Shiva didn't dare step further inside.
His breath was tight in his chest. He'd seen broken people before—seen war-torn prisoners, assassins turned to ash, victims of mafia wrath. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for this version of Meera Ma'am.
Her eyes weren't even red anymore. Just empty. Like she'd cried herself dry.
He slowly took a step back, careful not to disturb anything.
Then, pulling out his phone, he opened a secure line—only one number saved in it.
He hit record.
His voice was a whisper, laced with urgency and barely-contained emotion.
"Saab… she's not speaking. Not moving. The house is… cold. Like it's been untouched for days. I didn't touch her. I only broke the lock because I was scared. Forgive me if I crossed a line. But if you don't come soon… we might lose her. Not to someone else… but to herself."
He attached a timestamped picture of the apartment—just the corner of the room. Nothing invasive. Nothing that would violate her privacy. But enough to tell Abhimanyu she wasn't okay.
He sent it.
Then exited the flat quietly, leaving the door open just a crack.
And waited in the stairwell.
He didn't need to wait long.
————————————————————
The warehouse stank of blood and oil.
Abhimanyu stood tall, unflinching, his knuckles raw from the last punch. The man tied to the chair was half-conscious, lips cracked, defiance fading with every breath.
Just as Abhimanyu raised his hand again, his phone buzzed.
Only one person dared to message on this line.
He stepped back. Unlocked it.
Zayed.
He pressed play.
"Saab… she's not speaking. Not moving. The house is… cold. Like it's been untouched for days. I didn't touch her. I only broke the lock because I was scared. Forgive me if I crossed a line. But if you don't come soon… we might lose her. Not to someone else… but to herself."
Silence.
For one long breath, nothing moved. Even the prisoner stopped groaning.
Then Abhimanyu's fist slammed into the wall.
Not the man.
The wall.
He didn't say a word. Didn't finish the mission. Just walked out.
And by the time his men outside the warehouse even realized he was leaving—he was already on a jet.
To Finland.
No more waiting.
Finland – Night.
The silence in the hallway was unnerving, broken only by the crunch of boots on the wooden floor as Abhimanyu approached.
Zayed stood outside the door to Flat 304, pale, stiff, and sleepless.
"I knocked… I waited… I couldn't take it anymore," Shiva muttered, eyes downcast standing beside Zayed. "So I broke the lock this morning. She hasn't moved since."
Abhimanyu froze, fists clenched.
"How long has she been like this?"
"We don't know sir, when u checked up in her she was lying on the floor, right now she is sitting near the wall. There's stale coffee on the table. Curtains closed. No lights. Nothing."
Abhimanyu didn't wait. He stormed past Zayed and shiva and into the apartment.
And his world shattered.
Meera was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs pulled to her chest like a child. Hair disheveled. Face gaunt. Her body had grown so thin it looked breakable. Her phone lay discarded on the floor, battery dead. Her lips trembled in her sleep—or maybe in pain.
She looked nothing like the fierce woman he had married. Nothing like the woman who stood her ground even when her world was burning.
He turned to his guards at the door, voice quiet but deadly.
"Clear the floor. No one comes near this apartment again."
And then he walked to her.
Kneeling down.
Barely breathing.
"Meera…"
She didn't wake.
So he gathered her in his arms—slowly, gently, like she was made of glass.
She stirred slightly. Eyes fluttered.
And the first word that escaped her dry lips—barely a whisper—was:
"Abhimanyu?"
Meera's lips parted. Her eyes barely opened—but when they did, and they saw him, the dam broke.
She didn't speak.
She just sobbed.
Violently. Desperately.
As though she'd been holding it in for days, weeks—forever.
Abhimanyu tried to calm her, tried to say her name again, but the moment his arms tightened protectively around her, Meera shattered entirely. Her fists weakly pounded against his chest even as she clung to him like he was her last breath.
Her tears soaked through his jacket. Her body shook with every cry.
And then, just like that—
Her sobs slowed…
Her breathing became shallow…
And her head dropped back against his shoulder, eyes rolling back as unconsciousness swallowed her whole.
"Meera!" Abhimanyu's voice cracked for the first time in years.
Panic surged through him as he gently laid her down, brushing her damp hair from her face.
"Call the doctor," he barked over his shoulder to Zayed. "Now."
But his eyes never left her.
Not for a second.
And for the first time in years, the lion of the palace looked like a man afraid to lose the only thing that ever made him feel human.
The doctor arrived within minutes. Abhimanyu hadn't moved from her side. He sat on the floor next to the couch where he'd gently laid her, holding her hand in both of his, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped.
Meera's skin was cold. Too cold.
"She's severely dehydrated," the doctor said, after checking her vitals. "And severely malnourished. Her body's been surviving on nothing. No proper food, no sleep, no rest. This is nervous exhaustion, psychological shock, and physical collapse—combined."
"She'll be fine?" Abhimanyu asked, voice low, nearly trembling.
"She needs rest. Liquids. Monitoring. But yes. She will recover… with care."
The doctor left after administering an IV drip and a mild sedative.
But Abhimanyu didn't leave.
Not for a second.
He sat beside her, still holding her hand, watching her chest rise and fall slowly.
In that dim apartment, with only the moonlight slipping through the blinds, the most feared man in the country looked like a man who'd finally broken.
His elbows rested on his knees. His fingers ran through his hair. His jaw clenched, again and again, like he was swallowing down screams.
He'd sent her away. He'd told her he could never love her. He'd let her walk away—and he hadn't stopped her.
And now?
She was a ghost of the girl he remembered.
Fragile.
Fading.
Her sharp fire was gone. Her laugh, erased. Her softness, bruised.
And he had done that.
The clock struck 3:00 a.m.
Then 4:00.
Still, he didn't move.
He just sat there—beside her, like a guardian cursed to live with his mistakes.
When dawn finally broke, the first light falling over her pale skin, Abhimanyu bent forward.
Pressed his forehead to her hand.
And whispered, almost brokenly:
"I'm sorry, Meer. I'm so… so sorry."
Her fingers twitched.
A soft groan escaped her lips.
Abhimanyu immediately straightened, his eyes snapping to her face, panic and guilt mixing in his chest. "Meera?"
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, heavy with exhaustion, and the moment they met his—tears rolled down her cheeks.
He reached for her hand.
But she pulled it back.
And through the crack in her voice, she whispered, "It hurts."
His throat bobbed. "I know—"
"No," she cut him off, fresh tears brimming. "Not the body. This. This hurts more than anything else."
He froze.
She looked away, broken. "The fact that you will never love me… that some stupid revenge meant more than me… than what I felt for you… how do you think I can stay like this, Abhimanyu? How can anyone survive being someone's punishment?"
He closed his eyes for a long second. Her words cut deeper than any bullet ever had.
"I'm not who I was," he said finally, voice thick. "I thought I was a man who could do what needed to be done. No strings. No heart. But…"
He looked at her again.
And this time, it was his eyes that glistened.
"I was wrong. About everything. About you. About me."
She stared.
He leaned in just a bit closer, not touching, just being there.
"I can't undo what I said. But I will try. I swear, Meera. I will try to be everything I wasn't. I will try to love you the way you deserve. Because… I already do. I just didn't know what it meant."
She looked at him for a long second.
One tear. Then another.
And then—her voice, barely above a whisper.
"Don't try, Abhimanyu… do."