Chapter 47 The Memories He Could Not Lose

Veeresh stood in the room for a moment after she asked him to let her rest.

He nodded quietly. “You rest.”

She gave a small nod and closed her eyes.

He stayed there for a second longer, looking at her, as if hoping something would change if he waited.

It didn’t.

He turned and walked out.

Outside, everyone looked at him, waiting.

“Let her rest,” he said calmly.

Nothing more.

Then he walked away.

No one stopped him.

No one knew what to say.

He got into his car and drove without thinking, without direction, just moving forward until he reached the penthouse.

The moment he stepped inside, the silence hit him.

Empty.

Cold.

He closed the door behind him and stood there.

And then…

He broke.

His hands went to his face as he let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped inside him for too long.

Tears followed.

Uncontrolled.

Unstoppable.

His knees weakened and he sat down slowly, his back resting against the wall.

“She doesn’t remember,” he whispered.

And suddenly…

Everything came rushing back.

The day of their marriage.

Her red lehenga.

Her silent tears.

Her empty expression.

Then that moment…

When she slapped him.

Her anger.

Her pain.

The way she held his collar and questioned him.

He closed his eyes tightly.

“I am just twenty,” her voice echoed in his mind.

Her words had hurt him then.

But now…

They felt like something precious.

Something he wanted to hear again.

He let out a broken breath.

Then another memory.

She giving him that salty tea.

His reaction.

Her stubbornness.

The way she said she would behave like a wife and he had to tolerate it.

A faint, painful smile appeared on his lips.

Then the spicy food.

The way he silently ate it.

And her realization.

She had pulled him into the shower.

That sudden kiss.

Their first kiss.

Because she felt bad.

Because she cared.

He wiped his tears, but they didn’t stop.

He remembered her hugging him that day.

Apologizing.

Their first real hug.

He had felt something change that day.

Something soften.

Then her demanding a gift for the ceremony.

The way she opened it with excitement.

Her happiness.

Pure.

Unfiltered.

“She smiled like a child,” he whispered.

His chest tightened.

Then her words.

“I will still take revenge.”

Her small threats.

Her fights.

The day she told him about the boy she had proposed to.

The way she asked him what to do.

Trusting him completely.

And his mistake.

Her anger.

Her slaps.

And then…

Forgiving him.

Taking him shopping.

Ordering him around.

A tear slipped down again.

“She never stayed angry,” he said softly.

Then those mornings.

Preparing breakfast for her.

Dropping her to college.

Her voice.

“Pick me up, Mr Qureshi.”

His breath shook.

Then the election days.

Her waiting.

Her prayers.

The way she held him when he came home late.

The way she made him sleep in her arms.

And how…

Everything felt okay there.

Like nothing could touch him.

He pressed his hand against his chest.

“That was my peace,” he whispered.

Then that day.

When he lost.

How she came to him.

Held him.

Let him cry.

“You are still my CM,” her voice echoed.

He broke again.

Completely.

Then her struggling with the saree.

Him helping her.

Her warning him not to laugh.

Their smiles.

Her asking him if he was okay to attend the party.

Caring for him even then.

Then the cards.

The way she stood up for him.

Played for him.

Won.

And then refused the money.

“My husband earns fairly and honestly. I will use his money.”

His tears fell faster now.

“She was proud of me,” he said, his voice breaking.

Then that night.

Her confession.

“You are my home.”

The words echoed painfully.

He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“I am happy I didn’t say no,” he remembered himself telling her.

And her believing him.

Always believing him.

Even when her own parents doubted him.

She had run behind him.

Back hugged him.

“I trust you.”

“I believe you.”

He covered his face with his hands.

Those words felt like a wound now.

Because she didn’t remember saying them.

Then her playful kiss.

Her warmth.

Her closeness.

And the nights…

When he slept in her arms.

Feeling safe.

Feeling complete.

He let out a broken sob.

“I had everything,” he whispered.

“And now…”

Nothing.

The room felt suffocating.

Every corner held a memory.

Every memory held her.

But she…

Did not hold him anymore.

He lowered his hands slowly, his eyes red, his face filled with pain.

“I remember everything,” he said.

His voice cracked again.

“But you…”

He couldn’t complete the sentence.

Because the truth was too cruel.

She remembered her life.

Her family.

Her past.

Everything…

Except him.

And that was the part he could not accept.

Because he could lose anything.

Power.

Position.

Elections.

But not her.

Not like this.

Not while she was still alive.

He bent forward slightly, his hands gripping tightly as if trying to hold onto something slipping away.

“I will remember for both of us,” he whispered finally.

But even that promise…

Felt unbearably lonely.