Chapter 18: Raw Truths

Sleep refused to come to Poornima.

Even after crying herself empty, even after resting against Veeresh’s chest, her mind wouldn’t slow down. Thoughts kept circling—her parents’ faces, harsh words, unanswered calls, the mandap, the thali, everything colliding at once.

She suddenly sat up.

“I’m not able to sleep,” she said softly.

Veeresh opened his eyes immediately. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “Try to rest.”

She shook her head, her voice strangely calm.
“No… let’s drink.”

Veeresh frowned slightly. “Drink?”

Without waiting for his answer, she stood up and went to the cupboard near the kitchen. When she returned, she was holding a bottle of rum and two glasses.

Veeresh sat up, surprised. “Poornima—”

She placed the bottle on the table and poured one glass for him, then one for herself.

“You drink?” he asked, genuinely shocked.

“Yes,” she replied simply. “Today I feel like it.”

He watched carefully as she picked up her glass.

“At least pour some water,” he said, worried. “Don’t drink raw.”

She looked at him, a faint, almost sad smile on her lips.
“I like it raw. I don’t like mixing.”

Before he could say anything more, she lifted the glass and drank it in one gulp.

Veeresh stared at her, stunned.

She placed the empty glass down calmly and exhaled.
“I’m not a heavy drinker,” she said. “Occasionally. And always raw.”

Something about the way she said it—matter-of-fact, unapologetic—made him realize how little he truly knew about her beyond her pain.

He took his glass and drank, slower than her. Then another.

By the time he looked at her again, her eyes were slightly glassy, her movements less guarded. The sharp edges she usually held around herself had softened.

She leaned closer without realizing it.

Veeresh immediately stood up and took the bottle and glasses.
“Enough,” he said firmly but gently. “Sleep now.”

He kept everything aside and returned to the bed.

Poornima followed him quietly, her steps unsteady. As soon as she lay down, she turned toward him and hugged him tightly, as if afraid he might disappear again.

This time, she didn’t cry.

She just held him.

Her head rested against his chest, her arm thrown over him possessively, her breathing already slowing. Within minutes, she slipped into sleep—deep, sudden, complete.

Veeresh looked down at her.

Her face, relaxed at last, looked softer… younger… almost innocent. The pain that usually clouded her expressions had loosened its grip, if only for the night.

“She looks so different when she sleeps,” he thought.
“So peaceful… so vulnerable.”

Carefully, he adjusted the pillow and pulled the blanket over her. He didn’t move her arms away. He didn’t dare.

For the first time since that disastrous wedding day, he felt something close to calm—not happiness, not relief—but a quiet resolve.

“I broke her,” he thought.
“And I’ll spend my whole life protecting what remains.”

Holding her close, listening to her steady breathing, Veeresh finally closed his eyes.

That night, they slept entwined—not as husband and wife bound by rituals,
but as two broken people finding temporary shelter in each other’s silence.