Chapter 13 - The Wall of Silence

Hey, my loves! 💜

First of all, I'm so sorry for missing the last update! I know many of you were waiting, refreshing, and hoping for a new chapter, and I absolutely hate keeping you waiting! You all are not just my readers-you're my Fakira family, my soul sisters, my partners in crime, and I never want to disappoint you. 🥺💕

So, to make it up to you, I'm dropping 3 chapters right now! 🎉 Yes, four! That means extra drama, extra heart-fluttering moments, and extra Shlok & Katha for you to fall in love with! 💖✨

But wait-there's more! From now on, Fakira will have a consistent update schedule, so you never have to wonder when the next chapter is coming!

🔥 NEW UPDATE SCHEDULE 🔥

📖 Tuesday - 2 Chapters

📖 Thursday - 2 Chapters

That's 4 chapters per week, my loves! More slow-burn tension, more stolen glances, more emotions that hit right in the heart. Because we don't rush love here, do we? We love slow, deep, and forever. 💫💜

Now tell me-how are we feeling? Excited? Nervous? Butterflies in the stomach? 🤭 I want to hear EVERYTHING! Who's obsessing over Shlok's intense, brooding vibe? Who wants to hug Katha and tell her she's stronger than she knows? Drop your emotions in the comments-I LIVE for your thoughts, theories, and fangirling! 🥰🔥

📍 Available on:

📖 Wattpad & Inkitt

Thank you for being my ride-or-die loves, for your patience, your excitement, and your endless support. This story is ours, and I'm so blessed to be sharing it with YOU. 💜 Now go enjoy the updates, and let's keep this journey going together! 🚀✨

#Fakira #SlowBurnRomance #SoulmateLove #MafiaRomance #NewUpdates

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The hospital room was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed. The dim overhead light flickered slightly, casting shadows against the pale walls. The scent of disinfectant lingered, an unavoidable reminder of the sterile world that surrounded him.

Shlok sat up slowly, his body still aching, but his mind had already pushed past the pain. He hated hospitals. The silence, the sterile smell, the feeling of helplessness-it was suffocating. His left arm was still bandaged, though the pain had dulled to a tolerable throb. A few scratches marred his temple, a slight sting each time he moved too quickly, but nothing he hadn't endured before.

With a frustrated sigh, he pushed the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet met the cold floor, sending a sharp sensation up his spine, but he ignored it. He wasn't going to stay in this place any longer than necessary. He reached for the IV attached to his hand, fingers grazing the thin tube when-

The door swung open.

Shlok barely had time to react before Abhir stepped in, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of mild exasperation and amusement. The traditional kurta he was still wearing had creased slightly from the long hours, but his sharp features remained alert, eyes scanning Shlok like a doctor assessing his most difficult patient.

"You're getting up already?" Abhir said, voice edged with incredulity.

Shlok didn't even look at him. He continued unhooking the IV from his hand, irritation bubbling beneath his skin.

Abhir exhaled, shaking his head. "I'm a doctor. Tum nahi ho-you're not."

Shlok's hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he looked up, eyes narrowing. "Aur kya? And what?!" he snapped, his voice sharp like the edge of a blade.

Abhir arched an eyebrow, but he didn't flinch. "Your room is ready. Let's go."

He took a step forward, intending to help, but Shlok held up a firm hand, stopping him.

"Don't." His voice was low, controlled. "I can walk."

Abhir tilted his head slightly, watching him carefully. The way Shlok's fingers curled into the edge of the bed for support, the slight tension in his jaw as he tried to suppress a wince-he was stubborn, but his body wasn't as strong as his pride right now.

Shlok reached for the IV stand beside him, gripping it lightly to steady himself as he pushed himself up. His muscles protested, but he stood tall, refusing to show weakness. The loose hospital gown he had been given shifted slightly with the movement, exposing the faint bruises along his collarbone.

Abhir let out a quiet sigh as he followed him toward the door, muttering under his breath, "Yeh insaan Angrez hai kya? Kuch zyada hi attitude hai!" (Is this man British or what? Too much attitude.)

Shlok, of course, heard him.

He cast a cold glance over his shoulder, voice clipped. "Are you done?"

Abhir blinked at the sudden confrontation.

"Now get out of my room," Shlok finished, his words laced with restrained irritation. It wasn't outright disrespectful, but it was clear-he didn't want company.

Abhir's lips parted as if he wanted to argue, but then he simply exhaled and nodded. "Fine."

Without another word, he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Shlok stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, his body still tense.

Finally alone.

A long breath left his lips as he turned his head toward the large window on the far side of the room. The city stretched beyond it, tall buildings gleaming under the dim moonlight, streets dotted with the occasional headlights of passing cars. The night was still, but the world outside kept moving, indifferent to the storm raging within him.

His fingers slowly loosened around the IV stand, and he moved toward the window, the cold tile beneath his feet grounding him. His hospital room was private-no annoying roommates, no beeping machines reminding him of his injuries. Just silence. A deep, endless silence.

He leaned against the window frame, his forehead resting lightly against the cool glass.

This place always hurts me.

His fingers curled slightly against the windowpane as his chest tightened. He had never liked being in India for too long. There was something about this country-this city-that carried too many ghosts of the past.

It's like hell.

His reflection stared back at him, pale under the hospital lights, his usually sharp expression softened only by exhaustion. His lips pressed into a thin line, suppressing the memories that threatened to surface.

And yet-

His eyes flickered upward, catching sight of the full moon. It hung low in the sky, soft and luminous, untouched by the chaos below.

For a brief moment, something shifted.

A strange, quiet calm settled over him.

But this moon...

His fingers tapped lightly against the window as he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper.

"This moon makes me happy... when I allow myself to be."

He closed his eyes for a second, letting the cool air from the small vent above brush against his face. The faint rustling of the trees outside could be heard through the barely cracked-open window, the wind carrying a chill that seeped into the quiet room.

His left arm throbbed, reminding him of the fresh wound hidden beneath the bandages. His body may have begun healing, but his mind? That was an entirely different battle.

And for now, he had no intention of losing himself to it.

Tomorrow morning, he would leave.

No matter what that overly persistent doctor thought.

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The scene shifted, leaving behind the cold sterility of the hospital and replacing it with the warm, luxurious ambiance of the Desai mansion's grand living room. The soft glow of golden chandeliers bathed the room in a warm light, casting elegant shadows along the richly adorned walls. The air carried the delicate aroma of freshly brewed coffee, mixing with the faint scent of roses from the floral centerpiece on the grand marble coffee table.

The living room was a space of understated grandeur, lined with plush velvet sofas, ornate wooden furniture, and shelves stacked with hardbound books and family portraits in gilded frames. On one side, an enormous window overlooked the vast, well-manicured garden, where the evening breeze rustled the leaves, sending a soothing whisper through the glass.

In the center of it all sat Katha, Meera, and their parents-Anita and Kailash Nath-engaged in a quiet yet familiar nighttime ritual.

Katha, wrapped in the soft embrace of the beige armchair, cradled her coffee mug between her fingers, savoring the rich, comforting warmth of the dark brew. She took slow sips, letting the bitter-sweet taste linger on her tongue. She had always enjoyed these late-night family gatherings, where conversations flowed unhurriedly, and the worries of the day melted away in the company of loved ones.

On the couch beside her, Meera was completely engrossed in her tablet, her fingers moving swiftly across the screen. She never went anywhere without it-her digital world was as much a part of her as the air she breathed. She barely looked up, even as the room buzzed with activity.

Anita, seated gracefully near the coffee table, was in the middle of opening gifts-elegantly wrapped packages that had been sent for Kailash Nath's birthday. Her perfectly draped silk saree shimmered under the warm lighting, the deep maroon fabric accentuating her poised demeanor.

With meticulous precision, Anita unwrapped each present, her fingers gliding over the carefully tied ribbons and textured wrapping papers. Her expression remained neutral, observing each gift with quiet appreciation, but it was clear she was waiting for something specific-something significant.

Finally, her hands rested on a particular box. She lifted it delicately, turning toward her husband with a faint smile.

"The gift from your daughter," Anita announced, her voice carrying a touch of warmth and pride. She extended the box towards Kailash, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. "Open it."

At the mention of her name, Katha looked up from her coffee, her gaze shifting toward her father.

"Dad," she said casually, before nudging Meera, who was still fixated on her tablet. "Meera, pass it here."

Without looking away from her screen, Meera reached out, fumbling for a second before finally grasping the gift and handing it over.

Kailash Nath, ever the composed patriarch, accepted the gift with a small nod. His presence alone commanded attention-his neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair, the crisp kurta he wore with effortless elegance, and the sharp yet kind glint in his eyes. He was a man who had built an empire with discipline and vision, and yet, in this moment, he was simply a father receiving a gift from his daughter.

As he carefully untied the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper, Anita leaned forward slightly, watching closely.

Meera, still occupied with her tablet, finally glanced up briefly and smirked. "Hope you like it, Dad. Katha spent forever picking it out."

Katha rolled her eyes but said nothing, waiting for his reaction.

As Kailash lifted the lid of the box, a brief flicker of surprise crossed his features before settling into something softer-something almost unreadable.

As the moment arrived for Katha's special gift, Kailash Nath carefully untied the ribbon and lifted the lid of the elegantly wrapped box. A brief pause, followed by a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, passed as he reached inside and pulled out a beautifully crafted golden pocket watch.

The watch gleamed under the soft light, its craftsmanship impeccable. The delicate engravings along its edges spoke of tradition, of something far older than time itself. But what truly captured Kailash's attention was the intricate image of Lord Shiva etched onto the back of the watch.

His fingers brushed over the divine figure, tracing the lines of the deity's powerful yet serene form. For a long moment, he simply stared, as if absorbing the significance of the gift, before finally looking up at Katha.

His gaze softened, his usual stoic demeanor giving way to something deeply personal.

"Thank you, princess," he murmured, his voice holding the weight of genuine emotion.

Katha's lips curled into a small, proud smile. She knew her father well-he wasn't a man of excessive words or dramatic reactions. But in that simple statement, in the reverence with which he held the watch, she knew she had chosen the perfect gift.

Before the moment could settle too deeply, Meera nudged Katha playfully.

"Bas bas, ab mera bhi turn hai," Meera said with a mischievous grin, passing her own gift to Kailash.

Kailash chuckled at her enthusiasm and took the neatly wrapped box from her hands. Unlike Katha, Meera didn't go for luxury; her gifts were always thoughtful in a different way. As he unwrapped the gift, a simple yet elegant brown leather-bound personalized journal emerged, along with a customized pen resting in a sleek case.

"A retirement journal?" Kailash mused, a brow raised as he glanced at Meera.

Meera nodded, a proud gleam in her eyes. "Haan! There's still plenty of time before you retire, but I thought-whenever that happens, you should have something to write your thoughts in."

Kailash let out a warm chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. "There's still a long way to go before retirement, but thank you, Meera."

Meera, usually full of witty remarks, hesitated for a second before adding in a more subdued tone, "I know it's not something expensive, but this is from my side."

At this, Kailash's smile softened even more. He closed the journal, placing it carefully on his lap before looking at Meera with fatherly affection.

"Beta," he said gently, "family is built on small efforts, not big things. And as my daughter, you are already the best gift."

Meera blinked, momentarily speechless. Then, recovering quickly, she grinned and nudged Katha. "Did you hear that? Best daughter."

Katha dramatically gasped, placing a hand over her heart. "Accha? So what does that make me, Dad?" she asked with mock offense.

Kailash, never one to let go of an opportunity to tease, smirked and leaned back in his chair.

"I have two daughters," he announced proudly, "one biological and one non-biological," his tone filled with warmth. "And both are my favorites."

A round of chuckles erupted in the room, Katha pretending to act betrayed while Meera smirked victoriously. Anita, watching the exchange with fond eyes, shook her head with a smile before suddenly remembering something.

"By the way," Anita said, her tone shifting slightly as she turned to the girls. "Tum dono ke bhai kaha hai?" (Where is your brother?)

Meera, still grinning, shrugged. "Aunty, hospital gaya hai. Phone aaya tha toh chala gaya." (Aunty, he went to the hospital. He got a call and had to leave.)

Anita sighed but nodded in understanding. "Haan, of course. Work comes first," she murmured before glancing at the remaining gifts on the table. "Toh phir, Abhir ka gift kahaan hai?"

Meera immediately scanned the table, sifting through the remaining packages until she found the one labeled for Abhir. "Yeh raha," she said, holding up the box.

Just as Kailash reached out to take it-

The front door creaked open.

A familiar presence filled the room.

Dressed in his crisp white kurta, sleeves slightly rolled up, his face lined with traces of exhaustion, Abhir stepped into the living room. His gait was steady but tired, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on his family.

Kailash smirked. "Sahi time pe entry hui hai tumhari, beta," (Perfect timing for your entry, son.) he remarked, his voice holding both amusement and warmth.

Abhir ran a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, letting out a tired sigh before walking further inside.

"Long day?" Katha asked, tilting her head.

Abhir gave a short laugh. "You have no idea."

He hadn't even settled in yet when Kailash, still holding the unopened gift, gestured toward him. "First, sit. Then, open this."

Abhir raised an eyebrow. "A gift?"

Katha grinned. "Of course! You thought we'd forget you?"

He shook his head with a chuckle before taking a seat on the couch. "Well, let's see what I got."

As he began unwrapping the package, the warmth of the family surrounded him, the weariness of the hospital fading into the background.

For now, he was home.

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As Abhir leaned back into the plush couch, stretching out his stiff shoulders, the warmth of the living room began to sink into his skin. The golden chandeliers cast a soft, mellow glow over the grand space, their light reflecting off the marble floors and the beautifully carved wooden furniture. The scent of freshly brewed coffee still lingered, and the faint rustling of wrapping paper filled the air.

His gaze flickered toward his father, Kailash Nath, who still held the unopened package in his hands. The anticipation in the room was almost comical-Meera, perched on the edge of the couch, practically vibrating with excitement, while Katha, ever the composed one, smirked knowingly, as if she already knew how Abhir would react to his gift.

Kailash held out the box with a raised brow. "Well, are you going to open it, or should we wait until next year?"

Abhir let out a tired chuckle, shaking his head as he took the neatly wrapped gift. "Alright, alright. Let's see what I've got."

He ran his fingers over the textured wrapping paper before carefully pulling at the ribbon, undoing it with ease. The room was quiet, except for the occasional crackling of the fireplace in the corner.

As he lifted the lid, his eyes flickered with curiosity.

Inside, nestled against soft fabric, was a sleek stethoscope-not just any stethoscope, but one engraved with his initials on the metal chest piece. Next to it lay a handmade leather doctor's journal, its cover embossed with his name in gold lettering, and a pen set designed with intricate details of the caduceus-the medical symbol.

For a moment, Abhir simply stared.

Katha, unable to contain her smirk, nudged Meera. "Look at him, all serious."

Meera giggled. "He's probably wondering if it's a hint for him to work even more."

Abhir blinked, finally looking up. "This is..." His voice trailed off, for once, at a loss for words.

Anita, sitting gracefully beside Kailash, sipped her coffee, watching her son with quiet affection. "We know how much your work means to you, beta. This is just something small, a reminder that even when you're buried in work, you have a home to return to."

Kailash nodded, his deep voice carrying warmth. "And a reminder that no matter how far you go in your career, we will always be proud of you."

Abhir exhaled softly, running his thumb over the engraved metal of the stethoscope. He wasn't one for sentimental moments, but something about this-about them knowing exactly what he needed, what would mean something to him-touched him in a way he wasn't ready to admit.

Katha, watching him closely, leaned in with a teasing grin. "If you cry, I'll record it."

Abhir scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tossed a crumpled piece of wrapping paper at her. "As if."

Meera giggled, curling into the couch, completely at ease. "But seriously, do you like it?"

Abhir glanced at the journal, flipping through the blank pages, then at the finely crafted pen that rested beside it. A slow, genuine smile tugged at his lips.

"I love it," he admitted, voice softer than usual. "Thank you."

Anita beamed. "Bas yahi sun'na tha." (That's all we wanted to hear.)

Kailash nodded, taking a slow sip of his coffee before looking around. "Gifts ho gaye. Coffee ho gayi. Now tell me, why is everyone still sitting here like they don't have things to do?"

Meera groaned, stretching. "Aunty, hum toh free hain." (Aunty, we're free now.)

Katha smirked. "We are, but Bhai? Not so much. Didn't you say you have early morning rounds?"

Abhir let out a dramatic sigh, leaning his head back against the couch. "Don't remind me."

Kailash chuckled. "Beta, that's the life you chose."

Anita, always the mother, placed a gentle hand on Abhir's arm. "You should go rest. You look exhausted."

Abhir sighed but nodded. "Yeah, I think I will."

As he stood, he picked up his gifts carefully, as if they carried more weight than they actually did. Before heading upstairs, he turned to look at them-his family.

The teasing, the warmth, the love.

In the sterile, emotionless halls of the hospital, his days were filled with life-and-death decisions, constant responsibility, and unrelenting pressure. But here, in this living room, surrounded by the people who had always been there, he wasn't just Dr. Abhir Desai-he was simply Abhir, a son, a brother, a part of something greater than just himself.

"Goodnight," he said, voice lighter than before.

Katha grinned. "Sweet dreams, Doctor Sahab."

Meera winked. "Try not to dream about the hospital."

Abhir chuckled as he walked away, shaking his head.

As he disappeared down the hallway, Kailash leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the living room, filled with open gifts, empty coffee mugs, and the lingering warmth of family.

"Another birthday well spent," he murmured.

Anita smiled, nodding as she tucked her shawl around her shoulders. "Yes, another year, another memory."

Katha and Meera, still nestled into the couch, exchanged a glance before sharing a quiet, satisfied smile.

Because tonight, amidst all the teasing, laughter, and gifts, they had created another moment to remember.

And that, in the end, was the greatest gift of all.

(TO BE CONTINUED...)