Page 11 of One Hellish Love

Trapped by duty and his grandmother’s expectations, Rudra obliged. Anjali approached with the puja thali and Rudra mechanically accepted the blessing. And then, like a vision from his darkest dreams and most fervent hopes, Kashish emerged.

Time seemed to stand still again for him. Kashish had worn a white kurta and red dupatta. Her fingers tightened around the prasad thali to control her fury as she registered his presence. But Rudra who had full plans to flee, couldn’t move an inch after seeing her. The sight of her—so close, yet impossibly distant—stole the very breath from his lungs.

Kashish methodically distributed the prasad—to Daadi, to Anjali, to Shekhar. But when she reached Rudra, she turned away, her rejection as cutting as any physical blow.

“Kashish?” Savitri’s voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “You forgot to give prasad to Rudra.”

Kashish’s entire body went rigid, her struggle for control evident in every line of her being. Shekhar, ever the peacemaker, whispered urgently, “It’s prasad, Kashish. Everyone has a right to it.”

But Kashish had reached her limit. Without a word, she set the plate down and walked away, leaving a wake of stunned silence behind her.

Rudra’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging crescents into his palms. The pain was a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest. He had known it would be difficult, had steeledhimself for her hatred. But nothing could have prepared him for the raw agony of her rejection, for the realization that this—this coldness, this unbridgeable chasm—was to be his penance for the rest of his days.

CHAPTER 5

Few Minutes Later

Rudra fisted his fingers, his knuckles white as he looked out of the car’s window. The morning’s incident still seared into his mind, a raw wound refusing to heal. He hadn’t been surprised when she’d coldly ignored him during the Prasad offering - her rejection was a bitter pill he’d long expected to swallow.

His phone’s incessant ringing shattered his brooding thoughts. Shekhar’s name flashed on the screen. After what felt like an eternity, Rudra finally answered.

“Rudra?” Shekhar’s voice crackled with barely concealed worry.

“I’m fine, Bhai,” Rudra replied, his tone clipped. “On my way to the office.”

Relief flooded Shekhar’s words, but a new concern quickly surfaced. “Are you driving?”

The question pierced Rudra like a dagger, ripping open old scars he’d fought so hard to forget. It was as if the world still saw him as that reckless 16-year-old, forever tainted by one catastrophic moment. The accident that had shattered lives. The two-year sentence in juvenile detention that had nearly broken his spirit.

Those hellish days in confinement haunted him still. Even after his release, when Daadi had whisked him away to Paris, the mere thought of touching a steering wheel had filled him with paralyzing dread.

It wasn’t until he was 24 that fate forced his hand, thrusting him into a moment that would redefine his relationship with driving forever…

**Flashback**

Rudra was in his car driven by his trusted driver Steve, who suddenly clutched his chest with a strangled gasp. Barely conscious, Steve managed to wrench the vehicle to the roadside before slumping over the wheel.One look at Steve’s ashen face told him everything - this was no minor ailment, but a full-blown heart attack threatening to snuff out a life.

Fingers trembling, Rudra punched in the emergency number, relaying their location with desperate urgency. But as Steve’s laboured breathing grew weaker, a chilling realization struck - help wouldn’t arrive in time. In that moment, Rudra faced a crossroads: cling to his paralyzing fear of driving, or take the wheel and race against death itself.

With a surge of adrenaline, Rudra made his choice. He hauled Steve into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, hands shaking as they gripped the familiar leather. The engine roared to life, and Rudra peeled away from the curb, every fibre of his being focused on the four-mile sprint to salvation.

As he wove through traffic, he barked orders into his phone, alerting the hospital of their imminent arrival. Screeching into the emergency bay, he was met by a team of medical professionals who whisked Steve away on a waiting gurney.

The next hours passed in a blur of forms and anxious waiting. When Rudra finally received word of Steve’s condition, the doctor’s words hit him like a thunderbolt: “If you’d waited for an ambulance, we’d be having a very different conversation. Your quick thinking saved his life.”

That night Rudra felt immensely proud of himself for taking the right decision on time and saving a life. After that incident, he slowly got used to driving again. But he was always cautious.He didn’t drive in crowded areas. He was strict when it came to follow the driving rules and speed limits. But even after being a professional now in driving, he thought of avoiding it in India, especially in the same city where he once took a life.

“Rudra?” Shekhar’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “Can you hear me?”

Snapping back to the present, Rudra swallowed hard before answering.

“I’m not driving,” he replied smoothly. “Mohan is.”

Though Shekhar was relieved to know that, he felt a sorrow in Rudra’s voice.

The call ended abruptly, leaving a lingering tension in the air as Rudra’s sleek car glided to a stop outside the imposing Raheja Designs headquarters. Though he’d never set foot in this particular office, the faces that greeted him were eerily familiar, thanks to those countless video conferences. Among them stood Jay Mathur, the Project Delivery Manager whose razor-sharp efficiency had long impressed Rudra from afar.

Jay came forward and greeted him before expertly manoeuvring Rudra through a sea of eager introductions and then whisking him away to his meticulously crafted office cabin meant to be his home for the next four months. The room was classy and very well suited his needs.

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