I Became His Replaced Bride

Chapter 20

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Past,

Delhi.

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A man sprinted through the relentless rain, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His legs ached, muscles strained, and exhaustion threatened to overtake him. Yet, he pressed on. He had to. This was his maalik's command. His maalik had given him life. After the accident, it was his maalik who saved him and his family. He owed everything to his maalik.

He ducked behind a parked car in the abandoned parking lot. The driver inside jolted in surprise, his eyes narrowing with laser-like intensity as he scrutinized the intruder. "Are you Darshan Shah?" he demanded.

Darshan nodded solemnly, clutching the plastic-wrapped bundle of clothes tighter in his hand.

"Code?" the driver asked, his voice sharp and urgent.

Shivering and drenched from the rain, Darshan took a deep breath and answered, "16/11."

The driver hesitated for a moment, then unlocked the passenger door. Darshan wasted no time, sliding into the seat, his heart still pounding.

Darshan carefully unwrapped the bundle of clothes, his usually calloused hands uncharacteristically gentle. His eyes softened as they settled on the infant within. She was just a day old, so small and innocent. Yet, her fate was sealed to a life of suffering.

Darshan's heart ached with pity for the newborn, but he was powerless to change her destiny. He could only obey his maalik.

The driver started the car, and they drove in tense silence, the only sound the patter of rain against the windows. Darshan held the sleeping infant in his arms, her tiny breaths the only sign of life in the oppressive stillness.

The car came to a halt at the railway station. Darshan stepped out, only to be halted by the driver's stern voice, "Don't forget to inform maalik before you board the train."

Before Darshan could respond or even turn around, the car's engine roared to life and sped away, leaving him standing in the rain-soaked night. He sighed, his breath shaky, and hurried into the railway station.

Inside, he found the dimly lit STD PCO booth and dialed the number he knew by heart. "Hello?" came a voice on the other end.

Darshan gulped, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. His eyes drifted down to the infant cradled in his arms. "Hello?" the voice repeated, more impatiently this time.

Darshan cleared his throat. "16/11, successful."

There was a moment of silence before the voice returned, now filled with a pleasant satisfaction. "Good, Darshan. I am proud of you."

Darshan's heart soared at the praise, though he remained silent. His maalik's approval meant everything to him.

"You know what to do next?" the voice asked.

"Yes, maalik," Darshan replied, his voice steady with determination.

"Good. Proceed and then come back."

"Yes, maalik," Darshan repeated, the call ending with a click.

He stepped out of the booth, feeling the weight of his task pressing down on him. Finding a bench on the platform, he sat down, the infant still asleep in his arms, the rain-soaked night wrapping around them like a shroud.

His eyes fell once more on the infant cradled in his arms. His conscience screamed at him to do the right thing, the internal conflict gnawing at his soul. He closed his eyes, the pain of his dilemma etched deeply on his face. He had committed a crime, a sin. His god would never forgive him for this.