"I love you Ishita"

He may have screamed it out, or perhaps it was just a silent cry that echoed inside his broken heart.

Whatever it's form, it was his last conscious thought as he slipped into unconsciousness, the final sound he could hear as a vicious whack from a lathi connected with the back of his head, as he tried in vain to ward off the blows being rained upon him.

15 minutes earlier

Raman Bhalla's head was bowed, his shoulders slumped, as he walked to his car, which was parked quite some distance away from the main campus of City Hospital. CEO of the year, successful businessman, formidable foe - he had been none of these things when he had stopped over at the hospital on his way home from work, to collect Ishita's prescription.

It had just been a concerned husband, who, unable to find a car park within the hospital precinct , had chosen to park on a deserted side street and walk for ten minutes in the squally Delhi winter, rather than to go home without picking up his wife's medicines.

Now, her tablets clutched firmly in his hands, as he walked back to his car in the twilight, darkness fast gathering around him , his thoughts turned again to the shambles of his life.

He had spent six years constructing a fortress around his heart, a fortress with walls of granite, so strong that they repelled all invaders, so dense that no one could hear his cries from outside. And yet somehow, in some way, she had been able to create a chink in those walls. Perhaps it was her love for his daughter, perhaps it was the way she tirelessly worked to please his family, or perhaps it was the way in which she absorbed all his taunts and his anger, and yet stood steadfastly by his side. Whatever it was, she had pierced through his cocoon of steel, and once she had done that, the walls had started to crumble, until he had been left bare; exposed once again in all his vulnerability.

And so what had he done? He had tried to retreat, had used his anger to try and create new walls, had taken ten steps back for every step he took forward, had ignored and belittled his growing attraction to her, and hers to him.

Then she had fainted that day at the puja, after fasting for him, for his family, had risked her very life for their happiness, and he had finally been forced to confront what she meant to him, how important she was to him, how vital, how necessary her being was to his life.

He loved her - he had known it the moment that she had crumpled to the ground in front of him. Had known it as he had frantically tried to get a doctor to attend to her amongst the industrial action at the hospital that day. Had felt it as he had looked at her pale silent face even as he jostled and tussled with the union leader to get her the help she needed. Had known in it every pore of his being. He loved her. Beyond reason. Beyond hope. Irrevocably. He loved her.

But before he could talk to her about his new found realisation, before he could express his love, her friend, that Mani, had told him how useless he was as a husband, how Ishita was lying in that hospital bed because of him, because of his insensitivity. And he knew how close Ishita was to Mani, how she appeared to share everything with him. Since the day Mani had reappeared in Ishita's life, he had stuck to her like a limpet. And she, she had shared everything with him. So yes, Mani must surely know what was in Ishita's heart. And Raman had been forced to conclude that Mani's views were shared by Ishita, that Ishita too considered him to be a bad husband, the reason for all her stresses and her woes, the reason behind her collapse.

That realisation had caused his self confidence to plummet. Although outwardly he played the fool, googling ways to be a good husband, making lists of how to impress her, inside his despair grew daily.

He watched her with Mani, saw their closeness, their easy camaraderie, the way they stood close together. And each view sent him closer to despair. He looked on from a distance as they  whispered confidences he could not hear, and wondered just what that Mani had to say that brought that smile to her face. And each unheard confidence caused his heart to burn just a little bit more. And then when he did overhear her, he heard her complaining about him on the telephone, and each word she spoke drove another shard through his heart.

Yes, his walls had come down, but now that he stood raw, exposed, vulnerable, waiting for her, she had become unattainable. For now she had built up a wall around herself, guarded by her so called best friend, and try as he might, Raman Bhalla could not find his way to his Ishita.

He had used his buffoonery to kiss her, and she had appeared to be affected by it. At least she had not rebuffed him, not turned her face away, not uttered words of disgust. But the very next day, she had again turned to Mani when she needed help. She had had rebuffed her husband's assistance, had chased him away, even as she welcomed the help that was sent by Mani.

He had never thought he could ever feel worse than when Shagun had left him, but this, this was worse. For she was worth a million Shaguns, she was the soul that mirrored his, the home that his heart had been looking for, all his life. She was his destiny, she was his reason for being. But now, before he could even savor having found her, he felt as though he was losing her. Losing her to that smooth talking whey faced epitome of goodness, that sly bastard Mani.

He knew Ishita was not Shagun, that she would not cheat on him. But knowing as he did from Mani that Ishita considered him to be a bad husband, that she considered him to be the cause of her stress and illness, he could not help wondering what would be if he, Raman Bhalla, was not around. Would she turn to Mani? He knew she would never leave him because of Ruhi, but what right did he have to keep her in a loveless marriage? For his daughter, for his family, for his convenience? If Mani was the one who made her happy, then shouldn't he let her free? Isn't that what love was? Didn't love mean setting the loved one free, allowing them to live their most authentic life possible?

So he had watched her silently through Navratri and Diwali. Watched her laughing with Mani, watched her loving Ruhi and watched the indifference with which she appeared to treat him. He had felt like an outsider in his own home, even as Mani appeared to take on the mantle of the householder.

She had called Mani her hero, and Raman Bhalla had felt like a zero.

Everything he did had annoyed her, even as everything Mani did brought a smile to her face. His love festered inside him, his slowly awakening dream now seemed like a nightmare. "Ishuu, Maniii, Ishuu, Maniii" their cooing reverberated inside his head.

The sounds in his head deafened him to everything else, and he neither saw nor heard the assailants until it was too late, until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and roughly jerked him around. He looked up in shock at the leering face of the union leader, the man who had tried to stop Ishita's treatment that day she had collapsed.

" Kyun be" the man spat out at Raman, his face twisted with hatred as he and a dozen other men surrounded Raman, menace settling around them like dark auras. "Us din toh bada hero ban raha tha, hamari strike rok raha tha. Ab dekhte hai tumhari herogiri, Saale" (You were acting like a real hero that day, stopping our strike. Now let's see your heroism you bastard)

Raman had no time to defend himself. The blows started raining on him immediately, and there were too many assailants, armed with wooden laathis.

There was no way to escape and his attempts to defend himself came to nought. They overpowered him, and as the laathi struck his head, his last conscious thought was of the wife he adored, of the love he had not been able to verbalise.

" I love you Ishita"