Page 93 of Mrs. Pandey
I looked up from the paper. "Where's the rest of it?" I asked, my voice was sharp.
"That's all they know," Mom said flatly, as if that should be enough. As if I could just swallow the fact that the man who had dragged me through hell had stopped breathing without a fight.
I folded the paper carefully, but my hands were trembling.
He was gone. But it didn't feel like he was gone. It felt like he was still here, watching, and waiting. Somewhere deep in my gut, a warning bell rang, a whisper telling me that Kabir Rajput's story wasn't over.
I shook the thought off, reached for my phone, and almost called Prashant. My thumb hovered over his name before I remembered, he was still with his family. I couldn't drag him into this, not yet.
With a sigh, I set the phone on the nightstand and stared at the paper again. Kabir's smile stared back, unblinking. And for the first time that day, a shiver ran down my spine.
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Chapter 44
IRA
The dinner plate sat in front of me, untouched, the steam curling upward. My stomach gave a sudden violent churn, twisting into knots. Before I could even push my chair back properly, I shot to my feet and stumbled toward the bathroom. The world blurred around me as bile surged up my throat.
I barely made it to the sink before my body convulsed. My fingers gripped the cool porcelain, knuckles turning white, every muscle in my abdomen contracting as another wave of nausea hit. The bitter, acidic taste burned my throat, tears spilling from my eyes. My knees ached against the cold tile, but I couldn't move. The air carried the faint scent of mint toothpaste, but it was drowned by the sharper, sour stench of vomit.
Between heaves, I gasped for air, my pulse pounding in my ears like a war drum. Please, let it stop.
Finally, when the convulsions eased, I rinsed my mouth, the gurgle of water loud in the silence. I splashed my face, the cold sting grounding me. In the mirror, my reflection looked pale.
I left the bathroom slowly, sinking back into my chair. The food on the table still sat there, waiting, yet the sight of it sent another wave of nausea rolling through me. I pressed a hand to my stomach, forcing it down. I knew what this was, it wasn't just food, or sickness. It was the knot of thoughts I'd been carrying, winding tighter every day.
It had been almost a month since I'd last spoken to Prashant. A month of silence, distance, and unanswered questions. He hadn't come to me once, not after the last phone call, not even when I'd tried to reach out. Instead, he had gone to Delhi, busy with the Parade, busy with everything except me.
I knew I had hurt him. I knew he needed space. But hadn't I given him enough? At the very least, couldn't he talk to me? A word, a glance, something to remind me I was still his wife?
My mind spun with possibilities, each more desperate than the last. Should I go to his quarters? Should I cook for him? Maybe his favorite pasta, or cookies, something small that says I still care, that I am still here.
He worked so hard. He must be tired. Maybe he wasn't ignoring me, maybe he just needed to be reminded. Reminded that he had me. The thought steadied me.
I moved to the kitchen, gathering ingredients with shaky hands. I poured too much chocolate syrup into the batter, as though sweetness could cover bitterness. The cookies baked slowly, their warm scent filling the room, stirring memories I wasn't ready for. When they were done, I carefully placed them in a box, tying it with trembling fingers.
Then, I dressed. Burgundy, his favorite color. I straightened my hair, fixing every strand into place. In the mirror, I forced a smile. It wavered, fragile, but I clung to it.
The walk to his quarters took ten minutes, though every step felt heavier, like my feet were sinking into the earth. When I reached his door, I knocked, heart hammering.
No answer.
I raised my hand to knock again, rehearsing what I would say when he opened, but then...
And it wasn't him.
It was her.
Dr. Riddhima Kashyap.
She stood there in his burgundy shirt, the fabric hanging loose, paired with his lower. My heart plummeted into a void.
"What the..." The words caught in my throat.
Her eyes flickered with hesitation. "Oh... lieutenant Ira," she said softly.
"Where is Prashant?" My voice was sharp, clipped, trembling beneath the force of my anger.
