Chapter 47: The Book of Her Heart

The palace was unusually quiet when Veeresh returned early from work. He had finished his meetings faster than expected, and instead of heading back to his office, he drove straight home.

Sharada and Abhimanyu were seated in the lounge, sipping evening tea. Surprised to see their son so soon, Sharada asked, “Veeresh? Back already?”

Veeresh nodded and walked to them, almost hesitant. “I wanted to talk.”

The three of them spoke for a long time—about Poornima, about his mistakes, about the future. Sharada’s eyes softened as she listened, her voice firm yet gentle.

“Promise me, Veeresh. Never hurt her like you did in the past.”

“No, Ma,” Veeresh replied without a flicker of doubt. “I won’t. Not again.”

When the conversation ended, his parents seemed relieved. Veeresh excused himself, heading upstairs to his room.

After changing into a more relaxed attire, his eyes fell on a book on the corner table. It had a beautiful, simple cover—no title, just a swirl of colors. Curious, he picked it up.

The handwriting was familiar. Her handwriting.

Page after page, Poornima had bled her heart in ink. Veeresh read slowly, each word sinking deeper.

She had written of her childhood—how the absence of her father’s love carved wounds too deep for time to heal. How her teacher once told her, “Put your pain into words. Let writing be your balm.” And so she did.

She wrote of loneliness.

She wrote of nights staring at the ceiling, aching for a simple hug.

She wrote of her mother’s absence and the constant reminder of being “unwanted.”

Then the pages shifted.

Poornima’s words painted her secret dream of a husband—not one of royalty or wealth, but a man who would:

Accept her wholeheartedly—even in her darkest storms.

Love her raw, not just in words but in actions.

Heal with her, not judge her wounds.

Stand by her, unwavering, even when the world turned against them.

And in one tender page, she had written her dream of children. “Three kids—two boys, one girl. A family that will finally be mine, not borrowed, not broken.”

Veeresh sat frozen. His chest tightened as he traced her words with his fingers. For the first time, he didn’t see Poornima as just his wife, his rival, or his obsession. He saw the abandoned little girl who only ever wanted to belong.

Closing the book, Veeresh whispered to the empty room, “I’ll be that man for you, Poornima. I’ll give you that family.”

It wasn’t just a vow. It was his redemption.