The Kiss Of Memory

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Lets start.

The evening sun slipped lazily behind the horizon, painting the sky in a dim orange hue.

Inside a dimly lit room, Rajveer Vijay Pratap Singh Rana stirred awake. The wall clock ticked — 5 PM.

For most, it was the middle of the day.

For him, it was morning.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, his breath heavy. The traces of dried tears still marked his cheeks, and his pillow was cold from a night of restless dreaming.

It wasn’t sleep that brought him peace —

It was her memory.

“Jaise Samyukta ki rooh khud usse sula gayi ho,”

(“As if Samyukta’s soul herself had put him to sleep.”)

Because who else would wish him peace now, other than the one he had lost forever?

A knock came at the door.

“Bhaiya, uth gaye? 😁”

(“Brother, finally awake?”)

Sambhav leaned on the doorframe, grinning. But that grin faded as soon as he saw Rajveer’s swollen eyes and silent grief.

“Bhabhi ki yaad phir aayi thi kya?”

(“Thinking of Bhabhi again, weren’t you?”)

Rajveer didn’t answer — his silence was louder than any confession.

Sambhav sighed, shaking his head.

“Chal, tujhe kahin le chalta hoon. Pakode jaise chehre ko normal kar. Naha le, warna log sochenge Rana group ka malik pagal ho gaya.”

(“Come on, I’ll take you out somewhere. Wash that fried-face and freshen up — or people will think the owner of Rana Group’s gone mad.”)

Rajveer muttered something under his breath — a low curse only Sambhav could catch.

“Haan haan, gussa mujhe hi milega jaise main dushman hoon.”

(“Yeah yeah, you’ll blame me like I’m the enemy here.”)

Fifteen minutes later, Rajveer stepped out of the bathroom.

He opened the wardrobe, pulled out a dark polo shirt, paired it with white trousers, and fixed his Rolex on his wrist.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror — the face of a man who once smiled like summer, now frozen like winter.

“Aapse vaada kiya tha Samyukta… aur aaj bhi nibha raha hoon.”

(“I promised you once, Samyukta… and even today, I’m keeping that promise.”)

The Club

The car screeched to a stop in front of the city’s most lavish club — gold lights, loud beats, and a sinful kind of glamour.

Inside, it was chaos.

Girls danced on poles, laughter tangled with liquor, and money rained like water.

Men with diamonds in their watches and emptiness in their hearts stared with lustful eyes.

Rajveer and Sambhav climbed the spiral stairs to the VIP lounge — far above the noise, yet close enough to feel its corruption.

Rajveer slumped on the leather couch, staring into nothing.

Sambhav rolled his eyes, lifting his glass.

“O mere majnu dost, bas kar ab.”

(“Oh my lovelorn friend, enough now.”)

Rajveer ignored him.

“Chhod de apni laila ko… warna woh toh nahi aayi par tu late Rajveer Vijay Pratap Singh Rana zarur ban jayega.”

(““Let go of your beloved, or else — she may not come back, but you will surely become the late Rajveer Vijay Pratap Singh Rana.”)

The glass in Rajveer’s hand cracked as he slammed it on the table. He grabbed Sambhav’s collar, his eyes burning.

“Duniya jal sakti hai, aasman phat sakta hai, universe ke planets takra sakte hai… par Rajveer urf Rudra apni Rani sa ko kabhi nahi bhool sakta!”

(“The world may burn, the skies may tear apart, planets may collide — but Rajveer, known as Rudra, will never forget his Queen!”)

He released him and sat back down, breathing heavy.

Sambhav adjusted his collar with a nervous laugh.

“Chill bro… mazak tha.”

(“Chill bro, I was joking.”)

Then he smirked again and waved at a passing waitress.

“Tu tragedy hai, main comedy hoon. Balance bana rehta hai.”

(“You’re the tragedy, I’m the comedy — keeps the balance.”)

Rajveer just exhaled, picked up another drink, and let his gaze wander.

And that’s when he saw her.

A girl in a white dress, her hair tied with a delicate bow, laughing as she danced. The light caught the edges of her dress, making it shimmer every time she twirled.

For a fleeting moment — she reminded him of her.

And then —

A tall man appeared. He grabbed her wrist harshly and dragged her away, out of the crowd, toward a dark corner.

Rajveer frowned… then looked away.

“Mujhe kya lena dena.”

(“Why should I care?”)

He lifted his glass again — but that faint sound, that cry, didn’t leave his ears.

Somewhere in The Club.

The music faded behind her as he dragged her through the corridor.

Her heels scraped the floor, her wrist throbbed under his grip.

“Chhodo mujhe!”

(“Let me go!”)

He didn’t.

He turned sharply and shoved her against the wall, his breath heavy and sour with alcohol.

“Ek kiss toh banta hai, sweetheart.”

(“Come on, one kiss won’t hurt, sweetheart.”)

Her eyes widened.

“No! Leave me!”

He smirked darkly.

“Zyada nakhre mat dikha.”

(“Don’t act too pricey.”)

She pushed him back, trembling — and then—

Slap!!

The sound echoed. Her cheek burned instantly.

Her lower lip split, a thin line of blood trailing down.

Her vision blurred with tears.

One moment she was dancing and smiling, and the next — she was trapped in a nightmare.

The man leaned closer, his face inches away.

And then—

A fist flew in.

A loud crack.

He fell back, groaning.

Rajveer stood there, breath heavy, knuckles bleeding.

He didn’t even realize when he had rushed forward — all he remembered was seeing that man raise his hand again.

Something inside him snapped open — an old wound.

Because that scene — that single slap — reminded him of Samyukta.

The night she was beaten with a leather belt, blood was scattered here and there as if water had been spilled. Despite her screaming, no one listened to hem, everyone was laughing at her condition.She kept crying and screaming, but no one heard her. All around inside the palace, the sound of her screaming was enough. The souls of the servants shuddered with the pain of their queen. But no one could save her.

The night she screamed his name — and he wasn’t there.

He couldn’t fail again.

Whenever his fist hit that man, blood started flowing out; now even that man's wound was unrecognizable.Blood was coming out from the nose and there were black spots on the sides of the eyes from which blood was coming out. The two upper and lower front teeth of his mouth had collided with each other and were broken.

He didn’t stop until the man’s body went limp — until the last breath left him.

And then—

A hand touched his shoulder.

Soft. Trembling. Gentle.

He froze. Turned slowly.

She stood there, her face pale, eyes glassy from tears. Her lips still quivered from pain.

But her eyes — those almond brown eyes — they caught him.

For a moment, the world disappeared.

He stared.

Something deep inside him shattered and rebuilt at once.

Those eyes…

They were Hers.

“Samyukta…?”

(“Samyukta…?”)

The girl blinked, unable to see clearly through the tears. She couldn’t even see his full face — only those hazel eyes that held grief, pain, and love.

Her breath trembled.

He took a slow step closer.

The air thickened between them — silence, heavy and alive.

His hand hesitated in midair before resting gently on her cheek, brushing away the blood.

Their eyes met — one filled with tears, the other with longing.

And then, without another word —

He leaned in.

Their lips met — soft, trembling, unsure.

It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t passion.

It was ache — the meeting of two souls searching for something they had both lost.

His hand cupped her face, thumb wiping away her tears.

Her heart pounded, her mind empty — just the feeling of warmth and confusion.

It wasn’t wild. It wasn’t lust.

It was desperate. A kiss heavy with years of silence and buried love. His lips moved like he was trying to find something he’d lost long ago—her warmth, her scent, her peace.

She froze, not out of fear, but confusion. The world around them blurred into shadows and faint club music. Only their uneven breaths existed.

When he pulled back slightly, their foreheads touched.

His whisper brushed against her lips—

“Tum kaun hai… Kya Samyukta tum hi ho…?”

(“Who are you… are you Samyukta herself…?”)

That's all for now lollies....

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