Walking past the desk to the dark wood cabinet behind it, he extracted a crystal decanter and poured himself a drink. He hadn’t touched one in five weeks, not since he had thrown the bottle at her. He didn’t have to now, the sane part of him whispered. He needn’t have the drink, nor did he need to open that envelope and read what was inside.
He could trash it and walk away from this moment, forget he had ever requested it. He didn’t have to know what she had been through. Not even she was worth playing this dangerous game of wills with his own emotions.
He put down the glass with a thud that resonated around him. Tearing open the envelope, he pulled out the sheaf of papers and proceeded to read.
Report after report of words he didn’t understand, just as he had assumed. She had seen a lot of doctors, here and abroad. Finally he found the page that would make sense of the technical words.
Halfway through the succinct write-up, he froze, the very axis of his world tilting in front of his very eyes.
Nikhat might never be able to have children.
Suddenly, every word out of her mouth, every action of hers, made sense. She had left him not because she had loved her dream of being a doctor, her freedom more than she had loved him.
His chest felt tight, a hollow ringing in his ears.
What would he have done if she had told him the truth? He would have never thought any less of her, he would have…
His limbs felt restless, his skin too tight to contain the emotions within him.
She had never told him the entire truth. She had sacrificed her own happiness and his so that he could do his duty. She was every bit the magnificent woman he thought she was.
And with the realization brought threadbare hope and excruciating anguish. Anguish that she had never trusted him enough with her secret, trusted him enough with the truth.
After everything he had just told her yesterday, after the maelstrom of guilt and pain he had felt just recounting that horrible day to Ayaan again, he should have felt nothing. Being numb would have been a blessing in more ways than one.
But of course not. Apparently, he still hadn’t killed everything inside him that felt, and hurt and was wounded. He wanted to reach inside him and pluck it out with his bare hands, he wanted to stop feeling so much.
And so he went to see her, the woman who, it seemed, would always have something to teach him, who would always guide him.
* * *
Nikhat shivered even though the water that gushed out of the gleaming silver-and-gold faucets was piping hot, and the steam from it curled her hair around her face. The subtle scent from the rose oil that she had poured into the water teased her nostrils, coating her skin with it.
If anyone had asked her what she had done today, she had no answer for them. She had wandered through the palace, wherever she was allowed, until an old guard had stopped her and inquired if she was okay.
Flushing, she had looked around herself, claimed that she was lost and walked back to her own suite.
The grandiose decor of her quarters, the view of the sky glimmering with stars, the sweeping arches and walkways in the courtyard below her balcony, nothing could hold her attention. Feeling as if the walls would close in on her, she had finally fled for some air.
And here she was now, waiting for the minimal staff to retire for the night, waiting for the minute when she could go to him. Maybe if she saw him, if she touched him, this chill she felt inside might abate.