Page 9 of One Hellish Love

“The dinner is ready. Should we go?” Shekhar asked, trying to sound casual.

Rudra’s shoulders tensed. A strange restlessness clouded his eyes.

“I’ll eat in my room.”

Shekhar frowned. “Not allowed. You know Daadi’s rules.”

“They don’t apply to me anymore, Bhai,” Rudra muttered, his voice edged with frustration. “I make my own rules now.”

Shekhar’s heart ached at the coldness in Rudra’s voice. Something was deeply wrong, and he could feel it.

“Rudra, what’s going on?”

No response.

Shekhar moved closer, turning Rudra to face him, his hands gripping his brother’s shoulders tightly.

“I know something’s bothering you. Ever since you’ve come home, there’s this... coldness, this distance.Look at me.We’ve all missed you like hell these past years. We’re finally together under one roof again, even if it’s just for a few months. Let’s make the most of it. If not for me, at least for Daadi. Please.”

Shekhar searched Rudra’s face, hoping for a sign that his brother would let him in, even just a little. But all he saw was the same icy wall, the same unresolved pain that had been there for years.

Rudra had never been one to bow to others’ opinions or judgments. Yet, for once, he acquiesced to his brother’s request, not for himself, but for Daadi—the woman who had sacrificed everything for their happiness. As he and Shekhar descended the stairs, Daadi and Anjali who were already seated at the dining table, forced smiles barely masking the elephant in the room—the glaring absence of the fifth person.

But Rudra noticed and his jaw clenched, his eyes darting around the room, searching for any sign of her. He fought to maintain his composure, but his mind raced, demanding answers. It was Chanda Mausi’s actions that finally broke the suffocating silence, providing the answer Rudra both dreaded and craved.

Chanda began serving an additional plate, the soft clink of cutlery echoing in the tense quiet.

Savitri’s voice cut through the air, sharp and brittle. “Chanda... Whose plate is that?”

“Kashish’s,” Chanda replied, her tone heavy with unspoken meaning.

That name. That single word was enough to send a jolt through Rudra’s body, his muscles coiling with a mixture of guilt and restlessness.

Shekhar’s brow furrowed. “Why? She won’t come down?”

Chanda’s eyes fell. “She said she’s not hungry. I thought... at least I could serve her in her room.”

Shekhar made to rise, ready to summon Kashish, but Savitri’s hand shot out, her fingers gripping his arm with surprising strength. Her eyes, hard as flint, bore into him.

“It’s her choice, Shekhar. Let’s not force anyone.”

Anjali’s face was a mask of helplessness, mirroring her husband’s frustration. Chanda left with the plate for Kashish’s room and Savitri, ever the matriarch, attempted to salvage the moment.

“Rudra... You haven’t started yet. Why don’t you begin with the Gobi paratha and pudina chutney? It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

The scrape of Rudra’s chair against the floor was deafening as he abruptly stood.

“I’m not hungry, Daadi. Thanks.” His voice was cold, detached, a stranger’s voice in a familiar body.

He turned on his heel, deaf to the pleas of his grandmother and brother calling him back. He couldn’t do this—couldn’t pretend that everything was normal, that his very presence wasn’t tearing open old wounds. Her absence was a silent accusation and the guilt clawed at him. How could he possibly live in this house, breathe this air, knowing that every moment was a torment for her?

To the world, Rudra Raheja was a titan of industry—a man of few words but unparalleled ambition. His ruthless business acumen had made him the darling of the media, the object of desire for society’s elite. But here, in the suffocating embrace of his childhood home, he was nothing more than a man haunted by his past, drowning in a sea of regret and unspoken apologies.

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Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Rudra restlessly paced in his room. His stomach growled, remindinghim that he hadn’t eaten. Unable to focus on the contract he was reviewing, he finally decided to head downstairs to the kitchen.

It was nearly midnight, and the house was quiet. As he entered the kitchen, he noticed a shadowy figure at the counter. The room was dark, but there was enough light for him to see the outline of a woman, her back to him, chopping something with a knife.

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