FRACTURED HEARTS, BROKEN GLASS

Yuvaa's POV

The door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing through the empty room. I stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, my hands shaking with frustration. My fingers instinctively reached for the photograph on my study table—the only thing keeping me sane in this suffocating house.

I picked it up carefully, my thumb tracing over the face of the girl in the picture. My little angel.

The only woman I had ever loved.

The only woman I would ever love.

"Why does she always bother me, baby?" I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why is she so damn obsessed with you? What does she want from me?"

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the storm raging inside me. "I never asked about her past, never forced her to tell me anything. So why does she keep forcing herself into mine?"

I clenched my jaw, my grip on the photo tightening.

"If you were here, baby… none of this would be happening. If you were here, I wouldn't be stuck in this f**king nightmare."

I let out a hollow chuckle.

"Is this how you punish me, baby? By leaving me here? By making me live through this hell alone?"

I swallowed hard.

Did she know how much I missed her?

Did she know that even after ten years, I still woke up hoping that all of this was just a dream?

I closed my eyes, pressing the photo against my forehead. "I miss you, baby…"

And then—

The door burst open.

"Enough, Yuvaanesh!"

Agatha's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, her footsteps storming toward me.

I didn't even lift my head.

I didn't have the energy for this.

But Agatha wasn't going to let it go.

Agatha's POV

I had enough.

For ten years, I had been patient. I had endured his coldness, his distance, his indifference. I had accepted a marriage where my husband refused to acknowledge me.

But today?

Today, I wanted answers.

As soon as I stepped inside, my eyes landed on him—sitting on the bed, holding that damned picture again.

The same picture he always spoke to.

The same picture he looked at with love—the love I had never seen in his eyes for me.

And something inside me snapped.

"So, is she just a friend to you?" I demanded, my voice trembling with frustration.

Yuvaa didn't even look at me. He kept his head down, his fingers still clutching that stupid photograph.

"Every time we fight, you shut me out and run to her," I hissed. "You lock yourself in here and talk to a f**king picture! Do I even exist to you? Or am I just a shadow in your life?"

He exhaled sharply but still refused to look at me.

I clenched my fists.

"You never talk to me," I said, my voice cracking. "You never spend time with me. You never even try to make this marriage work! I stay in this house, alone, waiting for a husband who doesn't even acknowledge me! Do you even care about me? Do you even see me, Yuvaa?"

And then, I let out a bitter laugh.

"Thank God I have Vhiinil," I muttered. "At least my son gives me a reason to exist in this house. If it weren't for him, I swear I'd—"

"It would be fine if you went insane," Yuvaa finally spoke.

His voice was flat. Emotionless.

I froze.

"You could lose your mind, and maybe then they'd send you to a mental hospital," He continued coldly.

His eyes lifted, locking onto mine.

"And I'd finally have some f**king peace."

My breath caught in my throat.

I had expected anger.

I had expected indifference.

But this?

This was pure cruelty.

"You…" My voice trembled. "You want me to go insane?"

Yuvaa exhaled sharply. "I don't care what you do, Agatha."

Something inside me shattered.

"You hate me that much?" I whispered.

He didn't answer.

But he didn't need to.

His silence was enough.

I wiped my tears and stood taller.

"You pretend like I forced this marriage on you," I snapped. "But guess what, Yuvaa? You could have left! You chose to stay! You pretend to be this broken man, but you CHOSE this life!"

Yuvaa scoffed, turning away. "I don't have time for this."

"Of course, you don't," I sneered. "You never have time for anything that isn't her!"

And then—

I did something I knew would break him.

I reached out—

Snatched the photograph from his hands—

And threw it.

Yuvaa's POV

The moment her hand released the frame, I felt my world collapse.

The picture flew through the air.

Time slowed.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the room.

I stared at the shattered frame on the floor.

The picture—her picture—lay among the shards, torn at the edges, the glass reflecting tiny fragments of my broken world.

My mind went blank.

For a second, I forgot where I was.

I forgot who was in front of me.

All I saw was her—leaving me all over again.

Then—

A white-hot rage filled my chest.

Without thinking—without stopping myself—

I slapped Agatha across the face.

Hard.

The sound of my palm meeting her cheek cut through the air like a whip.

Agatha stumbled back, her eyes widening in shock.

I didn't care.

I wasn't looking at her.

I was already on my knees, my shaking hands reaching for the broken frame.

I didn't even flinch when a shard of glass pierced my skin.

A thin line of blood dripped down my palm, smearing across the torn edges of the photograph.

But I ignored it.

All I could see—

Was her.

My little angel.

Her smile.

Her eyes—so full of warmth, so full of life.

And now—

Even this—

Even this last piece of her was ruined.

I clenched my jaw, my vision blurring.

A sharp, painful breath escaped my lips.

And then—

I whispered.

"LITTLE ANGEL…"

My fingers trembled as I traced the outline of her face on the photograph.

And for the first time in years—

It felt like I had lost her all over again.

Like she had slipped through my fingers once more.

My chest ached.

A raw, unbearable pain pressed against my ribs.

I swallowed it down.

I forced myself to breathe.

Then—

A voice cut through the silence.

"Yuvaa…"

Agatha.

She was still here.

Still standing there.

I turned my head slowly, my eyes dark with fury.

She was staring—not at me.

At the photograph in my hands.

And then—

She whispered it.

"Little Angel…"

My breath hitched.

Cold rage burned through my veins.

She had no right to say that.

She had no right to speak her name.

I gripped the photograph tightly, my blood smearing across the glass.

"Leave."

Agatha took a step forward instead.

"Not until you tell me the truth."

"There is no truth," I muttered, my voice deadly quiet.

"Bullshit," She snapped.

Her fists clenched at her sides.

"Who was she to you?" She demanded. "Who was Yadhana, Yuvaa?"

I didn't answer.

I turned away.

She took another step forward.

"Why wasn't she at our wedding?"

I felt my breathing slow.

My pulse hammering against my skull.

She kept asking.

She never stopped asking.

But tonight—

Tonight, I was already at my breaking point.

I clenched my fists.

And finally—

I gave her an answer.

A single, bitter whisper—

"She couldn't come."

Silence.

Agatha's lips parted slightly, her brows knitting together.

"...What do you mean?" She asked cautiously.

I inhaled sharply, keeping my back turned to her.

She took another step closer.

"Yuvaa…" Her voice softened. "Why couldn't she come?"

I clenched my jaw so tightly it hurt.

And after a long moment—

I exhaled.

A slow, hollow breath.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, I muttered—

"Because she left me."

Agatha frowned.

"Left…?" She repeated, confused.

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Yeah," I said, my voice hollow. "She left me. Just like that. Without a word. Without looking back."

Agatha's lips parted, like she wanted to say something—but no words came out.

I turned to her then, my gaze unreadable.

"You wanted to know, right?" My voice was quiet—too quiet.

"You kept asking why she wasn't there."

"You kept pushing for an answer."

Agatha swallowed.

I took a step closer, my grip tightening around the photograph.

"You want to know why she didn't attend our wedding?"

Another step.

"Because she left me."

Step.

"She left me alone."

Step.

"She left me to suffer in this goddamn life."

Silence.

Agatha's breathing became uneven.

I let out another bitter chuckle.

"And you know what's funny?" I whispered. "She's never coming back."

Agatha's eyes widened slightly.

A strange, suffocating tension filled the air.

And then—

I said the words that would shatter whatever was left.

"Because she's dead."

The room fell eerily silent.

Agatha's lips trembled.

She took a step back, shaking her head.

"No…" she whispered. "That's not true."

"Believe what you want," I muttered.

She swallowed thickly, her hands trembling.

"But… how? How did she—"

"Enough."

I cut her off, my voice sharp.

I turned away, my breath coming out ragged.

"You wanted to know, Agatha." I exhaled slowly. "Are you satisfied now?"

Agatha didn't answer.

I didn't wait for one.

I stepped past her, gripping the photograph tighter, ignoring the sting in my palm from the glass.

And with that—

I walked out of the room.