Chapter 57
IRA
I and Prashant were still living apart, but we shared our time with Iraaj equally.
Half of the day he stayed with me, and the other half with his father.
It was our strange arrangement, neither complete separation nor togetherness but it worked for now.
I had also decided against taking retirement from the army.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t risk breaking the delicate thread between Iraaj and his father.
My son couldn’t live without Prashant, and I couldn’t take that away from him.
That decision, however, had once again caused a rift between me and my father.
He was furious when he found out I was choosing to stay in India.
My mother, on the other hand, had opened her arms wide to me.
She was happy, even, that I was giving Prashant another chance.
It was evening when Prashant asked me to dinner. We hadn’t been out like this in a long time, just the three of us. The thought of it filled me with nervous excitement. My favorite restaurant, his invitation, the unspoken weight of the night.
I looked at my little boy, who was rolling on the floor with his fluffy toy.
His laughter echoed through the room as I pulled out dresses from my wardrobe, trying to choose the perfect one.
After half an hour of indecision, I finally picked a lavender kurti with jeans.
I dusted on minimal makeup, left my hair loose over my shoulders, and looked at myself in the mirror with a faint smile.
Iraaj, of course, had to match. I slid him into a lavender t-shirt and black pants, and when he looked up at me with those twinkling eyes, I couldn’t help but melt. He looked absolutely adorable.
“Ma…ma…” he squealed, stretching his chubby arms toward me.
I lifted him, though my back groaned in protest. Lately, the weight of him had been harder to manage with my persistent pain. Still, his warmth in my arms erased the discomfort.
“Are you ready to meet your father now?” I asked, gently nudging his button nose.
He gave me a wide grin, two dimples carving into his cheeks. “Hmm…”
I laughed, trying to pry my hair from his tiny fists. Tugging at my hair had somehow become his favorite pastime. “Not again, Iraaj,” I scolded softly, freeing myself at last.
The doorbell rang suddenly, making my heart skip. I pressed a quick kiss on Iraaj’s cheek before whispering, “That must be your father.”
When I opened the door, there he was. Prashant stood in a crisp black shirt and grey slacks, looking effortlessly handsome. In his hands was a bouquet of fresh roses.
“This is for you,” he said with that same boyish grin I remembered from years ago, the one that had once made my heart race.
“Thank you,” I replied, my voice softening. I took the flowers and lifted them to my face. Their fragrance filled my senses. “Roses, huh?”
“Your favorite,” he said, his voice warm, before holding out his arms for Iraaj. “Come here, champ.”
I passed our son into his arms. Watching the way Prashant held him so securely, as if he was the most precious thing in the world, stirred something deep inside me. I placed the roses in a vase, and when I turned back, Prashant already had Iraaj giggling against his shoulder.
He booked an Uber, and soon we were on our way. I didn’t offer him my car, though I could have. Something in me didn’t want to bruise his pride, so I let him take charge of the evening.
Fifteen minutes later, we sat together at our table in the restaurant.
The aroma of spices and butter filled the air.
Soft music played in the background, blending with the quiet hum of conversations around us.
Iraaj sat between us, happily nibbling on tiny pieces of food.
His small teeth made the effort slow but endearing, and I found myself watching more than eating. Watching the two of them together.
Prashant’s patience with him, the way he coaxed him gently, wiping his chin when food slipped that made my heart swell.
“I like seeing you two together,” I whispered, my eyes fixed on them. My fork lay untouched on my plate. “I like your bond with him. I’m glad he loves you so much.”
Prashant looked up, his eyes steady on mine.
For a moment, I thought I saw relief there, maybe gratitude too.
He smiled faintly. “Your mother told me everything about you during your pregnancy,” he said, his voice softer now.
“She told me how you kept my photographs on your wall, because you wanted our baby to be like me. Is that true?” His face carried a proud flash, though his tone trembled with something deeper.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “Maybe,” I murmured, my lips curving despite myself.
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against mine before wrapping around them firmly. His touch was warm. “Then tell me… why didn’t you tell me?” His gaze locked with mine, intense and searching. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, all that time? I had the right to know.”
The question hung in the air between us, heavy and unyielding. I swallowed hard, staring down at our joined hands, and wondered if tonight was meant for confessions or for new beginnings.
“I didn’t even know I was pregnant until after I broke our relationship,” I whispered, my eyes lowering to our joined hands.
My fingers trembled as I spoke. “And when I found out… I was terrified. Terrified that if I told you about my complicated pregnancy, you wouldn’t let me keep this child. I couldn’t bear that thought.”
Prashant’s eyes darkened. “But you also thought I cheated on you…” His voice was quiet, but there was a sharp edge beneath it, like glass ready to crack.
I nodded slowly. “Yes. I did. But even then, I… I felt like you still cared about me. You weren’t there for me in person, but you were everywhere else.
You were in my dreams, in my thoughts, in every conversation I had with myself when I was alone.
I might have broken us apart, but in truth, I never accepted it. Not once. Not even for a second.”
My hand tightened around his, my throat tightening until the words came out raw. “I spoke to Dr. Ridhima yesterday. She told me everything…” My voice broke, and I could feel tears filling my eyes, blurring my vision until all I could see was the outline of his face.
Yesterday was still so vivid. The fury I felt when I saw Dr. Ridhima at my doorstep.
The rage when she forced those letters into my chest. Letters written in blood.
Letters filled with Prashant’s agony and love while he was held captive.
I had read them once, then again, and again, each word seared into my skin like acid.
The pain of his words was unbearable, but the greater pain was the guilt.
How could I have doubted him?
I had thought he was ignoring me, pushing me away, abandoning me. But all along, he had been drowning in his own fear. Fear of becoming his captor. Fear of hurting me. Fear that the haunted shadows of his past would never release him. Fear that he would lose me forever.
I pressed a hand to my mouth, holding back a sob. How could I doubt this man?
My gaze shifted back to him. My voice trembled when I asked, “What… what did you do to Kabir?”
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, too familiar. 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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