Gauri pressed her palm against the basement door, her tears falling uncontrollably. "Fine, Vihaan… I promise. I won't see you in this condition," she whispered through her sobs, her heart breaking.
Inside, Vihaan dropped to his knees, his breath ragged as fire and ice tore through his veins. Black lines spread across his chest, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He bit down hard on his arm, muffling the scream that threatened to tear from his throat, blood trickling where his teeth sank into his flesh.
"Ahh—" he groaned, rocking forward, the pain unrelenting, his claws digging into the floorboards.
Meanwhile, Gauri staggered backward from the door, her sobs choking her as she stumbled toward the temple room of the mansion. She dropped before the idol of Lord Krishna, clasping her hands tightly.
"Kanha… please," she cried, her forehead touching the cold marble. "Show me a way to help him. He's breaking… and I promised not to see him like this. Tell me what to do!"
Her shoulders shook as her prayers filled the silence. Then, suddenly, as if in answer, a crimson chunri slipped from the idol's crown and floated down, brushing over Gauri's head.
Her teary eyes lifted in shock. She touched the fabric, her breath catching. And then… an idea struck.
Slowly, she rose to her feet, gripping the chunri tightly. With trembling fingers, she wrapped it around her eyes, tying it firmly at the back of her head.
A faint, determined smile tugged at her tear-streaked lips. "If I cannot see him… then I will not. But I won't leave him alone either."
Her resolve hardened as she turned back toward the basement, her footsteps steady now.
The basement door creaked open under Gauri's trembling push. Cold air rushed out, carrying with it the raw scent of earth and Vihaan's muffled groans.
"Gauri…" Vihaan's broken voice cut through the darkness. His body trembled violently, black veins crawling across his skin as he clutched his chest. His bloodshot eyes widened when he saw her figure entering. "You promised… you promised you wouldn't see me like this."
Gauri's lips quivered, but her voice came steady through her tears. "I did promise. And I will not break it."
Confused, Vihaan blinked through the haze of pain. Then he saw it—her eyes hidden behind the tied crimson chunri, her sight sacrificed to keep her word.
"I cannot see you, Vihaan," Gauri whispered, her hands outstretched blindly, trying to feel her way toward him. "But I can't leave you alone in this pain."
Something inside him cracked. With a strangled cry, Vihaan reached forward, dragging her into his trembling arms. He collapsed backward, his body wracked with pain, but refused to let her go. "Gauri…"
Her hands instinctively wrapped around him, pulling him close, her tears falling freely onto his neck. "I'm here. No matter what, I'm here," she sobbed, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.
Vihaan clung to her as if she was his anchor, his claws retracting, his ragged breaths slowly steadying. The burning veins on his body pulsed faintly, then dulled, the torment dissolving under her touch.
Gauri tightened her embrace, feeling his agony seep into her own heart. Her body shivered as though she bore a fraction of his pain herself, but still she held him without hesitation.
Vihaan's heavy eyelids fluttered open. Through the blur of exhaustion and tears, he gazed at the blindfolded woman in his arms, her face streaked with sorrow, yet her embrace unyielding.
She was feeling his pain—he could sense it. And still, she stayed.
Overwhelmed, Vihaan pressed his face against her shoulder, his tears mingling with hers. His arms tightened once more, desperate, protective, grateful.
And then, for the first time in what felt like centuries of suffering, he allowed himself to surrender.
In Gauri's blindfolded embrace, Vihaan's breathing evened out, his body relaxing as the darkness loosened its grip. Slowly, silently, he drifted into sleep, his face buried against her, as Gauri's trembling hands cradled him with unwavering devotion.
Kothari Mansion – Basement, Early Morning
The golden threads of dawn slipped through the small window, touching the dust-laden air of the basement. The night's storm had passed, leaving only silence behind.
Vihaan stirred, his breath steady for the first time in hours. His cheek rested against the rise and fall of Gauri's chest, his arms locked securely around her waist as though she were the only anchor holding him to this world. Her dupatta was tangled against his shoulder, carrying her scent—faint jasmine, calming, grounding.
His lashes lifted slowly. What he saw wasn't the shadows of pain clawing at him, but her—head tilted back against the wall, her lips slightly parted, her blindfold still in place. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, yet her hold around him had never loosened. She had stayed through it all.
Vihaan's throat tightened. He pressed his forehead lightly against her chest, closing his eyes again, letting the rhythm of her heartbeat drown out the remnants of his agony. It was steady, strong, a sound more soothing than any prayer.
"You held me together when I was falling apart," he thought, his fingers unconsciously tightening at her waist. The sternness of ACP Vihaan Kothari melted, replaced by something far more fragile—gratitude, and a fear he could not name.
A faint warmth rose in his eyes. He had never leaned on anyone, never trusted anyone enough to see his brokenness. Yet here he was, resting in her arms, safe for the first time in years.
The morning light kissed their entwined forms, as if even the universe wished to seal the moment.