Chapter Seventy-Six: Everything He Never Said

The walk to her house was silent.

Not peaceful silence—

Heavy.

Unanswered.

Poornima walked ahead, her steps steady but her heart anything but.

Veeresh followed, his eyes observing everything—the narrow lanes, the small houses, the simplicity that surrounded her now.

When they reached, she opened the door quietly and stepped aside for him to enter.

He did.

And the moment he looked around—

Something inside him tightened.

The house was small.

Simple.

Bare.

A few books.

A mat.

A corner with her things neatly placed.

No luxury.

No comfort like the life she once had.

But it was… her.

Calm.

Quiet.

Uncomplicated.

His jaw clenched.

This—

This was where she had been living for two years.

Without him.

Without anything he could have given her.

The silence between them stretched again.

Poornima turned slightly, about to say something—

Before she could—

His hand moved.

The slap echoed in the small room.

Sharp.

Sudden.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Her face turned slightly with the impact, but she stayed still, her eyes lowering instead of meeting his.

Because somewhere—

She believed she deserved it.

Veeresh’s chest rose and fell heavily, his hand still half-raised, as if even he hadn’t fully processed what he had just done.

But the anger wasn’t blind.

It was built.

Two years of it.

“Do you even know what you did?” his voice came out rough, breaking through the silence.

No response.

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Of course you don’t… because you never stayed long enough to see it.”

His eyes locked onto her now, filled with everything he had buried.

“You left.”

The words were simple.

But they carried weight.

“You walked away like it meant nothing… like I meant nothing.”

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she still didn’t speak.

That only fueled him more.

“I gave you a choice, Poornima!” his voice rose now, frustration spilling over. “I told you everything about me… every flaw… every truth… and I stayed!”

His hand ran through his hair, pacing slightly.

“I stood there in front of everyone and chose you… knowing everything about your past… not caring about what anyone would say!”

His voice cracked slightly.

“And you…” he looked at her again, disbelief mixing with pain, “you didn’t even give me the respect of a conversation.”

That word hit harder than anything.

Respect.

“You decided for me.”

His tone dropped now.

Quieter.

More dangerous.

“You decided I would be better without you.”

A bitter smile crossed his face.

“Who gave you that right?”

Her eyes filled slightly, but she still didn’t interrupt him.

Because she knew—

He wasn’t done.

“I searched for you,” he continued, his voice unsteady now. “Everywhere… places you liked… places you mentioned… even places you never went.”

A pause.

“Two years, Poornima.”

The weight of those words filled the room.

“Two years of not knowing if you’re alive… if you’re safe… if you even think about me.”

His breathing grew heavier.

“And then I get a letter.”

He let out a hollow laugh.

“A letter telling me you’re freeing me.”

His eyes darkened, hurt flashing through.

“I never asked to be free.”

Silence again.

But this time—

It wasn’t empty.

It was filled with everything he felt.

“You think I cared about Ridhima?” he scoffed. “You think I care about what people say?”

He stepped closer now.

“I remarried because I wanted you to come back.”

The truth landed.

Raw.

Unfiltered.

“I wanted to see if you would feel something… if you would stop hiding… if you would fight for me even once.”

His voice broke slightly.

“But you didn’t come.”

That hurt more than anything else.

“You chose to stay away… again.”

His eyes searched her face now, softer but still filled with pain.

“Do you even… love me?”

The question wasn’t loud.

Wasn’t demanding.

It was… tired.

Because beneath all the anger, all the frustration—

That was what it came down to.

His voice dropped further, almost a whisper.

“Or was I just… someone you could walk away from?”

He stood there, in front of her, stripped of all his control, all his arrogance, all his walls—

A man who had carried two years of pain, not because he was left, but because the one person he chose didn’t trust him enough to stay.