The Shadow of Retribution: A tale of vengeance and the price of justice.

Chapter 6

The Past
August 14th, 2022
Kathmandu,  Nepal

I awoke, a haze of alcohol and a more profound intoxication clouding my senses. The memory of D's untimely demise was a gaping wound. Just days ago, he had spoken of our future, of shared dreams. Now, I was clothed in the stark white of grief. Fate, cruel mistress, had dealt a devastating blow. If his passing was inevitable, why had we reconciled? I questioned aloud, the emptiness of the silent house echoing my despair.

My phone, a silent companion, offered no respite. I searched for a message, a cruel joke, a sign that it was all a terrible misunderstanding. But there was only the stark reality: D was gone. I could no longer see his smile, feel his touch, hear his laughter. The world had been irrevocably altered. Loneliness, an overwhelming force, consumed me. Desperation, a dark companion, whispered of escape. I considered a final act of defiance, a tragic end to a life robbed of meaning.

Thoughts of my cousins, my chosen family, surfaced. I imagined writing letters, pouring out my heart, explaining the unfathomable loss. They deserved to know the truth, to understand the depth of my despair.

Just yesterday, literally just 24 hours ago, I was telling my colleagues that the only reason I wasn't interested in any of the male teachers at school was because I already had the best man in the world, and soon he'd be mine for the next seven lives.

"I can't wait to see you as a bride, in the red attire," one of the girls had said. I knew I blushed, not because they were talking about marriage, but because they were talking about him.

"Please wear red, though. Not like those actresses who pick other colors. And definitely not like her," another one added, pointing towards Simmy.

"I'm wearing a red Sabhyasachi," I responded, and their jaws practically dropped. It's every woman's dream, after all.

"Wow, we’ve never even seen you in red, let alone wearing it on your big day. We’re so excited!" they said.

We sat and chatted for a while. There were seven of us on the team, one already married and another newly engaged. We talked about everything—how excited they were to meet their future brother-in-law, how they were planning to make me feel special, throwing me the best bachelorette party, and more.

And now, today, I have to go and tell them to stop dreaming about my wedding day because... he’s been killed.

I arrived at school an hour late, citing a sudden bout of nausea. The truth was more complex. I sought a final glimpse of normalcy, a farewell to the colleagues who had shared in my joy. Despite my turmoil, I managed to prepare for my classes, driven by a sense of duty to my students.
The weight of impending tragedy loomed heavy. I envisioned saying goodbye, a bittersweet farewell before a final, desperate act. The bathtub, a cold and lonely resting place, would serve as my final sanctuary. In my despair, I clung to the hope of a reunion, a bittersweet dream of a wedding beyond the veil of death.
Before taking my leave, I sought solace in a nearby café, indulging in what I considered my last cigarette. The smoke offered a brief respite from the overwhelming pain.