A man looked up at the sky only to find darkness all around. Tears gathered in his eyes and bled down on the way down to her chin. The pain was so intence that breathing seems difficult.

Hell he don't want to breath!

The pain wasn’t loud.It was quiet. Crushing.So heavy it coiled around his chest

like iron chains, tightening with every breath—

until breathing itself became an act of cruelty.“Love… don’t—please, don’t go. I will die. You hear me?”

His voice cracked, choking on grief, every syllable a dagger plunged into the silence.

“You—Shiv—your Shiva will die. Raavi’s Shiva will die, love… please, don’t—”

The scream tore through him like a beast desperate to escape the cage of his ribs,

a howl not meant for ears but for heaven itself.

It echoed in the blackness—raw, ragged, feral.

But no answer came.

No warmth.

No hand.

No Raavi.

The broken man’s cry faded into the walls like all his other prayers—

unheard.

Always unheard.

Always.

His body folded into itself, trembling like autumn leaves in a storm.

His hands, desperate and blind, began to claw at the dirt-caked floor.

Nails scraped against stone until they split, until skin tore and blood bloomed in little pools of pain.

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t care.

Because the agony beneath his fingernails was nothing—

nothing compared to the gaping, screaming hollow in his chest.

A cavern where her laughter used to live.

A grave where all his tomorrows had been buried.

“Raavi…”

Her name was a hymn, a curse, a lullaby.

He whispered it like a secret, sobbed it like a plea,

screamed it like war.

He remembered her laugh — sunlight on skin.

Her eyes — stars that once guided him home.

Her touch — the only thing that had ever made him feel alive.

Now, everything was cold.

Dead.

Gone.

The world had taken her, and left behind this ruin of a man—

a ghost chained to the memory of a girl with jasmine in her hair and fire in her soul.

His shoulders shook.

Not from the chill, but from the weight of sorrow that no spine was built to bear.

He pressed his forehead to the ground, lips moving in silent desperation.

“Take me instead,” he whispered into the dirt, voice breaking like glass beneath a boot.

“Please. Please, let it be me.”

But the darkness only watched.

Silent.

Unfeeling.

Like the monster upstairs wearing his face.

And so he lay there — bloodied, broken, and barely breathing —

a man undone by love.

A soul unraveling thread by thread.

Clinging to the echo of her name,

as if it were the only thing keeping his heart from turning to dust.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.My world my love”

The words slipped from his lips like dying embers, fragile and fading, swallowed by the thick, unrelenting dark. His voice trembled through the hollow cell, breaking like glass against stone — soft sobs bleeding into the silence, a requiem for all that was lost.

The air was cold. Stale. Still.

Each breath he drew was a struggle — not against death, but against the cruelty of surviving her.

Raavi.

Her name was a wound on his tongue.

A melody turned into mourning.

The light that once painted his world now extinguished in blood and memory.

He curled in on himself, shackled and starved, as pain rooted deep in marrow and bone.

His heart had not broken — it had shattered.

Splinters of it pierced through every corner of his being, echoing with a single truth: he had failed her.

And then—

Footsteps.

A slow, deliberate rhythm.

Each step like a drumbeat of doom pounding down from above, heavy with purpose, soaked in malice.

His body stilled.

But inside—

Fire.

Fury flickered to life like a match in the dark, searing through his veins, clawing at the walls of his chest.

Yet he could do nothing.

The chains clinked — cold iron biting into his skin, mocking his rage, binding him to despair.

The door creaked open with the sound of something ancient and wicked waking.

And there he stood — the ghost of his own reflection.

Abhay.

His twin, his captor

A man looked up at the sky only to find darkness all around. Tears gathered in his eyes and bled down on the way down to her chin. The pain was so intence that breathing seems difficult.

Hell he don't want to breath!

The pain wasn’t loud.It was quiet. Crushing.So heavy it coiled around his chest

like iron chains, tightening with every breath—

until breathing itself became an act of cruelty.“Love… don’t—please, don’t go. I will die. You hear me?”

His voice cracked, choking on grief, every syllable a dagger plunged into the silence.

“You—Shiv—your Shiva will die. Raavi’s Shiva will die, love… please, don’t—”

The scream tore through him like a beast desperate to escape the cage of his ribs,

a howl not meant for ears but for heaven itself.

It echoed in the blackness—raw, ragged, feral.

But no answer came.

No warmth.

No hand.

No Raavi.

The broken man’s cry faded into the walls like all his other prayers—

unheard.

Always unheard.

Always.

His body folded into itself, trembling like autumn leaves in a storm.

His hands, desperate and blind, began to claw at the dirt-caked floor.

Nails scraped against stone until they split, until skin tore and blood bloomed in little pools of pain.

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t care.

Because the agony beneath his fingernails was nothing—

nothing compared to the gaping, screaming hollow in his chest.

A cavern where her laughter used to live.

A grave where all his tomorrows had been buried.

“Raavi…”

Her name was a hymn, a curse, a lullaby.

He whispered it like a secret, sobbed it like a plea,

screamed it like war.

He remembered her laugh — sunlight on skin.

Her eyes — stars that once guided him home.

Her touch — the only thing that had ever made him feel alive.

Now, everything was cold.

Dead.

Gone.

The world had taken her, and left behind this ruin of a man—

a ghost chained to the memory of a girl with jasmine in her hair and fire in her soul.

His shoulders shook.

Not from the chill, but from the weight of sorrow that no spine was built to bear.

He pressed his forehead to the ground, lips moving in silent desperation.

“Take me instead,” he whispered into the dirt, voice breaking like glass beneath a boot.

“Please. Please, let it be me.”

But the darkness only watched.

Silent.

Unfeeling.

Like the monster upstairs wearing his face.

And so he lay there — bloodied, broken, and barely breathing —

a man undone by love.

A soul unraveling thread by thread.

Clinging to the echo of her name,

as if it were the only thing keeping his heart from turning to dust.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.My world my love”

The words slipped from his lips like dying embers, fragile and fading, swallowed by the thick, unrelenting dark. His voice trembled through the hollow cell, breaking like glass against stone — soft sobs bleeding into the silence, a requiem for all that was lost.

The air was cold. Stale. Still.

Each breath he drew was a struggle — not against death, but against the cruelty of surviving her.

Raavi.

Her name was a wound on his tongue.

A melody turned into mourning.

The light that once painted his world now extinguished in blood and memory.

He curled in on himself, shackled and starved, as pain rooted deep in marrow and bone.

His heart had not broken — it had shattered.

Splinters of it pierced through every corner of his being, echoing with a single truth: he had failed her.

And then—

Footsteps.

A slow, deliberate rhythm.

Each step like a drumbeat of doom pounding down from above, heavy with purpose, soaked in malice.

His body stilled.

But inside—

Fire.

Fury flickered to life like a match in the dark, searing through his veins, clawing at the walls of his chest.

Yet he could do nothing.

The chains clinked — cold iron biting into his skin, mocking his rage, binding him to despair.

The door creaked open with the sound of something ancient and wicked waking.

And there he stood — the ghost of his own reflection.

Abhay.

His twin. His curse. His captor.

Once they had shared everything — womb, blood, laughter — now they shared only hatred.

Abhay, the child their parents could not love.

The boy who had turned crimson in rage and he had killed classmate in fury.

Disowned. Forgotten by their parents

Caged — but never cured.

Two years ago, he had broken free.

Not just from prison, but from the limits of morality.

He had stolen Shiva’s face, his life, his name.

And left the real Shiva to rot in the belly of a basement, below the very house where their childhood had once bloomed.

Now Abhay lived as a man reborn — praised, adored, untouched.

While Shiva lived as a ghost — bruised, starved, unheard.

Abhay stepped closer, lips curled into a serpent’s grin.

“Still crying over Raavi?” he whispered, voice soaked in venom and victory.

Shiva looked up, eyes hollow yet burning.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

His silence screamed.

For Raavi.

For the years stolen.

For the identity ripped from his soul.

And though his body was caged —

His fire was not.

He lay trembling on the ground, his chest rising in jagged bursts, grief folding into rage —

a volcano beneath the bones.

Then the door creaked again.

That cursed rhythm of footsteps.

Abhay.

The devil with his smile of Shiva’s face.

The ghost of a twin now dressed in the flesh of the living.

And this time—Shiva didn't cry.

This time, he snapped.

With a roar born from the ruins of love, Shiva surged forward—

chains rattling, skin tearing, muscle screaming—

but he didn’t stop.

He lunged, teeth gritted, eyes aflame, soul ablaze.

“You—you killed her!” he howled, slamming into Abhay with the force of all his sorrow.

His fists found flesh.

His pain found purpose.

His grief found target.

“I will kill you—

I will fucking kill you!”

Each word was a strike.

Each punch a prayer for justice carved in bone and fury.

“You don’t know what you’ve taken from me!”

Another punch.

And another.

Blood bloomed across Abhay’s smug face.

“You made her bleed… you made her cry!”

The chains cut into his skin, but Shiva felt nothing—nothing but the roar in his ears and Raavi’s voice echoing in his soul.

“She was mine!

You think you can get away with this?!”

He slammed his brother to the ground, the stone floor cracking beneath their rage.

“You snatched my world—

so now I’ll burn yours to the ground!”

His voice cracked, torn between heartbreak and vengeance.

“I married her,” he gasped through clenched teeth, tears welling again.

“She was mine. My heart. My life.

And now… she’s gone.

Because of you.”

Abhay struggled beneath him, laughter curling from his lips like smoke —

mocking, cruel.

But Shiva didn’t stop.

Wouldn't.

Couldn't.

“I swear on her blood—on the vows I made when I held her hands beneath the stars—

I’ll end you.”

His fists slowed, trembling now not with fury, but the collapse after the storm.

“I will make you feel everything.

Every tear. Every scream. Every empty morning.

You’ll know what it means to lose everything.”

The room was quiet again—

except for their breathing.

One trembling with grief.

The other gasping beneath the weight of long-overdue wrath.

Abhay’s laugh was a jagged thing—cracked and gurgling through bloodied lips,

but still somehow amused.

Still mocking.

Even as his face throbbed with bruises and rage.

“You think that was love?” he spat, wiping the crimson from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You think marrying her made her yours?”

He leaned close, eyes gleaming with the madness of a man who had never known remorse.

“She cried for me too, brother.”

Before Shiva could strike again—before another howl of agony could rise—

the door slammed open.

Heavy boots. Cold eyes. No hesitation.

Abhay’s men—his loyal beasts—rushed in like shadows armed with fists.

“No,” Shiva growled, struggling, the last fire in him refusing to die.

“Don’t you touch me!”

But the chains held him back,

and the fists came down like hammers.

One. Two. Four.

A kick to the ribs.

A punch to the jaw.

Another to the gut.

His body arched, cracked, folded beneath the weight of violence.

Blood burst from his mouth, painting the floor where Raavi’s name had just echoed.

“Stop—” he gasped, voice barely a whisper now. “Raavi…”

They didn’t stop.

Not until he was barely breathing.

Not until the world around him blurred at the edges and went quiet again.

Not until his lungs wheezed like a dying flame.

Not until his soul slipped toward darkness.

Abhay crouched beside his broken body, whispering into his ear with a voice made of venom and ash.

“You think you’ve lost everything, brother…

but I haven’t even started yet.”

___________

Abhay walked out of the cell, wiping his hands with a handkerchief Raavi had once given him — or rather, one she had given to Shiva… but he had stolen it.

After all, she was his.

She is all his.

He is Shiva now.

The Shiva who had broken Raavi.

The Shiva who would do anything to earn her again — her love, her tenderness, the warmth she once gave so freely.

He wanted it all.

Guilt clawed at his chest as he quietly peeked into the room where Raavi was sleeping.

She looked so soft. So fragile.

Almost breakable.

Hell — he had broken her.

What else could he do?

When he found out Raavi was the one who had killed his sister, he couldn't stop himself.

He had always been hot-tempered.

Always too much fire and never enough reason.

He had stolen Shiva's identity just to make Raavi his.

He had done everything — twisted reality, rewritten truth — all for her.

But Trisha’s death…

That had shattered something in him.

That had shaken the monster wide awake.

Trisha — his precious older sister — had been the only one to ever truly see him.

She had played with him when everyone else called him a freak.

She had shielded him when the other children mocked him,

held his hand when the world turned its back.

While their parents had always favored Shiva —

the golden child, the perfect one —

Abhay had been the shadow, always left behind.

But Trisha…

Trisha had been different.

Maybe because she was just like him.

Greedy.

Vicious.

A venom in disguise.

And when he discovered she was alive — that she had faked it all to claim the empire — he knew.

He knew then that Trisha was just like him.

The only difference?

Trisha was greedy for power.

And he was greedy for love.

He walked away as he had one more work to accomplish that is to punish trisha and akshay.

It was all because of them. He had hurt his sweetheart. His raavi.

And they would pay. In blood.

_______________

Once they had shared everything — womb, blood, laughter — now they shared only hatred.

Abhay, the child their parents could not love.

The boy who had turned crimson in rage and he had killed classmate in fury.

Disowned. Forgotten by their parents

Caged — but never cured.

Two years ago, he had broken free.

Not just from prison, but from the limits of morality.

He had stolen Shiva’s face, his life, his name.

And left the real Shiva to rot in the belly of a basement, below the very house where their childhood had once bloomed.

Now Abhay lived as a man reborn — praised, adored, untouched.

While Shiva lived as a ghost — bruised, starved, unheard.

Abhay stepped closer, lips curled into a serpent’s grin.

“Still crying over Raavi?” he whispered, voice soaked in venom and victory.

Shiva looked up, eyes hollow yet burning.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

His silence screamed.

For Raavi.

For the years stolen.

For the identity ripped from his soul.

And though his body was caged —

His fire was not.

He lay trembling on the ground, his chest rising in jagged bursts, grief folding into rage —

a volcano beneath the bones.

Then the door creaked again.

That cursed rhythm of footsteps.

Abhay.

The devil with his smile of Shiva’s face.

The ghost of a twin now dressed in the flesh of the living.

And this time—Shiva didn't cry.

This time, he snapped.

With a roar born from the ruins of love, Shiva surged forward—

chains rattling, skin tearing, muscle screaming—

but he didn’t stop.

He lunged, teeth gritted, eyes aflame, soul ablaze.

“You—you killed her!” he howled, slamming into Abhay with the force of all his sorrow.

His fists found flesh.

His pain found purpose.

His grief found target.

“I will kill you—

I will fucking kill you!”

Each word was a strike.

Each punch a prayer for justice carved in bone and fury.

“You don’t know what you’ve taken from me!”

Another punch.

And another.

Blood bloomed across Abhay’s smug face.

“You made her bleed… you made her cry!”

The chains cut into his skin, but Shiva felt nothing—nothing but the roar in his ears and Raavi’s voice echoing in his soul.

“She was mine!

You think you can get away with this?!”

He slammed his brother to the ground, the stone floor cracking beneath their rage.

“You snatched my world—

so now I’ll burn yours to the ground!”

His voice cracked, torn between heartbreak and vengeance.

“I married her,” he gasped through clenched teeth, tears welling again.

“She was mine. My heart. My life.

And now… she’s gone.

Because of you.”

Abhay struggled beneath him, laughter curling from his lips like smoke —

mocking, cruel.

But Shiva didn’t stop.

Wouldn't.

Couldn't.

“I swear on her blood—on the vows I made when I held her hands beneath the stars—

I’ll end you.”

His fists slowed, trembling now not with fury, but the collapse after the storm.

“I will make you feel everything.

Every tear. Every scream. Every empty morning.

You’ll know what it means to lose everything.”

The room was quiet again—

except for their breathing.

One trembling with grief.

The other gasping beneath the weight of long-overdue wrath.

Abhay’s laugh was a jagged thing—cracked and gurgling through bloodied lips,

but still somehow amused.

Still mocking.

Even as his face throbbed with bruises and rage.

“You think that was love?” he spat, wiping the crimson from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You think marrying her made her yours?”

He leaned close, eyes gleaming with the madness of a man who had never known remorse.

“She cried for me too, brother.”

Before Shiva could strike again—before another howl of agony could rise—

the door slammed open.

Heavy boots. Cold eyes. No hesitation.

Abhay’s men—his loyal beasts—rushed in like shadows armed with fists.

“No,” Shiva growled, struggling, the last fire in him refusing to die.

“Don’t you touch me!”

But the chains held him back,

and the fists came down like hammers.

One. Two. Four.

A kick to the ribs.

A punch to the jaw.

Another to the gut.

His body arched, cracked, folded beneath the weight of violence.

Blood burst from his mouth, painting the floor where Raavi’s name had just echoed.

“Stop—” he gasped, voice barely a whisper now. “Raavi…”

They didn’t stop.

Not until he was barely breathing.

Not until the world around him blurred at the edges and went quiet again.

Not until his lungs wheezed like a dying flame.

Not until his soul slipped toward darkness.

Abhay crouched beside his broken body, whispering into his ear with a voice made of venom and ash.

“You think you’ve lost everything, brother…

but I haven’t even started yet.”

___________

Abhay walked out of the cell, wiping his hands with a handkerchief Raavi had once given him — or rather, one she had given to Shiva… but he had stolen it.

After all, she was his.

She is all his.

He is Shiva now.

The Shiva who had broken Raavi.

The Shiva who would do anything to earn her again — her love, her tenderness, the warmth she once gave so freely.

He wanted it all.

Guilt clawed at his chest as he quietly peeked into the room where Raavi was sleeping.

She looked so soft. So fragile.

Almost breakable.

Hell — he had broken her.

What else could he do?

When he found out Raavi was the one who had killed his sister, he couldn't stop himself.

He had always been hot-tempered.

Always too much fire and never enough reason.

He had stolen Shiva's identity just to make Raavi his.

He had done everything — twisted reality, rewritten truth — all for her.

But Trisha’s death…

That had shattered something in him.

That had shaken the monster wide awake.

Trisha — his precious older sister — had been the only one to ever truly see him.

She had played with him when everyone else called him a freak.

She had shielded him when the other children mocked him,

held his hand when the world turned its back.

While their parents had always favored Shiva —

the golden child, the perfect one —

Abhay had been the shadow, always left behind.

But Trisha…

Trisha had been different.

Maybe because she was just like him.

Greedy.

Vicious.

A venom in disguise.

And when he discovered she was alive — that she had faked it all to claim the empire — he knew.

He knew then that Trisha was just like him.

The only difference?

Trisha was greedy for power.

And he was greedy for love.

He walked away as he had one more work to accomplish that is to punish trisha and akshay.

It was all because of them. He had hurt his sweetheart. His raavi.

And they would pay. In blood.

_______________