Chapter 19: Midnight Confessions and Startling Truths

NEIL

The confrontation with Suresh Mehra at the hospital had left a lingering, unsettling residue. The sheer, unadulterated rage I'd felt, the almost feral satisfaction in seeing him crumble, had surprised even me. But beneath that visceral reaction lay a deeper current of concern. Suresh was a snake, and he wouldn't forget. He’d come for Kaveri, and for the NGO. That was a certainty. And the thought, a cold knot in my gut, fueled a protective instinct I hadn't realized was so potent.

I spent the evening barricaded in my study, making calls, pulling strings, setting my vast network into motion. Suresh Mehra would find his business ventures facing unexpected audits, his political connections mysteriously unavailable, his every move scrutinized. He might not know who was behind it, but he would feel the pressure. It was a quieter, more insidious form of warfare, one I was far more accustomed to, and far more effective at. He wouldn't touch Kaveri, or her NGO, again. Not if I had anything to say about it.

Later, the silence of the mansion seemed deeper than usual as I walked towards my bedroom. The day's events, from the unexpected violence to Akshi’s story, had drained me. I needed sleep, a moment of respite before the next wave of corporate and personal complexities. I needed to be myself again.

I pushed open the bedroom door, expecting to find the room in darkness, Kaveri probably asleep, her usual rigid distance maintained even in slumber. Instead, a soft glow emanated from the bedside lamp. And then, I heard it. A low, meandering murmur, a strange, nonsensical stream of words.

My eyes swept the room.

She was standing by the large, ornate dresser, bathed in the soft lamplight. She was wearing a flimsy, black satin night suit that barely covered her thighs, a stark contrast to the oversized white shirt she had clearly pulled from my side of the closet. The shirt hung loosely over her, making her appear even smaller, more delicate. She was swaying slightly, her hands gesturing wildly in the air, deep in conversation.

And her audience? A small, articulated bone model, probably something she used for teaching anatomy, was propped up on the dresser. But it wasn't just any bone model. She had placed my reading glasses, the sleek, modern ones I used for late-night reports, over its eye sockets. The effect was utterly ludicrous.

"…and you see, Mr. Bones," she slurred, her voice thick, utterly unlike her usual crisp articulation, "he just doesn't understand. He thinks everything is about facts. But some things… some things are about… about feelings, Mr. Bones! Big, messy feelings! And he keeps trying to put them in spreadsheets! Can you imagine? A spreadsheet of feelings!" She hiccuped, then leaned in conspiratorially towards the goggle-wearing skeleton.

"He's very handsome though, isn't he, Mr. Bones? For a man who needs an ego security detail."

My jaw dropped. The absurdity of the scene was so profound, so utterly out of character for Kaveri, that for a moment, I simply stared. My professional, precise wife, talking utter nonsense to a skeleton wearing my glasses. And then, the faint scent of something sweet, something alcoholic, wafted towards me. Oh, God.

She must have sensed my presence. She slowly turned, her head tilting, her eyes, usually so sharp and wary, now wide and unfocused. A slow, goofy grin spread across her face. "Oh! Well, hello there, Handsome Khanna! Did you come to join the feelings spreadsheet party?"

She took a step towards me, then another, her movements clumsy, uncoordinated. Her legs tangled, and she stumbled. My reflexes, still on high alert from the day's earlier confrontation, kicked in. I lunged forward, catching her by the waist just before she hit the floor. Her body was surprisingly light, pliant, collapsing against me. The scent of sweet, fermented fruit, definitely alcohol, hit me full force.

"Kaveri!" I exclaimed, steadying her. My hands instinctively tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, steadying her trembling form. "What in God's name have you done? Are you drunk?" I softy held her chin and made her look into my eyes, examining her closely, the realization hitting me. “How on earth did you get drunk, Kaveri? Did you steal a bottle from the bar?”

She giggled, a breathy, uninhibited sound that was strangely endearing. Her arms, surprisingly strong despite her swaying, wrapped around my neck, pulling me into a clumsy hug. Her head burrowed into my chest, and I could feel the warmth of her breath against my shirt. "Mr Khanna! You smell so good! Like… like power and… and… manliness!" She squeezed me tighter, her words muffled against my shirt. Damn, this woman is doing things to me.

"No, I am not drunkkk, I don't drink alllcoholl. Maa made me a fermented juice, she kept it on the kitchen island. I just drank that."

And then the realization hit me, yash had kept a glass full of alcohol on there as well before he got a call from a business client, and Apparently they had exchanged their drinks. unknowingly. Now, there was no drink left for yash tonight he'd to settle with some fermented juice shit he just took to his room. Either the drinks were the same colour or they both are blind.

Kaveri, who rarely touched alcohol, who was always so careful, so guarded, had clearly mistaken it for a non-alcoholic celebratory drink. She'd probably consumed a significant amount of it.

Mistakenly drunk. The sheer absurdity of it, and the innocent confusion in her voice, almost made me laugh. My formidable, defiant wife, felled by a misunderstanding and a "sparkly" drink.

She pulled back slightly, her face tilted up to mine, her unfocused eyes searching. "You look so serious, Mr Handsome. Are you angry?" Mr Khanna to Mr handsome. Quiet a progress, I see.

"No, Kaveri," I sighed, a weary smile touching my lips. My hands were still on her waist, her arms still around my neck. The proximity, the unexpected intimacy of her clinging to me, was disorienting. "No, I'm not angry. Just… surprised."

I scooped her up, a familiar action now, and carried her to the bed. She giggled again, her head lolling against my shoulder. "Whee! Flying! You're so strong, Khanna Handsome! Stronger than Mr. Bones!"

I laid her gently on the bed, her black nighty pooling around her. She immediately spread her arms wide, a happy, hazy smile on her face. "I'm so happy today, ! The feelings spreadsheet needs more… more you!"

I shook my head, a mix of amusement and exasperation. I started to remove my cufflinks, my tie, then my coat, my movements deliberate. I needed to get her comfortable, get her to sleep. She was completely out of it.

As I unbuttoned my cuffs, she watched me, her gaze lingering, and a slow, crimson blush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks. Her eyes, unfocused but strangely bright, seemed to sparkle.

"Oh," she whispered, her voice suddenly breathy, filled with a clumsy, drunken sensuality. "Oh. Are you… are you going to… going to do something me, Mr Khanna?" Her eyes widened, a hopeful, yet still utterly confused, question in their depths. "The answer depends on what you mean by something."

"Umm something as in...... you know....something that includes us removing our clothes."

My hands froze on my shirt buttons. My breath hitched. Make love to her? The thought, startling, raw, and undeniably potent, slammed into me.

The air in the room thickened, charged with a sudden, unexpected heat. She was in a black nighty, looking up at me with those wide, innocent-yet-provocative eyes, and the suggestion, however drunkenly offered, sent a jolt through me. A smirk, slow and involuntary, touched my lips. The sexual tension, however fleeting and misplaced, was undeniable.

"What are you talking about, Kaveri?" I asked, my voice a little rougher than intended, fighting the surge of inappropriate desire.

She giggled again, a triumphant sound. "Well! You're taking off your clothes! And you're looking at me like… like you look at a new deal! Like you want to… acquire me! And… and you always look at me like that when you're thinking of… of acquiring something! So, are you going to acquire me, Mr Khanna?"

I almost laughed out loud. Acquire her. Only Kaveri, even drunk, would describe lovemaking in corporate terms.

The sexual tension, fleeting as it was, deflated almost immediately, replaced by a surge of exasperated amusement and a stark realization. She was completely, utterly out of her senses. She was talking pure bullshit, fueled by alcohol and a mind that clearly processed everything through a business lens. She had no idea what she was saying. This wasn't her; it was the whiskey speaking. Her words were just a jumble of half-thoughts, a consequence of her inebriated state.

This was not a moment for… acquisition. This was a moment for damage control. And ensuring she didn't choke on her tongue.

I finished removing my shirt, changing into my a comfortable t-shirt, all under her vaguely appreciative, unfocused gaze. She continued to ramble, a stream of consciousness about spreadsheets, moon goddesses, and the unfairness of life.

I finally slipped into the bed beside her, pulling the duvet over us. The mattress dipped under my weight. She immediately rolled towards me, her body pressing against mine, her head burrowing into my chest again. Her warmth was comforting, surprisingly so. I wrapped an arm around her, hoping the steady rhythm of my breathing, the quiet presence, would lull her to sleep.

"Shh, Kaveri," I murmured, stroking her hair, a gesture I hadn't realized I was making until my fingers tangled in her soft strands. "Time to sleep."

But Kaveri, once she started talking, clearly didn't stop.

"He told me to wake up," she mumbled, her voice faint against my chest, her words slurring together. "He said… he said he couldn't lose me. But then… then there was a knife. A big, shiny knife. And Kiara… Kiara wanted everything. Always everything. She just wanted me gone. Because of Grandfather."

My body tensed. My hand froze in her hair. Knife? Kiara? Grandfather? This wasn't drunken nonsense. This was lucid, raw fear. My mind, sharp even in the late hour, immediately locked onto her words. This wasn't about the current day's events. This was something from her past. Something dark. Something she had hidden.

"Kaveri," I said, my voice low, urgent, shaking her gently. "What are you talking about? What knife? Who couldn't lose you? What happened with your grandfather?"​

“The darkness… it’s always there,” she murmured, her voice filled with a profound sadness. “And the counting. He just keeps counting. And the walls… they just keep closing in.”

​My body went rigid. The vague, incomprehensible fragments from that night in the library, the night I found her asleep on the floor, came rushing back. This wasn't a drunken delusion. This was real.

​“Who is he, Kaveri?” I asked, my voice low and serious. “Who is counting? What happened to you?”

​She didn’t answer. Instead, she shivered, her body trembling slightly against mine. “It’s so cold,” she whispered, her voice so small it was barely audible. “So, so cold.”

​I held her tighter, pulling her close against my body, trying to lend her my warmth. “Tell me,” I pressed, my voice soft. “Tell me about the nightmares.”

​“They're not nightmares,” she mumbled, and for a moment, my heart stopped. “They’re memories. They’re so… heavy.”

She stirred, a soft whimper escaping her lips, her body trembling faintly against mine. "The man in black… he came in the night. Three years ago. At Uncle's house. He had a knife. Here." Her small finger, clumsy with alcohol, traced a line across her throat. "He said Kiara sent him. She was jealous. Grandfather left everything to me." Her voice was soft, laced with a deep, pervasive sorrow that chilled me to the bone. "I woke up because someone told me to wake up. He said he couldn’t lose me. I don’t know who it was. Just a voice. My subconscious, maybe."

My mind raced, connecting the dots. Three years ago. The sudden, violent shift in Kaveri's family dynamics that Rajveer had alluded to once, but never detailed. Her fierce independence. Her guardedness. Her almost pathological distrust of ulterior motives. It all clicked into place. The nightmares she had been having since the shooting, the ones she dismissed as 'medication side effects.' This was it. This was the source of her pain, her deep, unhealed wound.

She hadn't just faced danger; she had faced betrayal from within her own family. An attempted murder, orchestrated by her own cousin.

"Kaveri," I whispered, my voice thick with a new kind of emotion, a profound empathy I rarely felt. "You've been having nightmares about this, haven't you? Since the hospital. That's why you've been restless. Why you lied about the medicine."

She nodded faintly against my chest, a small, choked sob escaping her. "Always. They come back. Especially now. When… when things get dangerous. He kept saying he couldn’t lose me. But he did. Everyone always leaves." Her voice trailed off, filled with a deep, abiding sadness. "But I fought him. I fought him for dadu. For what was right."

She fought him. Just as she had fought Suresh Mehra today. Just as she had fought Verma, and taken a bullet for me. Her courage, her inherent need to protect, came from a place of deep, personal trauma. She wasn't just fighting for principles; she was fighting the echoes of her past.

I tightened my arm around her, pulling her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "No one's going to lose you, Kaveri," I murmured, the words surprising even me with their unexpected tenderness, their unexpected truth. "No one. Not anymore."

She sighed, a deep, shuddering breath, as if shedding a lifetime of fear. Her body relaxed completely against mine, the alcohol finally taking its full toll, coupled with the emotional release of her confession. Her breathing deepened, evening out.

And then, she was finally, blessedly, asleep.

I lay there in the quiet darkness, holding her, her head nestled against my chest, her warm breath a gentle rhythm. My own mind, usually racing with strategies and calculations, was strangely still. The images, of Kaveri’s drunken, raw confession, swirled together. I had seen her strength, her defiance. Now, I had seen her vulnerability, the deep, hidden wound that fueled her courage.

And for the first time, looking at her peaceful, unconscious face, I realized that my feelings for Kaveri were far more complex, far more dangerous, than mere gratitude. They were evolving, rapidly, into something akin to admiration, respect, and a fierce, undeniable need to protect her from all the monsters, both past and present.