Chapter 39: Where Scars Are Finally Seen

“Speak,” Veeresh said again—his voice low, steady, refusing to let her drown in silence.

Poornima broke.

She covered her face, her shoulders shaking as the tears she had held for years finally spilled free. Veeresh didn’t rush her. He gently pulled her hands away, wiped her tears with his thumb, slow and patient, as if afraid even urgency might hurt her.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

Her voice came out fractured.

“I… I love deep-neck and designer blouses,” she whispered, ashamed of something that never should have been shameful. “Once… once I wore one to a party.”

Her breath hitched.

“Paul saw me,” she continued, eyes squeezed shut. “He insulted me. In front of everyone. He made me feel… small. Cheap.”

Her fingers trembled as they clutched the bedsheet.

“And when we came home…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He punished me for it. Those scars… they’re because I wore something I loved.”

Veeresh’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening—not at her, never at her—but at the ghost of a man who had shattered her.

“I lost all my confidence after that,” she said, tears streaming freely now.
“I stopped going to functions. I stopped dressing up. I stopped feeling like a woman.”

She swallowed hard.

“Yesterday… yesterday was the first time I went out like that again. I was scared. I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Veeresh cupped her face, forcing her to look at him—not harshly, but with a quiet intensity.

“Is that why you wore a full blouse?” he asked gently.
“So that I wouldn’t see?”

She nodded, broken.
“Yes.”

Something shifted in him.

He pulled her to him suddenly, kissing her deeply—fiercely, like he was rewriting every cruel memory with his lips. She kissed him back, desperate and trembling, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

“You will start wearing them again,” he said firmly.

She shook her head immediately.
“No… I don’t want to.”

“You will,” he repeated, not commanding—believing.

She looked at him, uncertain.
“Will you… be okay with it?”

He almost smiled at that.

“Poornima,” he said, his thumb brushing her cheek,
“I know you. You are not someone who seeks attention. I may be possessive—but you are allowed to be you.”

Her voice trembled.
“Really? I don’t want anyone to see…”

“No one will,” he said without hesitation.
“And even if they did—these scars are not your shame.”

He leaned closer, his voice softening.

“Embrace them, Poornima.”

Her eyes filled again.
“It’s not easy, Veeresh. It’s hard. Every time I see them… I remember everything.”

Her chest heaved.

“I even tried to end my life once,” she confessed, barely audible.

That was it.

Veeresh pulled her onto his lap instantly, wrapping her tightly around him, one hand cradling her head, the other holding her back like he could physically keep her from falling apart.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time.

She did.

“You are beautiful,” he said, each word deliberate.
“With scars or without them—you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”

Her lips trembled.

“I am here,” he continued.
“You don’t need to be strong with me. Don’t fight. Don’t pretend. Just… be you.”

Her voice cracked.
“Even if I break?”

“I will hold you,” he answered immediately.
“And I will not let you fall.”

She buried her face in his chest, crying freely now, the kind of cry that comes when someone finally feels safe enough to collapse.

Veeresh closed his eyes, holding her tighter, his heart burning with a quiet, dangerous rage.

Bastard, he thought.
Is that how badly he broke her?

But aloud, he said nothing.

He just stayed.

And for the first time in years,
Poornima wasn’t alone with her pain.