In Shivani's Room
As soon as Shivani stepped into her room, she didn’t pause for a second. She walked straight into the bathroom and stood under the shower, fully clothed, letting the cold water cascade over her. It felt as if the water wasn’t just soaking her skin — it was washing away the last fragments of strength she’d been holding onto. The words Adwait had spoken to her kept echoing relentlessly in her mind, sharp and cruel, cutting deeper with every repetition. Somewhere deep inside, she had always feared that this day would come — that someone would eventually remind her of the burden she had become to them. But she had never imagined those words would come from him — from the one she had trusted, the one she had loved like a brother and a friend.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, but by the time she finally stepped out, over an hour had passed. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose raw from crying, and now her sinuses were betraying her too — violent sneezes shaking her body one after another, leaving her drained. She changed into dry clothes, though nothing could make her feel warm anymore.
When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Pale skin, puffy red eyes, a trembling mouth — anyone who saw her now would think she was severely ill. Maybe she was — not with fever, but with heartbreak.
A quick glance at the clock told her it was almost 11 PM when a soft knock sounded at the door. She froze, halfway to the door, but then quickly stepped back and sank onto the edge of her bed, another sneeze escaping her lips. She clutched the bedsheet in her fists, torn between exhaustion and despair.
Then she heard his voice.
“Shivani… it’s me. Kartavya. Please open the door, bacha… talk to me.”
The sound of his voice broke whatever fragile resolve she had left. Fresh tears spilled over her cheeks as she sat frozen, staring blankly at the door, biting her lip to keep herself from breaking down completely.
“I know you’re upset, I know you’re hurt… but please, Shivu…” His voice cracked, pleading, desperate.
Slowly, shakily, she got up and unlocked the door — just a crack, just enough for her words to pass through, but not her pain. “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and brittle. “I’m tired… tired of the drama, tired of everything. I’m going to sleep. Please… don’t disturb me.”
Before he could respond, she closed the door again, leaning her forehead against the wooden surface as silent sobs racked her body.
There was another gentle knock. “Okay,” he said softly, “I won’t disturb your sleep. But after you wake up… talk to me. I’ll wait, Shivu… I’ll wait for you.”
She didn’t reply. The silence between them spoke louder than any words ever could.
Kartavya’s POV (Third Person)
Kartavya stood outside her door, his heart sinking with every muffled sound of her sneezing, every silence that followed. He pressed his palm against the wooden surface, wishing it could somehow carry his warmth through to her. Guilt clawed at his insides. He wasn’t the one who’d said those words — but it felt like he was still responsible. Responsible for not protecting her from them. Responsible for failing her… again.
“Bacha…” his voice broke as he spoke, “I know you’re hurting. And I can’t undo what he said… but please don’t shut me out. Please don’t push me away too.”
All he got was the faint sound of her voice, thick with pain and exhaustion, refusing him entry not just into the room — but into her world.
For the first time, Kartavya realized what true helplessness felt like. Being this close to someone and yet utterly powerless to ease their pain.
But one thing he knew for certain: he wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’ll wait for you, Shivu,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “Even if it takes forever.”
As Kartavya stood by her door, silence thick around him, his mind drifted — not to the fight, not to Adwait’s words — but to her laugh.
That stupid, silly laugh of hers that echoed through the Singhania Mansion on lazy afternoons. The way she used to steal fries from his plate with that mischievous smirk, acting like she wasn’t doing anything wrong.
“Bhai, it’s called sharing. Don’t be so possessive,” she used to tease, eyes gleaming, tongue peeking slightly out when she smiled too wide.
He remembered those evenings when she used to sit on the terrace with him, feet dangling off the edge, talking about everything and nothing, challenging his views on life, family, choices — while plaiting her hair messily as if the world outside didn’t exist.
And then there were the nights when she would come to him with teary eyes, pretending it was just the dust that got in her eye, and he’d pretend to believe her, handing her tissues without asking questions.
They had fought before. God knows, they’d argued like siblings often do. But there was always a thread of trust holding it all together, even in anger.
Until now.
Now that thread was fraying… and Kartavya didn’t know how to stitch it back.
“You don’t get to break like this, Shivu,” he thought bitterly. “Not because of him. Not when I’m still here.”
But what scared him wasn’t the anger or the silence — it was the possibility that maybe this time, she wouldn’t let him back in.
And for the first time, he didn’t know how to fight that.
A soft knock echoed again on her door. Not urgent. Just there. Waiting.
This time, she didn’t have the strength to refuse.
“Shivu…” Kartavya’s voice, low and steady, “I’m not here to explain anything or defend anyone. I’m just here… for you.”
Something inside her broke at that — not violently, but quietly, like a thread giving way after being stretched too far. She unlocked the door and stepped back, not meeting his eyes.
Kartavya entered slowly, like someone stepping into holy ground, careful not to disturb what was already fragile.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was her soft, uneven breaths — and the occasional sniffle she tried to hide.
Finally, she whispered, “Why did he say that to me?”
The simplicity of the question cut through him like a blade.
“I don’t know,” Kartavya admitted, honest, unpolished. “I don’t have excuses for him. I’m not here to defend his words. I’m here because… I can’t stand the thought of you sitting here thinking that’s what we all feel. Because it’s not.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, red, glassy, tired. “But he said it. And it hurt because… because he was supposed to be…”
“Safe,” Kartavya finished for her, his voice barely audible. “Yeah. I know.”
Tears welled up again, but this time, they weren’t silent. “I didn’t come here to be anyone’s burden, Kartavya. I was trying to—”
“Shh,” he cut in gently, stepping closer. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Shivani. Not now. Not ever. You’re not here as a favor to anyone. You’re here because you belong here.”
Her lips trembled. “But—”
“No,” he said firmly now, shaking his head, eyes burning with quiet anger — not at her, but at everything else. “No ‘but.’ People mess up, Shivu. Families mess up. But you… you’re not a mistake.”
The dam broke. The tears flowed freely now, her sobs shaking her shoulders as she tried to hide her face. But this time, she didn’t run. She didn’t push him away when he gently sat beside her and placed a comforting hand over hers.
“I’ll fight anyone for you,” he murmured, voice soft but fierce. “Even my own.”
And in that moment, something shifted. Not healed. Not fixed.
But mended — just enough to keep going.
Shivani’s Internal Storm
Why was it always like this? Why did the people she trusted the most always end up cutting the deepest?
As Kartavya sat beside her, gently holding her hand, part of her wanted to lean into his warmth, to let herself believe that maybe — just maybe — someone could stay this time. But another part of her screamed:
Don’t fall for it.
Don’t believe them.
Not again.
Because the ones you trust the most are always the ones who walk away first — or worse, stay back just long enough to watch you break.
Adwait’s words kept replaying in her mind like a curse she couldn’t shake off.
“Burden.”
It echoed like thunder in her skull. She didn’t even remember the rest of the sentence properly — just that one word, standing there like a wound no apology could stitch.
But Kartavya…
His presence was steady. Not forcing. Not fixing. Just there.
That was the worst part.
Because part of her hated herself for wanting his comfort. For needing someone after promising herself she’d never need anyone again.
What’s wrong with you?
Why can’t you just shut everyone out properly?
Why do you still hope they’ll stay?
The storm inside her wasn’t loud — it was quiet, suffocating, like drowning under still water. No one could see it from the outside. Maybe that’s why no one ever really understood how broken she was underneath.
And yet… his hand over hers was real. His voice — steady, sure, patient.
A tiny voice deep inside whispered:
Maybe not everyone leaves.
Maybe not him.
But trusting again… that was the part that terrified her the most.
So she sat there between two worlds — one where she pushed everyone away to stay safe, and one where she wanted, desperately, to believe in someone again.
And in that fragile in-between space, she allowed herself this one moment of weakness — resting her head lightly on Kartavya’s shoulder.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
Not yet.
But for the first time that night, the storm inside her slowed — not gone, but no longer wild enough to destroy her completely.
Write a comment ...