He'd touched her. Virat Chavan had touched her. In a desperate attempt to make her see reason, he'd held Sai's wrist and hurt her. Virat had been in hell since the moment he'd laid his hand on her in an attempt to control her because that's exactly what it had been. An exercise in control. She had been flighty, nonsensical and vague about her reasoning and something had broken in him. The last rope of restraint that had ripped so violently that he'd succumbed to his most primal senses. He'd touched her. When she hadn't listened to his words, he'd sought to physically stop her from leaving his home.
Virat hadn't once looked away from her in that argument. His family had been speaking, Pakhi had nearly gotten in the middle of it, but his eyes had stayed only on Sai. Her large eyes had looked at him in frustration and when he'd touched her the anger had morphed to disbelief and then disgust. And he'd been affected by none of it, until his mother had told him that he'd been hurting her. He'd released her wrist from his grip as if he'd been burned. She'd looked at him then, defiance burning in her eyes and the fury of his actions numbing her. He'd seen her clutch her wrist, the pain marring her features and he'd felt the regret of it all.
He had thought that if he could pin her, if he could make her look at him, make her see him, she would understand. She would see the raging storm inside him that had snapped at the idea that she could be in danger at someone else's hands. The storm that had been only in his head for the past few weeks, had simmered agonizingly, until the idea that she could be in the clutches of someone he did not trust had unleashed his torture to a maddening degree.
The fury had blinded him completely and before he'd realized what he'd done his large hand had engulfed her small wrist. He had been drowning in his own storm and sought her as an anchor, to him, for him. A desperate attempt to ground himself and her, knowing that if she had walked out of his front doors he would lose a part of her he was not willing to do so.
Contrary to his wife's belief, Virat was not stupid. Their fight the night before was a stark indication that she would never believe him, that in the end there was no emotional tie that bound her to him, even if he wanted for that to be true. Sai was going to leave him, she was counting down the days in her mind, waiting for the day her degree was in hand. She had reminded him of all the words he'd thrown in her face before he'd married her, and he knew that nothing would stop her from leaving him.
And he'd caught her wrist and hurt her, to prove that the last control he had over his heart had completely slipped away. In an attempt to keep her, he'd trapped her. The doors will open when I lock you in a room, you will listen to me, as if I was just dying to marry you?! His words had damned him. His last attempt at control had made him cage Sai in his home like an animal as if trapping her in the hollow walls of his home would ever be fathomable. Sai who burned brighter than the sun, Sai who could never belong to anyone, Sai who would now never be his. Virat had been so desperate to bind her to him that he'd lost control.
Virat screamed in frustration, clenching the fist that had no doubt bruised Sai's wrist. His nails bit into his palm, a welcoming sensation to dull the ache. He looked at her books, her small scribbled notes and he wondered if he would be able to look her in the eyes after what he'd done. Wondered if Sai could ever understand that his careful control had slipped into the maddening folds of her laughter, her eyes, her easy smile and he was so lost his head was spinning. At once, he unclenched his fist and slammed his open palm against the edge of her study table.
The wood splintered from the contact and Virat hissed in pain. Tiny splinters took up home in his palm and blood trickled slowly from different points. Virat assessed the damage he'd done, and he knew his reckoning was in the making.
She will never forgive me, he thought, closing his hand into a fist and burying the splinters deeper into his skin.
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Sai no longer had any illusions about the man she shared a bed with. The man she had believed was comparable to her father, had treated her like a prisoner, a caged animal and he had hurt her. The disbelief had quickly turned to disgust and Sai knew that she would never forget what Virat had done to her. That he had been capable of touching her, capable of denying her food, capable of even believing that he could cage her in his home as if she were a feral animal in desperate need of rehabilitation. Virat had threatened her, treating her like a prisoner in his home. He had called her thankless, had told her that she was too under the debt of his kind mercy.
Hot tears burned down her cheek and she winced in pain as her hand came up to wipe her face. He had bruised her. When she'd come home his attempts to discipline her had no longer come as a shock, and she had walked away from him with her head held high. But in the comfort of her room when she'd examined her wrist, she had seen the real damage that would never leave her. Virat's hands were imprinted on her skin as if he'd burned her, his fingers welted to shape around her wrist. The soreness had not gone, and the red had eased to a bruising colour.
Looking to Usha mausi, Sai carefully stood up from the makeshift bed and walked into the kitchen. Fumbling with the freezer she caught a bag of ice and immediately placed it on her wrist. The cold was a welcome sensation and she could no longer feel the pain.
Exhaustion seeped through her body and Sai swayed, her eyes closing slowly. For a moment she could allow herself this need to succumb to sleep, it was four in the morning and no one would find her in the dark. Just for a second, she promised herself, as her eyes led her to dreams.
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Virat had paced the scale of his room twentyfold and he was no closer to sleep than he had been before. His hand was still bleeding and he'd done nothing to uncover the splinters that had dug into his palm. Frustrated he opened the doors of his room, walking slowly through the halls. Descending the stairs he saw the dark foyer, not a single light to show him the corners of his home. When he rounded the dining room, he recognized the small light of the kitchen and wondered if someone was awake, if someone had been just as restless.
Crossing the open threshold of the kitchen he saw Sai's small head against the kitchen island, resting on her arm. Her hand was propped up on ice and he immediately felt his heart fall at the sight of her. Walking slowly, without so much as breathing, he stood next to her and the sight of her bruised wrist made him sick. He had done that. The one promise he'd made to her and himself, had been the one he had broken. The throbbing in his hand was nothing compared to the buzzing in his head and he could no longer stand to look at the damage he'd done. He'd hurt her. At the end of it all, at the end of whatever false reasoning he pleaded or however much he asked for forgiveness, he had hurt her. Hurt her enough to bruise her, hurt her enough to treat her like a prisoner.
He could no longer breathe and bile rose up his throat. And as if she'd sensed him, Sai stirred. her hair spilled in front of her face and she didn't realize Virat was before her until she settled her wrist in her lap. At the sight of him, her eyes changed and Virat knew that if there was a hell for him, it would be this moment, over and over again. Disgust had found it's way back into the pools of her brown eyes and she stood up defiantly.
"Assessing the damage?" she spat, and Virat winced at the gravelly sound of her voice.
He saw her eyes briefly find the blood now drying on his hand and she looked at him, into him. Could he tell her it was a punishment? Could he describe that the blood on his hand was nothing compared to what he'd done, but it was a desperate attempt from a desperate man to make amends with himself? Would she believe him? If she was concerned at the sight of him, she did not show it, but he saw her lower lip trembled and he wondered how much she'd cried today. How much he'd made her cry today.
Her name sat at the tip of his tongue and the weight of it stopped him from speaking aloud. As if he was no longer to say her name. Sai. Saisaisai. Sai who could not bear to see anyone in pain, Sai who had tried her best to relieve hurt from others, Sai who healed and healed and healed.
She moved past him, placing the ice bag back into the freezer. Without so much as a second glance at him, she stalked away, the darkness of his home swallowing her from out of his sight. Virat closed his eyes, begging for the darkness to take him too.
And she will always hate me, no matter what I say
And there is no mistaking, the love is gone
Yeah she will always hate me, she said "you've lost me, baby"
No matter what I say, the love is gone
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A/N: So I wanted to write a lil angst POV for this horrendous scene lol. I wanted to write a detached Sai and a self-tortured Virat because frankly, it's what he deserves LMAO. I am absolutely pissed, for a myriad of reasons. Virat is not someone who loses control, but if he were meant to it should not have been like this. To be honest Virat's lack of transparency, his stunted communication skills and his inability to own up to the rightful accusations Sai is throwing his way, are what make him so frustrating to deal with. While watching the past two episodes my brother remarked 'I don't know what's gotten into him', and it's true. Watching Virat unfold on screen has been like watching a man possessed. He no longer knows what he's doing, or why he's doing it. Sai who could have owned up to a more fleshed out reasoning was clearly in no mood from their fight the night before, and Virat had thought that placating her with chai would boil their fight over? His attempts at reconciliation are so emotionally unaware that it's hard to digest these moments where he spins out of control. He is so desperate to prove to not only the family but himself that he means something to Sai, he's willing to cross boundaries that he promised her he would never cross, boundaries he has told HER not to cross. AND IT DOES NOT HELP that they NEVER show Vira's internal monologue. If they wanted him to lose control it could have very well been done with an amended version of the original in that a) he doesn't touch Sai, b) he INSISTS with his WORDS (which he clearly doesn' t know how to use) that he is coming along with her and instead of grabbing her wrist he clasps her hand as if to walk out together. If she still fought about it an argument would have made sense.
I'm not sure how he's going to come back from this, honestly, I'm not sure how SAI will come back from this. This is the man she has compared to her father, the man who gave her life and whom she has trusted beyond capacity. This is the man she thought was kind, who respected her enough to never ever lay a hand on her. Sai is going to have a difficult time coming back from this, and I'm intrigued to see how Virat does damage control. Because all he's done is run in circles and not once answered any of the questions Sai has thrown in his face, and yet he demands transparency from her? On what basis? It's also incredibly disheartening that in the moment he let go of her wrist he quite literally gaslit her by saying 'are you happy now? making me ashamed in front of my family?' like dude WHAT LOL. Anyways I'm tired, these writers are dumb and I'm over it. Sai pls pack ur bags baby girl I will personally travel to Nagpur and help you shift into a hostel, PROMISE. Drag Virat through the mud and until he gets on his bleeding knees to apologize, don't give in.
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