NOTE: - The words italicized part is referring to a flash back.
WARNING: - A dark One Shot.
It began with the whispering air, which took no time to turn into strong, howling gales. The Oberois walked on the fresh, wet grass without looking around. It had been three years today, the thirteenth day of the seventh month, and each one knew the pathway that led to their cherished member like the back of their hands.
The sky was a dark and heavy dome above that would flicker with lightning every now and then. Soon the clouds would burst into tears, but it would not matter because they would still sit and grieve beside her till the last ray of sun blessed her gravestone.
It had been one out of her many bizarre wishes. She never wished to be burned, because supposedly that would cause a lot of pain to her soul. She wished to be buried, marked by the purest marble for people to remember her. She wanted to stay grounded', be a part of the world even though she wasn't really present. One funny woman she had been.
"There." The youngest brother mumbled in a hushed voice.
The rest nodded and approached the huge, white, marble gravestone that still stood polished and neat in all its mighty glory. It was built with the best hands at work, located at the very center of the city-block of the dead, towering over the rest of them that rose above from the manicured grass. It was not a city that valued real estate much, so the dead could easily rent a convenient spot in the vast cemetery.
But her spot was an acre's block. After all, she had been a part of the richest family of India, The Oberoi Family. The title itself reeked of grandeur.
The first drop from heavens splattered on the wreath of white orchids and red roses that Shivaay Singh Oberoi set down on the sparkling tile. And soon after, the curtains of rain followed.
"Shivaay." Pinky's soft whisper sounded heartbroken. Her husband patted her back in gentle comfort.
They needed no words; the frigid silence was enough for the world to know the pain and grief tossing their hearts. Omkara ran a hand through his sopping wet hair and placed the other on Shivaay's shoulder. He turned to face the younger ones, his eyes bloodshot, willing the tears not to escape.
The oldest member of the Oberoi family hugged a picture frame to her heart, sobs wracking her frail body. Priyanka hugged her grandmother, her peace and calm dissolved into a mess.
"Go on." Tej's surprisingly tender voice broke Jhanvi out of her unfeeling state. She still clutched the bunch of flowers close to her chest, as if letting them go would bring another vibe of death for her family.
"Mom, please." Rudra's voice cracked and Jhanvi stepped towards the tile. Somya's grip on Rudra's hand tightened painfully while Omkara pulled a whimpering Ishana into the weak solace of his arms.
The atmosphere was heavy, everything shattering. Hurt, yet, not a soul that could be healed.
Shivaay's head bowed down, an involuntary sob escaping his lips. It sounded strangled, almost as if someone had clutched talons around his heart and ripped it right out of his chest.
He still remembered the day he had lost her. It was burned into his memory, like a simmering flash. It was one memory he could never get rid of, not that he would ever try.
"How are they?" His voice was low and tired but still bubbling with a hopeful glee.
"I am afraid, Mr. Oberoi, but we have a problem." The doctor stated calmly. He stared, what else was he expected to do?
"Explain." He grit out.
"The case is a complicated one, Mr. Oberoi. In such cases there is not much hope for survival of either, but your wife would like to believe otherwise. We do not have time to waste, so please do convince her out of this delusion."
Shivaay was for once in his life, completely and thoroughly stumped. He had stormed into the room and demanded her to change her mind. He had kissed her and confessed his love for the millionth time. He had tried to make her realise that he could not afford to lose her. The filthy rich Shivaay Singh Oberoi, could not afford to lose his wife.
But she had not agreed. She simply smiled and told him that he would have both, his son and his wife, alive and well. She had promised him. And that was when his infamous temper had bested him. He had walked out without looking back, ignoring her whisper, telling him that she loved him too.
Two hours later, his secretary had knocked on the door to his vast cabin, startling him. His shoulders tensed at the sight of her trembling lips and before she could get a word out, he shot out of his seat, grabbing the keys to his car.
"Shivaay!" His mother had cried as soon as he got home but he could care less. She needed him right now. The world could wait.
It was dim, the only light trespassing being the moon's silver glow. And in the centre of their bed, she lay, wilted and weak.
"You're here." He could almost weep at the sound of her voice. It was hoarse and quiet and pained but oh, it was music to his ears.
He took small steps towards her, his knuckles turning white owing to his clenched fists. "Why did you do this?" The rage was well-concealed. She stared back, clamouring forward to grip his hands.
He climbed into the bed, pulling her closer.
"Aren't you angry? Why aren't you angry?" She mumbled.
"I am. I am livid." He choked out and nestled his face in her tangled mass of hair. That is when he felt it, a tiny, solid form, pressed against her chest. A spasm of shock chilled his spine as he pulled away to look down at the lifeless boy she cradled in her arms. His throat burned and his core throbbed as tears trailed down his cheeks.
She let her arms envelope him, abandoning the corpse of their son. Her nails dug angrily into the flesh of his back, and though he had meant to be strong for her, he found himself falling apart. The grief was fresh and gnarly, and there was nothing he could do to stave off the tears any longer.
That was how the first ray of sunshine found them, asleep in each other's arms. His face, pained, contorting into a grimace and hers, peaceful, as if nothing would disturb her ever again.
And nothing did, not her brother's screams, not the family's tears, not even the haunting wails of Shivaay Singh Oberoi that still echoed around the dark corners of the Oberoi Mansion.
Now, whenever they ask him, what had happened that fateful night, he would reply vacantly. "Somewhere in the dead of the night, she went dark on me."
"Anika!" He dropped down to his knees, his vision blurring.
His brothers knelt beside him and locked him in a secure embrace. Her wedding band tumbled out of his hands and clanked against her resting spot. The platinum glistened and the pristine opal glared, still polished to perfection.
"Hush, it is going to be okay." Rudra and Omkara whispered.
"When?" Shivaay scrunched his eyes close.
When would it ever be okay?
They told him to let it go, to let her go, and move on with life. They murmured sweet nothings out to him, hoping to ease that egregious ache that seized his being. But all was in vain. How could he? How could he let her go? She was the only one his frozen heart and flaming rage had ever surrendered to.
And now, she was gone, the girl who had let her angels dance with his demons, lulling them to sleep. She was his spirit in white, his seraph!
Author's Note: - Well, that is the end to my 3:00 a.m. thoughts! I don't expect you to enjoy it but I do hope that it tugged at the strings of your hearts!
Fan Fictions
