ISHQ IBAADAT 💗

23. THE TRUTH ❤️‍🩹

Author POV

There was a deserted jungle, the kind of place where the silence itself felt like it was screaming. The trees were old, their branches twisted like monsters ready to grab anyone who dared to step in. The thick leaves blocked the sunlight, and the faint sound of crows echoed far away. A cold breeze rustled through the leaves, but instead of calming, it made the place eerier.

There... Shridha stood. Her dupatta was fluttering lightly with the breeze, but her heart was restless. Her eyes, filled with questions and impatience, kept shifting toward the lonely road. She looked as if she had been standing there for hours, waiting... waiting for someone.

Her lips trembled as she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible in the stillness of that jungle-

"Kaha hai wo insan jisne mujhe yaha is jagah par bulaaye hai..."
(She said while staring at the road, clutching her phone tightly in her palm).

Her fingers fidgeted restlessly, sometimes twisting the end of her dupatta, sometimes pressing the phone's screen again and again as if hoping it would ring once more. Her mind was filled with unease, but still... she waited.

---

Flashback 📸

It was morning. The clock showed 9:00 AM.

Shridha was standing in front of the mirror, carefully tying her hair into a neat bun. Strands of her soft hair slipped down on her forehead, and she tucked them back with her delicate fingers. Her face looked tired, but she forced a small smile at herself in the mirror.

She walked toward the cupboard, took out her white apron, and held it gently in her hands. With a sigh, she threw it over her arm and moved to open the door of her room-ready for another long day at the hospital.

Just as her hand touched the door handle, her phone rang.

She froze for a second. The sudden shrill ringtone made her heartbeat skip. She turned back and picked it up from the table.

Her brows furrowed.
"Ye kiska number hai..." she muttered, staring at the unknown digits flashing on the screen.

Her thumb hovered over the decline button for a second, but then she shook her head slightly.
"Ho sakta hai koi patient ho... receive kar lena chahiye."

With a deep breath, she swiped the green button and placed the phone against her ear.

"Hello... hanji... kaun?"
Her tone was cautious yet polite.

The next moment, a deep male voice echoed from the other end-sharp, unsettling, and filled with an odd authority.

"Hello... Mrs. Shivay Raisinghania..."

Her eyes widened, her grip on the phone tightening instantly.
"Haanji... aap kaun?" she asked, her tone rising, trying to mask the sudden nervousness that gripped her.

There was a pause... a silence that almost pricked her ears.

"Main... main... aapka well-wisher," the voice replied, slow and deliberate.

Her breath hitched in annoyance. She clenched her jaw.
"Achha... mujhe kisi well-wisher ki zarurat nahi hai. Aapko mujhse kaam kya hai... ye batayiye," she snapped, her eyes narrowing.

But the man only chuckled softly, as if mocking her anger.

"Achha... to Mrs. Shivay Raisinghania... kya aapko pata hai, aapka pati aapse kabhi pyaar kyun nahi kar sakta?"

The words struck her like a slap. Her heart thudded in her chest. For a moment, her lips went dry.

She swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the couch with her free hand to steady herself. Her voice shook with both anger and fear-
"Ye humara personal matter hai. Aap hote kaun hai humse ye puchhne wale? Aur aapko kisi ke personal life mein interfere karne ki koi zarurat nahi honi chahiye!"