Page 121 of Mrs. Pandey
The warmth in Prashant’s face vanished instantly. His hand clenched into a tight fist, and his jaw locked, veins standing out on his neck. A flash of fury crossed his eyes.
It was Prashant. He was the one who had killed Kabir. He had avenged me when I couldn’t.
“He deserved far worse than what I gave him,” Prashant gritted out, his teeth clenched. “If I had another chance, I would kill him twice. Thrice. As many times as it took.”
My tears spilled over, dropping onto his sleeve. I gripped his hand tighter, as though my touch could calm the storm inside him. “And… what about Amish?” I whispered, almost afraid of his answer. “The accident… how did that happen?”
Prashant’s breath rushed out in a harsh exhale. His eyes closed, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy restraint. For a long second, he said nothing. Then suddenly, as though something inside him snapped, he pushed back his chair and stood up.
Before I could stop him, he walked out of the restaurant.
I froze, my heart pounding as I watched him through the glass wall. Outside, he ran his fingers furiously through his hair, his movements wild and broken. His foot lashed out, kicking a car parked nearby, and then his hands thrashed in the air as if trying to release a hurricane bottled up inside him. His chest rose and fell in quick, heavy breaths. My stomach twisted painfully, I had reminded him of the cruelty they had inflicted on me. I had ripped open a wound that had never healed.
“Pa…”
Iraaj’s little voice pulled me back. He sat in his chair, tiny fists pressed against the glass, staring at his father. “Pa…” he called again, hitting the glass with his hand, his eyes wide with confusion.
I turned back to Prashant. He didn’t come inside. He didn’t even look back.
My throat tightened as I called the waitress over, quickly settling the bill with a shaking hand. Then I gathered Iraaj into my arms, his small body clinging to me like a frightened baby monkey. His head pressed against my chest, and I could feel his little heart thudding fast, searching for comfort.
When I stepped outside, Prashant was gone.
I fumbled for my phone, calling him immediately. He picked up in two rings.
“Where are you?” I asked, my voice sharp, laced with both worry and hurt.
“I… I have some urgent meetings,” he said quickly, his breath ragged, as if he had been running or breaking apart.
“You just left us? Like this?” I snapped.
Silence. Then, quietly: “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked on the edges. “I’ll talk to you later.”
And then he hung up.
I stared at my phone, the screen going black in my hand. My heart ached with disappointment and an ache too old, toofamiliar. Slowly, I looked down at Iraaj, who was still clutching me tightly, his face pressed into me for safety.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I whispered, kissing the crown of his soft hair. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
I called for an Uber and headed back to my quarters. By the time we arrived, Iraaj had already fallen asleep in my arms, his tiny breaths warm against my neck. He was heavy, and my back screamed in protest, but I held him tighter, unwilling to wake him.
At last, with trembling arms, I laid him gently on the bed. I tucked the blanket around him, watching his peaceful face. For a moment, I wished Prashant was here, that he had carried his son inside, that he had kissed him goodnight.
But he wasn’t.
The silence of the quarters wrapped around me. Exhausted, I lay down beside my son. My eyes closed, heavy with unshed words, and before long, sleep pulled me under.
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Chapter 58
PRASHANT
I looked at her as she slept peacefully, her breaths soft and even, her arm curled protectively around our little son. The glow of the night lamp fell across her face, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to simply watch her. Her beauty wasn’t in her flawless skin or delicate features but it was in the way she looked so complete with our child beside her, in the way she radiated a kind of quiet strength even in her sleep.
I had forgotten, for a while, how fiercely I loved her. Forgotten how much this woman meant to me. She was not just a memory, not just a fleeting desire, I had fought with death itself to keep her, bled for her, sinned for her, and lived for her. And yes, I had paid the price. But this time, I swore to myself, I would not let her go. No matter what. Even if I had to chain her heart to mine, even if I had to fight the whole world, even if I had to tie her soul to mine, I would not lose her again.
My hand moved of its own accord, almost absentmindedly, as I reached out and caressed her hair. The silken strands slipped through my fingers, and a part of me trembled at the familiarity. Slowly, her lashes fluttered, her eyes opening, hazy from sleep. For a moment, she froze when her gaze met mine, as though she wasn’t sure if I was real or just another dream haunting her night. But then, recognition dawned and realization hit her.
