Author's note - Reflecting on yesterday's episode, this has been on my mind. Hope y'all enjoy.
Title - Grief
In the bustling chaos of the Poddar household, Abhira observed Armaan from a distance. His once vibrant presence had dulled, masked by the weight of responsibility he carried on his shoulders.
Armaan moved through the house with a silent determination, attending to the needs of Dadisa, his Maasaa, and cousins. His deep voice resonated with authority as he addressed family matters and the myriad responsibilities that had befallen him. Yet, amidst the orchestrated harmony of familial support, Abhira could see the lone figure he had become.
She noticed his tired eyes, robbed of the spark that once lit them up. The constant furrow on his forehead revealed the burden he carried, not just of his family's grief but his own unspoken pain. The sharp click of his footsteps on the marble floor echoed the precision with which he moved, a man submerged in the world of cases, laws, and obligations.
Abhira approached him as he studied a stack of legal documents, a plate of untouched food beside him. "Armaan," she called, her voice cutting through the quiet intensity of the room.
He looked up, exhaustion evident in his gaze. "Abhira, I'm in the middle of something important."
She frowned, her concern deepening. "And when was the last time you took a moment for yourself? Ate a proper meal or just... breathed?"
Armaan's gaze dropped, a fleeting vulnerability crossing his face. "Abhira. Not now."
She shook her head, refusing to let him retreat further into his self-imposed isolation. "Taking care of yourself is not a sign of weakness. You're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you're not invincible."
Armaan sighed, the weariness in his eyes reflecting the toll his responsibilities had taken on him. "I don't have the luxury of falling apart right now. Everyone depends on me."
Abhira placed a hand on his arm, her touch a gentle reassurance. "And who's taking care of you, Armaan? You need to acknowledge that you're human, that you hurt too."
He looked at her, a moment of vulnerability shared between them. In that exchange, Abhira saw the cracks in the façade he wore for the world—a man who needed support as much as he gave it.
Armaan without answering leave from there.Later at night ,The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a table lamp highlighting the piles of legal documents scattered across the coffee table. The air carried the scent of ink and paper, a familiar aroma of Armaan's late-night legal battles. Abhira entered the room, a determined look on her face as she held a steaming bowl of noodles.
"Here, eat this," she declared, offering the bowl to Armaan who was engrossed in the sea of case files.
Armaan glanced at the noodles, his brow furrowing. "I'm not hungry," he muttered, his tone a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.
Abhira rolled her eyes, unimpressed by his stoic demeanor. "Well, that's not a surprise. When was the last time you actually enjoyed a meal, Mr. Poddar?"
Armaan sighed, not in the mood for banter. "I have work to finish, Abhira. I don't have time for noodles or jokes."
Undeterred, Abhira plopped down on the couch beside him, her sarcasm intact. "Oh, the great Armaan Poddar, too busy saving the world to eat a decent meal."
He shot her a cold look, his irritation rising. "I'm handling a crucial case, Abhira. This isn't the time for your antics."
" Look, I know my noodles don't look good, and I'm not some big, high-class chef," she chuckled, a hint of self-awareness in her voice. "But it's not that bad. I've been eating this since I came here. I cook it for myself."
Armaan, his gaze momentarily diverted from the sea of legal documents, looked at her with a subtle annoyance. He shifted his attention to the noodles in her bowl, inspecting them with a critical eye. Finally, he glanced back at her and uttered, "I'm not hungry."
Abhira, undeterred by Armaan's stoicism, flashed a playful smile. "Oh, come on, Mr. khadoosmaan. I know my culinary skills might not match up to your high standards, but give it a try. It's not as bad as you think."
Armaan sighed, his irritation evident. "Abhira, I have work to finish. I don't have time for noodles or jokes."
Abhira smirked, her stubbornness shining through. "Well, since you won't eat, I guess I'll have to force-feed you."
Armaan's eyes widened in disbelief. "Force-feed me? Are you serious?"
She chuckled, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, it worked for you when I was hungry. Turnabout's fair play, right?"
Armaan shook his head, dismissing her antics. "I don't have time for this, Abhira."
But she persisted, holding the bowl closer to him. "Come on, just one bite. It won't kill you."
He snapped, his patience worn thin. "I said, I'm not hungry!" The sharpness in his voice echoed in the room, surprising even Abhira.
Her playful expression faded.The tension in the room thickened as Abhira shot up from the couch, anger flashing in her eyes. "Fine, don't eat," she snapped, her frustration evident. She grabbed the bowl of noodles and stomped towards the bed, muttering under her breath.
She perched on the edge of the bed, a cloud of resentment surrounding her.
As she took a forkful of noodles, she muttered to herself, her voice a low hum of discontent. "Went out of my way to cook, nodded like an idiot in the kitchen. Scared someone in this house might see and take their anger out on me. Never cooked for anyone except Mumma, and here I am, going all out for Armaan. And what does he do? Shouts at me. Fine, good, stay hungry then."
Abhira's internal frustration spilled into her muttered words, a soliloquy of resentment echoing her feelings of being unappreciated.
Her gaze flickered to Armaan, still engrossed in the labyrinth of legal documents. A mix of hurt and stubbornness crossed her face as she continued to eat, occasionally shaking her head in disbelief.
Abhira, having finished her meal, couldn't stay silent. Her outspoken nature bubbled up, and she couldn't help but confront Armaan, "Why are you doing this to yourself, Armaan? How long do you plan on this hunger strike? Do you think Rohit would be happy seeing you like this, neglecting yourself?"
Armaan's gaze shifted from the papers to Abhira, his eyes narrowing with irritation.
He didn't answer immediately, the silence hanging in the air like a thick fog. Abhira's words lingered, her concern evident, but Armaan's stoicism held firm. Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with controlled frustration. "I don't need your lectures"
Abhira didn't back down, her stubbornness matching his. "Work won't bring him back, Armaan. You need to take care of yourself. Rohit wouldn't want you to suffer like this."
His glare intensified, a cold and sharp rebuttal in his eyes. "Don't pretend to know what Rohit would want. You don't understand."
Abhira's eyes softened, her concern overriding her usual banter. "I may not understand completely, but I do know that isolating yourself like this won't solve anything. You're human, Armaan. You need to grieve, and part of that is taking care of yourself."
Armaan's gaze remained fixed on the papers before him, but Abhira's words hung in the air like an unspoken truth.
Abhira continued, her voice unwavering, "I know what it's like to lose someone, Armaan. I lost my Mumma, my only family. But what you're doing isn't right. Burying yourself in work, avoiding everything else. You take on everyone's responsibility—Dadisaa, your Maasaa, your Chachu, Chachi, Fufuasaa, your cousins. The obedient, responsible Armaan Poddar, the perfect brother, the perfect son, the perfect nephew. Everyone shares their pain with you about Rohit, and you cry with everyone. But not for yourself, not for your own pain about missing Rohit."
Armaan finally looked up, his cold gaze meeting Abhira's. His voice, though controlled, carried an undercurrent of frustration. "I don't need your analysis, Abhira. I know how to handle my life."
Abhira's eyes softened, her stubbornness tempered by genuine concern. "Armaan, grief isn't a burden you bear alone. You don't have to be the perfect everything for everyone. Sometimes, it's okay to let others in and share the weight."
" I can't break," Armaan's voice was firm, his jaw clenched in a display of unwavering determination. "I need to be strong. I can't disappoint anyone."
Abhira, undeterred by his stoicism, countered, "Being responsible doesn't mean you're a machine, Armaan. Ignoring your emotions won't make them disappear. Let your pain go, let the burden out. You don't smile, your eyes look dull. You look like some ghost walking around."
Armaan's frustration bubbled to the surface, his retort sharp. "I have responsibilities, Abhira. I can't afford to wallow in self-pity."
Abhira's eyes narrowed, her stubbornness matching his. "Handling responsibilities doesn't mean bottling things inside. You're not a machine; you're a human being, Armaan. And humans feel pain. They grieve. You can't keep pretending everything is okay."
Armaan's gaze remained fixed, his cold exterior showing no sign of wavering. "I can handle it," he insisted.
Abhira shook her head, her voice unwavering. "Handling it doesn't mean shutting yourself off from the world. Let people in, share the burden. You don't have to carry it all alone."
"Sometimes confronting brings peace," Abhira insisted, her voice a gentle counterpoint to the palpable frustration in the room. "I'm not saying you should lose hope, Armaan. I believe Rohit will come back. I have full hope. But what you're doing is self-destruction."
Armaan, his jaw clenched, let out a bitter laugh. "Hope? I don't even know what peace is anymore."
Abhira's expression softened, her tone empathetic. "Armaan, you can't keep shutting yourself off from everything. It's okay to grieve, to let go of the pain. Confronting the reality doesn't mean losing hope."
Armaan shook his head, the weight of his emotions evident in his eyes. A mix of frustration and sorrow played across his face. "How can I let go when I don't even have closure? Rohit is my brother, and now he's just gone."
Abhira, ever persistent, reached out a hand to Armaan. "Closure or not, holding onto this pain won't bring Rohit back. It's okay to feel, Armaan. It's okay to let go, even if just a little."
Armaan looked at her, a war of emotions playing on his face.
Armaan, adamant in his facade, dismissed her with a curt, "I don't need to cry. I'm okay. You go and sleep."
But Abhira, fueled by a stubborn determination to break through his emotional walls, was having none of it. Annoyed, she rose from the bed and marched over to Armaan. With a firm grip, she took his hand and, almost forcefully, led him back to the bed. She made him sit, covering him with a blanket.
"Enough of this, Armaan," Abhira asserted, her tone unwavering. "You don't have to be alone in this. You can count on me. You don't need to be perfect, you don't need to hold it all in. Rohit is gone, and it's okay to show how much it's hurting you."
Armaan, initially resistant, felt the weight of her words seeping in. The room, now filled with the quiet tension of unspoken pain, became a cocoon where emotions lay bare. Abhira's presence, a steady anchor, provided a sense of solace.
Under the blanket, shielded from the world, Armaan finally started to break down.
Abhira, sensing the vulnerability in Armaan's grip, thought to give him privacy as she started to get up. But before she could make a move, Armaan's hand tightened around hers, a silent plea for the emotional support he sought.
Armaan's grip on Abhira's hand was a silent plea, an instinctive reach for the emotional anchor he desperately needed in the depths of his despair. In that vulnerable moment, his usual stoicism crumbled, revealing the rawness of his pain.
The room, once a sanctuary of solitude, became a cocoon where Armaan sought refuge in Abhira's presence. His reluctance to let go of her hand was an admission—admission that even the most mature and composed facade had its breaking points, and he had reached his.
He clung to it as if afraid that letting go would plunge him back into the abyss of his solitary grief. The warmth of her hand, the subtle assurance in her grip, spoke more than words ever could. He found a confidante, someone who, despite their differences, offered a form of comfort he hadn't allowed himself to seek.
Abhira hesitated for a moment before sitting back on the bed, moving closer to him. Armaan, still wrapped inside the blanket, turned towards her, his silent request for solace evident in his eyes. Without a word, he leaned on her shoulder, the weight of his grief pressing against her.
Abhira, understanding the significance of this moment, rested her head on his. The room, once heavy with tension, now held a fragile intimacy. The sounds of Armaan's muffled sobs mingled with the hushed night outside, creating a poignant symphony of shared sorrow.
In the embrace of that simple moment, Armaan and Abhira, two souls bound by circumstance, found a connection that transcended the boundaries of their deal marriage. The night became a silent witness to the unraveling of grief, a testament to the strength that could be found in vulnerability and the solace that could be offered in shared pain.
. I am looking forward to read more from you
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Shiv Shakti
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