm not strong enough to face the loss of my father yet. I hate that my father is not here anymore. Because he knew, and even if he didn't, he had always put through my tantrums, my breakdowns, my burst outs, as if all he wanted was to pacify me, that's it. My peace, my happiness, my smile.
"You resent us." He finally says, breaking me through the reverie and I look at him, frowning. His eyes grow wide. "God, you resent us for sending you to London the first time, and then not stopping you when you decided to go back there after Dad's death." He breathes harshly, and I look away, unable to refute.
Do I really?
"Why did you never say anything? Why did you pretend to be happy?"
I feel like someone's drilling a hole through my chest, revealing all that I'm not ready to face yet. "I- I never pretended to be happy." I reply, believing my words. I remember I was happy. Yes, I was bitter about the decision they made, but I knew I had no choice or say in it. Did that make me resent them? I never realised.
"You did everything you could to rebel after you returned." He breathes out. "God, I should have known. I should have seen the signs."
"Tha- That's not true!"
He looks at me quietly, and I'm forced to face my reality. It's true that I was contemplating between my career choices and only decided that I'm becoming a Journalist after they told me that I'm returning to London. But I believe that has nothing to do with them. I was leaning towards Journalism and I knew it was my passion. I took up the part time job because I wanted to work for myself, though I never ended up using my salary, but that's because things went south abruptly. I chose Inayat Rizwan's suicide case because I wanted to know the truth, not because I was rebelling or some shit against my brothers.
But maybe, maybe the courage I needed to make those decisions came from the drive to go against them.
"So, you do resent us." His voice breaks, and it wavers my heart.
"What's happening here?"
I whirl around, and there stand the two men, looking down at us inquisitively. Maybe Rudra sees the shadow of gloom on my face because he's quick to rush down the stairs and reach my side. "What's wrong, Esther?" His hand finds the small of my back.
I turn and snuggle my face into his strong chest. He hugs me tighter.
"I'm leaving," Vivaan gets off the couch and walks out of the house. Yuvraaj descends the stairs, looking torn between us and lets out an exhausted sigh before following our second eldest brother.
"What happened?"
I look up at him, "I wanted to make things better. I ended up making them worse."
Oh, Tara 💔
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