Chapter Seventy: The Decision That Wasn’t His

The evening in the Rathore palace in was unusually heavy.

His parents sat in front of him, their faces lined with worry that had only deepened over the last two years.

“Beta…” his mother’s voice was soft, almost pleading, “just search for her once… we don’t ask you to bring her back… just… know she is alive.”

His father added quietly, “That’s all we want.”

For a moment—

Veeresh said nothing.

He stood there, still, unreadable.

His face calm.

Too calm.

Then he spoke.

“I’m remarrying.”

The words fell flat.

Sharp.

Unreal.

“With Ridhima.”

Silence exploded in the room.

His mother stepped back slightly, shock flooding her face.

“Veeresh…” she whispered, disbelief breaking through.

His father’s expression hardened, trying to understand if this was anger, pain, or something else entirely.

But Veeresh didn’t explain.

He simply removed the ring from his finger.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

And placed it on the table.

The same ring he had never taken off for two years.

The same ring that silently held everything he never said.

That moment—

Hurt more than his words.

Without another glance, he turned and walked away.

Not waiting.

Not stopping.

Because if he did—

He might not go through with it.

His steps led him somewhere he had avoided for two years.

The penthouse.

The door opened with a soft click.

And the moment he stepped inside—

Everything came back.

The silence.

The memories.

Her.

He walked in slowly, his eyes moving across the space she had once filled with quiet warmth.

The couch where she sat.

The balcony where she stood.

The kitchen where she cooked.

Every corner still carried her.

And that was when—

The control broke.

He dropped onto the floor, the ring still in his hand now, his fingers tightening around it like it was the only thing left of her.

“Why…” his voice cracked, echoing in the empty space.

“Why did you do this, Poornima…”

There was no one to answer.

His breathing grew uneven, his shoulders shaking as the tears he had buried for two years finally surfaced again.

“I didn’t need saving…” he said, his voice breaking completely now.

“I needed you…”

His head fell forward, his grip on the ring loosening as it slipped slightly in his hand.

“Just come back…” he whispered, desperation replacing everything else.

“Please…”

The word felt unfamiliar to him.

But he said it anyway.

“Come back, Poornima…”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I miss you…”

A pause.

Then softer—

“I miss you calling me… Veer.”

That name.

The way she said it.

Soft.

Without fear.

Without formality.

No one else called him that.

No one else could.

And in that empty penthouse, surrounded by memories he never let go of, Veeresh realized that the decision he made wasn’t to move on—but to bury a love he never stopped feeling, because living with hope had become harder than living with loss.