Chapter 21: What Still Trembles Inside

Veeresh took one sip of the coffee the maid had brought earlier, frowned slightly, then set the cup aside.

“It’s not good,” he said quietly.

Poornima looked at him, surprised.

“I’ll make it,” she said immediately, a small smile touching her lips.

She went to the kitchen, measured everything carefully—strong, dark, one spoon sugar, exactly how he liked it. When she returned and handed the cup to him, their fingers brushed.

This time, Veeresh didn’t pull away.

He traced her fingers lightly, almost absent-mindedly, as if reassuring himself she was really there.

Poornima felt a warmth spread through her hand—unexpected, calming.

Veeresh looked up at her.
“I was scared,” he admitted. “Seeing you break down like that.”

He paused, voice low.
“And I’m sorry I kept distance. I thought you didn’t want… me.”

She shook her head quickly, tears already forming.

“No, Veeresh,” she said, her voice uneven. “When they first talked about this marriage—about remarriage—I was terrified.”

He stayed silent, giving her space.

“I didn’t want to fall into marriage again,” she continued, tears spilling freely now. “I didn’t want to relive that pain.”

She wiped her face, but the tears didn’t stop.

“Papa said you’re good. He said you’re not like my late husband.”

Veeresh felt something twist inside him at the words my late husband, but he didn’t interrupt.

“So I agreed,” she said. “But even after agreeing… I was scared.”

She looked at him then, eyes red but honest.

“You’re not like him,” she whispered.

Her voice broke.

“When Paul brought Mannat home… she was just ten days old.” Poornima’s chest tightened as the memory surfaced. “I locked myself in the room. I completely broke. I didn’t eat. I didn’t talk. I didn’t even recognize myself.”

She hugged herself, shaking.

“But then… her cry.”

She smiled faintly through tears.

“That tiny cry pulled me back. When I fed her… when she smiled… all the anger, all the hatred—it just disappeared.”

Her tears fell faster now.

“I accepted her wholeheartedly. I loved her without conditions.”

She lowered her head, voice barely audible.

“But even after that… I never stopped being afraid.”

She covered her face with her hands and sobbed openly.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry for pulling away. I’m sorry for hurting you. You don’t deserve this.”

Her shoulders shook violently as everything she had held in for years finally spilled out.

Veeresh set the coffee aside and stood up.

He gently took her hands, pulling them away from her face.

“Poornima,” he said softly, firmly, “look at me.”

She couldn’t.

So he pulled her into his chest—not tightly, not possessively—just enough to hold her together while she fell apart.

“You survived things that would have broken many,” he said quietly. “Fear doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

She cried into his chest, gripping his shirt.

“I’m here,” he continued. “I’m not going anywhere. And you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Her sobs slowly softened.

Not because the pain vanished—

But because, for the first time in a long while, someone stayed while she cried.