Misc. Erotica The Price of a Hero - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

The Curtain Falls, And She Stays



The lights were blinding.

The crowd roared.
My name echoed across the auditorium—Ram Kumar, Best Debut Hero.
I stood on stage, golden trophy in hand.
Smiling.
But not for the cameras.
Not for the audience.
I smiled because of one woman sitting quietly in the third row, wearing a soft yellow saree.
Sudha.
She didn’t clap like the rest.
She just looked at me—with eyes that had seen me at my lowest, my most selfish, my most silent.
And still chose to be here.
She had been there for the first day of shooting.
She had watched me stumble, sweat, act, fall, rise.
She cooked my lunch in tiffins with handwritten notes.
She kept every magazine that called me “Tamil cinema’s next big thing.”
But never once did she say, “I did this for you.”
Because she didn’t need to.
We both knew.
That night, we drove home in silence.
The trophy lay on the seat between us.
It glinted gold in the moonlight, but it felt small.
Compared to her.
When we reached home, I unlocked the door.
She stepped in first.
Removed her sandals.
And stood still in the hallway, her back to me.
“Sudha,” I whispered.
She turned.
Her eyes weren’t distant anymore.
Just tired.
I walked to her slowly, stood close, but didn’t touch.
“I… I don’t know if I deserved what you did for me,” I said. “But I want to spend the rest of my life trying to be a man who does.”
Her lips trembled.
She looked down.
Then—
She reached up, gently touched my cheek.
“I never did it to make you owe me, Ram,” she said. “I did it because… I believed in you. Even when you forgot how to believe in yourself.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I pulled her into my arms.
Not with lust.
Not with apology.
But with homecoming.
She melted into me like a sigh.
Like all the months of silence had never been.
Like the love we began with still lived between us, only waiting to be held again.
That night, we didn’t speak much.
We didn’t make promises.
We just lay together, skin against skin, past and pain between us like a third presence.
And in the morning—
She smiled first.
And I knew:
The price was high.
But somehow…
We’d made it worth it.
Together.

THE END

Regards
Novelist Casanova