Anant sat in his wheelchair, his gaze fixed on his legs, which felt meaningless to him. The wind blew, but it couldn't compare to the coldness in his eyes. Rahi placed her palm on his arm, resting on the chair's armrest. The wind carried the pleasant scent of flowers, and Anant lifted his cold eyes, meeting her gaze with his dark ones.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, her innocence shining through her eyes. Suddenly, he felt disgusted with himself as he looked into her innocent eyes. He glanced at her white arm and the soft palm that held his arm gently. Red bruises marred her slender and long arm, tarnishing its beauty. He truly felt helpless and powerless; he couldn't even protect her. Raghav was right. If he couldn't protect himself, how could he protect someone as endlessly beautiful as her
