Page 102 of Mrs. Pandey
The military vehicle dropped me at her unit. Two soldiers accompanied me, though I didn’t need them. I could walk on my own now, but the senior officer had insisted. I was due to be transferred to Jammu in a week, and I wanted to spend these last days with her.
As I was about to step into the office, I heard it. That laugh. The laugh I had been dying to hear again. My head snapped toward the sound.
Ira.
She was walking with Aryan, her hand looped with his. But something in her steps faltered, and slowly, she turned to face me.
“Prashant!” she gasped. Her eyes swept over me from head to toe, as if making sure I was still in one piece.
Aryan looked at her, confused. “You know him?”
“Of course,” Ira said quickly, still staring at me. “We were batchmates.” She stepped closer. “How are you?”
My gaze lingered on their entwined hands before I forced myself to meet her eyes. “I’m doing well,” I said, trying to smile, but my lips betrayed me, trembling instead.
“I’m glad to see you again,” she said, her voice softening. “I mean…” She broke off, her throat tightening, and then she pulled me into a hug.
I drew in a sharp breath, closing my eyes. She held me a little longer than she should have, longer than was fair with her boyfriend standing beside her.
When she finally pulled away, her perfume still lingered. For one fragile heartbeat, I let myself believe nothing had changed. But then Aryan’s hand slipped back into hers, and the truth cut sharper than any blade.
“Ira,” I said quietly, my voice weighted with all the months I had waited. “I waited for a year.”
Her eyes flickered, glistening with something she fought to hide. “Prashant… I couldn’t,” she whispered. Then she squared her shoulders, her officer’s composure falling into place. “You're well aware of the duty schedule. I was just busy."
Busy? That’s what she called it. It only showed how little she really cared about me. She had all the time in the world for her boyfriend, yet she couldn’t even make a moment to check on me.
She drew in a breath, then met my eyes. “Prashant… Aryan and I...we’re getting married.”
The words hit harder than any boot, any lash, any blow I had endured in that cell. While I had been clinging to her memory in the dark, she had chosen a new life. My anchor, my reason to survive, belonged to someone else now.
I forced a smile, though it felt carved from stone. “Congratulations.”
Her face faltered, as though she heard the fracture in my voice, but I didn’t give her the chance to say more.
I turned away before the weight in my chest crushed me in front of them.
Outside, the Delhi air seared my lungs. I had survived torture, bullets, starvation but this felt like the wound that would never heal.
______
Chapter 48
IRA
I had just shifted into my new quarter, a place that smelled of fresh paint, waiting to be filled with memories. My mother came along to help me settle in. She was unusually cheerful, her face glowing with the kind of excitement that only grandmothers-to-be could understand. She had brought with her an entire bag filled with baby clothes and toys-tiny socks, soft frocks, rattles, and colorful blankets that she had carefully chosen for my unborn child.
"Have you decided on the baby's name yet?" she asked while neatly folding my clothes and placing them into the cupboard. Her hands moved quickly, as though she had been doing this forever.
I watched her quietly. My mother had never really lifted a finger back in our family home as there were always servants for cooking, cleaning, and even laundry. But here, with me, it was different. She cooked, washed, scrubbed floors, and even mopped the house when I was on duty. Not once did she complain or raise her voice. It struck me how much she had changed for me, for my baby.
I had just begun to show the faintest swell of my belly forming a soft curve. I often found myself touching it absentmindedly, as if reassuring myself that life was truly growing inside me.
"You know," my mother began suddenly, her tone dipping into nostalgia, "when I was pregnant with you, I kept photographs ofyour father everywhere. I wanted my children to look exactly like him." She smiled faintly, her eyes misting over at the memory. "And when you were born, Ira, you looked so much like him. It was like a dream come true."
I gave her a weak smile. "I wish I could be like you."
Her smile faltered. For a second, something heavy passed over her face. Then, almost bitterly, she said, "I'm glad you're like your father. Because if you were like me, Ira... you would never have broken off your relationship with Prashant."
