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𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕
"You're late today, Vivaan," Anaya scolded me, her disappointment cutting through the air from the passenger seat.
"I'm sorry, lavender," I offered an apologetic smile.
"Don't think those smiles will save you, Mr. Rathore," she retorted with a sharp glare.
"Want me to get on my knees and apologize?" I asked.
"The king apologizing on his knees would be quite a sight," she said, a small smile teasing the corner of her lips.
"Of course," I grumbled.
"But I'm still mad at you. How can you be late today? Don't you know what day it is?" She asked furiously.
"We're not late, baby," I said.
She muttered something under her breath.
When I hit the car brakes, I jogged to the other side to open the door for her on the passenger side.
When I opened the door, Anaya wasn't there.
I stared at the passenger seat for I don't know how many minutes. A hand on my shoulder broke my trance.
"What are you doing, Vivaan?" Abhimaan questioned as I mechanically closed the door.
"She's gone," he muttered softly.
"She's not," I shouted.
"It's the truth. And go inside for the rituals," Abhimaan urged, his words sinking in.
Turning away, I surveyed the crematorium. Our families and others gathered, their sympathetic gazes intensifying the pain within me.
I walked toward them, their eyes filled with pity. Why were they looking at me like this?
My wife couldn't be gone.
"Where have you been?" Dad asked, concern etched on his face.
I remained silent, lost in my thoughts.
I was at the Villa. The villa where Anaya and I spent most of our time.
The rituals went in a blur. My steps and actions were so mechanical that I didn't even recognize myself. Strange emotions surfaced, and a single tear quietly slid down my cheek. I didn't bother wiping it away.
