Page 71 of Born in Grief

“Hmm?”

“Was there anything about me in that journal?”

Amay looked at him, eyes narrowing. “Why? Why would anything aboutyoube in Dhrithi’s journal?”

“Never mind. Just asking.”

Ishaan was gone before Amay could probe any further, leaving him to his muddled thoughts and confused emotions. His anger was gone, leaving behind only an aching loneliness and a yearning for something he might be able to have but he wasn’t sure he deserved.

He’d failed the only two women he’d ever loved – his mother and Dhrithi. He hadn’t been able to keep either of them safe, and they’d suffered through their own hells. And when he hadn’t been able to save either of them, did he deserve to save himself?

Chapter Forty-One

DHRITHI

She shoved what little there was of her clothes into her ever-present duffel bag, cursing under her breath. This was what happened when you believed in fairy tales. You started to think Prince Charming was coming to rescue you. There weren’t any real life Prince Charmings. Not even grumpy, Shrek like trauma surgeons qualified. She took a deep breath and zipped her bag closed.

Dhrithi glanced around the room, checking to see if she’d forgotten anything. Her gaze swept the austere cream walls and minimalist furniture. She’d miss this ugly place. It wasn’t much in the sense of home décor but she’d found peace here. Peace, happiness and even, excitement. The memory of Amay’s lips on hers, coaxing, seeking, plundering, slammed through her. A shuddering sob escaped her as she collapsed on to the bed, her face falling into her hands.

What was wrong with her? She hadn’t shed tears over her husband’s death and she was sitting here crying over a man who’d kissed her once. Just once. And yet, in that single kiss hadbeen more care and tenderness than Dhrithi had experienced in the entirety of her marriage.

She’d been stupid to build up her hopes on the foundation of a single kiss and a murmured ‘Let’s talk.’ She had no one but herself to blame for the disappointment lancing through her, shredding her heart and bringing with it a keening sense of loss.

But this was Amay. Her Amay. The boy who’d stayed up nights researching a woman’s menstrual cycle when she’d got her period for the first time. He’d found her sobbing in the school gardens convinced she was about to die from some mysterious illness because no one had bothered to talk to her about it or explain the changes happening in her body. And she’d been one of those early bloomers, getting her period when she’d just turned eleven. It had been Amay who’d read up everything he could find on the topic and then sat with her to explain it all, a bright red blush crawling up his cheeks as he did so.

A child, she’d been just a child. They’d been children, lonely and lost, at a boarding school that had more predators than prey.

Dhrithi took a deep breath, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks as she got to her feet and hauled her duffle bag on to her shoulder. It didn’t matter what Amay and she had shared in the past. The present was what mattered and Amay’s present had no place for her, a battered widow with enough baggage to fill a whole godown. Her own family didn’t want her, why would a boy who’d once had a childhood crush on her? He’d already gone above and beyond in helping her till this moment. She couldn’t freeload on him anymore.

Resolve strengthening, she shoved her phone into the handy pocket stitched into her kurta and stepped out of the room she’dgrown so attached to. She was halfway to the front door when the doorbell rang.

Dhrithi froze. Who could that be? Ishaan and Virat knew the code to the apartment and Amay was still in the hospital. There was no one else who’d crossed that threshold in the days Dhrithi had lived here. Amay had a once-a-week cleaning service that came in and deep cleaned the apartment and the daily chores, he did himself. Or they had done together while she’d been here.

The bell rang again, a strident tone that cut through the silent apartment. Curiosity propelled Dhrithi forward and she stood on her tiptoes to look through her peephole. Her heart slammed to a halt at the sight that met her eyes. The face looking back at her, enlarged and a little distorted, was not one she’d hoped to set eyes on ever again. As she watched, he raised his fist and slammed it into the door.

“Bhabhiji, I know you’re in there,” he crooned, his sly, slick voice making her feel dirty.

Dhrithi took a step back from the door, her heart thudding now, a rapid pace that was making her feel lightheaded. She shouldn’t open the door. It would be the smart thing to do but Ashish Sharma, one of Varun’s best friends and a Dusty Devil, wouldn’t go away so easily.

“I know you’re in there. I checked with the security guard and I know you’re listening to me now.” He laughed, a sick, joyous sound. “I can hear your fear. Hear it, smell it, taste it. Come on Dhrithi Bhabhi, open the door. We should talk before someone else comes by and hears what I have to say.”

Against her better judgement, Dhrithi yanked the door open. Better to get this over with before he started screaming in thecorridors and making a scene. Amay still had to live here long after Dhrithi left. She couldn’t let this get unpleasant for him.

But it was when she opened the door that Dhrithi realised what a big mistake she’d made. It wasn’t only Ashish standing there. She looked at them, her husband’s best friends.

Ashish, Parash, Naveen, and Majid.

Rich, entitled, and from the looks of it, bombed out of their minds. She knew that look, she was intimately acquainted with it. She’d been married to that jittery, excited, fever bright gleam in the eyes.

“Aren’t you going to invite us in, Bhabhiji?” Ashish smacked his lips on the last word, making the respectful address sound obscene.

Dhrithi crossed her arms over her chest as Parash stared at her breasts like he’d never seen a woman before in his life. A different fear slid through her, a sick realization that she might have just made the biggest mistake of her life. There was a strong possibility she wouldn’t live to regret it.

“You need to leave,” she said, marveling at the fact that her voice stayed steady and calm unlike her insides which were quivering with fear.

“Arrey but we just came.” Majid stepped past her, his eyes taking in the sparsely furnished flat, noting every little thing about it. “You know how difficult it was to find you? We had to search so much! And you’re not even offering us a cup of tea before you ask us to leave.”

“What do you want?” Dhrithi was tired of playing this game, this double meaning pseudo sweet conversation that would probably end in her bloody or dead. Or more likely bloodyanddead.

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