And Vihaan—the bastard—was too blind to see it until almost too late.
Samarth read the climactic scene where Vihaan finally broke down, finally admitted that his distance hadn't been protection—it had been fear.
"I was terrified," Vihaan whispered against her hair. "Terrified that if I let you in, you'd see the monster beneath. That you'd realize you deserved better than a man who's forgotten how to be gentle. How to be good."
"I don't want gentle," Aanya said fiercely. "I don't want good. I want you. All of you. The broken pieces and the sharp edges. The darkness and the light. I want the real you."
"You already have it," he said, his voice breaking. "You've had it since the beginning. I was just too much of a coward to admit it."
Samarth set the book down, his hand shaking slightly.
She'd written their story.
Every painful, beautiful, devastating moment of it.
Except in her version, the hero found his courage. Chose love over fear. Gave the heroine the happy ending she deserved.
In real life, Samarth was still locked behind his walls, too terrified to reach for what he wanted.
And his wife—brilliant, talented, heartbreakingly hopeful—was writing the love story she'd never have.
He picked up the book again, turning to the dedication page he'd skipped earlier.
For the one who taught me that love isn't always loud. Sometimes it's quiet. Sometimes it's patient. Sometimes it's simply showing up, day after day, even when you're not sure you're wanted. This is for you.
The words blurred.
He closed the book carefully and set it on his desk.
Then he poured another whiskey and tried to forget the ache in his chest.
Failed spectacularly.
Next Morning - Breakfast Room, 8:47 AM
Nimisha was surprised to find Samarth at the breakfast table when she came down. He was usually gone by now, already at the office or handling "business."
He looked up when she entered, their eyes meeting briefly before she looked away.
"Good morning," she said quietly, taking her seat.
"Morning."
Saroj and Kritika were discussing the charity gala, their voices a pleasant backdrop to the awkward silence between husband and wife.
Samarth's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then at Nimisha.
"I finished your book."
She froze, her tea halfway to her lips. "Oh?"
"It was good."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really." He stood, grabbing his jacket. "The hero was an idiot, though."
"Most heroes are," she said softly. "Until they're not."
