Questions Left Unsaid

The night had a strange silence to it—neither romantic nor peaceful. It was heavy, like something was brewing in the background.

Veeresh sat on the edge of the long couch in the study, still dressed in his dark shirt, a few buttons open, sleeves rolled up. The aura around him was intense. Restless. Like he was carrying too many unsaid words.

Poornima, in her soft peach kurta, stepped into the room with quiet grace.

He didn’t look up.

He just muttered, “Poornima… would you ever leave me?”

She paused, taken aback.

Her voice was soft, but steady.

> “If your happiness is in me leaving… I will leave you. I’ll walk away, Veeresh… wishing all your happiness and joy.”

His eyes finally lifted to meet hers—shocked, hurt, and raw. He wasn’t expecting that answer. He wanted her to fight for him. To say no. But she didn’t.

Instead, she walked to the bar cabinet, poured him a glass of whiskey, and placed it in his hand with the same calmness she’d use to hand over tea.

She sat beside him, close but not clinging.

> “Is there something wrong?” she asked gently, sensing the storm in his silence.

Veeresh took a sip, the alcohol doing little to numb the ache.

> “Nothing,” he lied.

But his eyes betrayed him.

Poornima didn’t press. She waited. Sometimes, silence speaks louder than questions.

Then he turned to her with a flicker of mischief masking the pain.

> “What was your wild imagination the other day, hmm?”

Poornima blinked, surprised by the change in tone. She blushed, looking away.

> “Nothing…” she said, trying to hide the smile that betrayed her.

“What imagination?” she added innocently.

Veeresh narrowed his eyes.

> “Don’t lie to me, Mrs. Rathore.”

She looked into his eyes, half-teasing, half-challenging.

> “When you already know… why are you asking?”

That sentence hit deeper than she intended.

Veeresh stared at her in silence, his fingers still around the glass, but his heart tangled in thoughts of loyalty, danger, and love that felt too fragile for the world he was part of.

He leaned his forehead against hers.

> “Don’t ever walk away, Poornima. Even if I ask you to.”

She closed her eyes and whispered,

> “Then don’t ask me to.”

The glass of whiskey was forgotten as he held her hand tighter. The silence remained—but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was healing