Chronicles Of My Darling Husband | ✓

145. Peeda (Part 5)

Follow me on Instagram for story-related updates, some creative content and to rant your heart out - handle is- suganthii.writes

--

Trigger Warning, do read with caution.

Also, I won't tolerate any rude remarks directed toward me or my characters. If you choose not to comment, that's perfectly fine with me. I am serious, I'll delete any rude remark, sorry.

--

Before he could complete his sentence, a vehicle from the right careened into their car with a deafening crash.

The impact was so forceful that their car toppled onto its side, metal screeching. Glass rained down in a glittering, icy storm, shards embedding themselves in the seats, glinting with a malevolent sheen. The world tilted on its axis, perplexing Jagdish completely.

"JAGDISH!"

He heard Nishita's terrified scream piercing through the chaos. It was a sound that clawed at his insides, a raw, desperate cry that sent a jolt of crude fear through him. It was a sound that would forever be etched in his memory, a horrifying echo of the moment their world shattered.

Blood rang in his ears, an overwhelming rush of adrenaline sharpening his senses.

Disoriented but driven by survival, he reached for his gun with trembling hands, fingers fumbling over the cold steel. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a drumbeat urging him on. Every second stretched into an agonizing eternity as he wrestled with the car door lock, the mechanism feeling alien and unyielding in his shaking grasp.

"Jagd...Aaa...Jag...di...sh..."

Nishita's muffled cries, punctuated by the sickening groans of twisted metal, were a constant reminder of the danger that lurked just beyond the mangled frame. He couldn't afford a single glance at her, not when he knew their lives depended on his next move. These weren't random thugs—this was an ambush, a calculated attack by someone he knew. And if he didn't act now, the silence that would follow Nishita's choked sobs would be their chilling eulogy.

A sharp pain near his temple throbbed insistently, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. The only thing that mattered was getting them out alive. The world wavered at the edges, vision blurring with the insistent pain, but he latched onto a single point of focus—survival, for both of them, to channel his fear into determination.

The lock yielded with a metallic snap, and he threw open the door. He braced himself, ready to confront their attackers with a ferocity fueled by love and desperation. His hand trembled as he looked at his gun, pointing it in front. He had no energy to call out his attackers, he knew he needed every ounce of his energy to attack and kept his quiet. He looked around, blinking his eyes to focus but there was no one, not a single soul.

"Jag..."

A whimper made its way to his ears. Nishita. NISHITA!

He lurched towards the passenger side, every step a battle against his trembling legs.

Halfway there, a phantom sensation sent a jolt through him. A presence. He spun back, gun raised in a shaky hand, finger instinctively tightening on the trigger. The deafening gunshot echoed off the mangled wreckage, a stark contrast to the unnatural silence that followed. But there was nothing. No attacker, no scream, just the eerie quiet that mocked the violence of the gunshot.

The metallic tang in his mouth, the lack of blood in his body—it all came crashing down. The truth, a monstrous realization, settled in his gut like a lead weight. He was hallucinating, the blood loss whispering lies to his already fractured mind.