ISHQ IBAADAT 💗

27. HER DEATH 💗

Target 40 votes and 10 comments 💗

Author Pov.

The hall was unusually silent, the kind of silence that presses down on your chest and makes each breath feel heavy. The TV flickered faintly in the dim light, broadcasting images of chaos and urgency-police vans, flashing lights, reporters with microphones, and an anchor repeating the news over and over. But no one was paying attention to the screen. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Agastya.

He stood rigid, almost statuesque, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. His dark eyes were sharp, scanning the room, the guards, the police, everyone-but not really seeing anything. His jaw tightened slowly, muscles flexing under his skin as his knuckles whitened around his fists. A tremor ran through his hand, almost imperceptible, and yet enough to make the room hold its collective breath.

A man-a guard, or perhaps one of Agastya's closest men-stepped forward. His head was bowed low, shame flickering across his face. Agastya opened his mouth to speak, to demand answers, to scream, to break something, anything... but the man spoke first.

"Sorry, sir... she is dead..." The words fell like stones.

The sound seemed to reverberate through Agastya's skull. For a moment, his lips moved, but no sound emerged. His eyes, wide and unblinking, fixed on the man, the world narrowing until there was nothing but that one sentence echoing in his mind. It felt as if the ground had vanished beneath him. His chest tightened painfully; each heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud and unstoppable.

On the TV, the words scrolled again, jarringly official and cruel:

"Adhrika Raisinghania is Dead... The Wife of Agastya Raisinghania..."

The screen seemed to pulse in rhythm with his racing heart. His entire body tensed, shoulders stiffening, every muscle screaming to move, to run, to do something-anything. But he remained rooted, eyes locked on the bowing man, on the floor, on the world that had shifted in a single, merciless moment.

Around him, the people in the room shifted uneasily. His mother, his sister-in-law, everyone's faces blurred together. Adhya's scream broke the heavy silence:

"Aap ye kya keh rahe hai...?" Her voice cracked, a high-pitched mixture of horror and disbelief, carrying across the room. Her hands trembled, fingers clutching at the edges of the sofa, nails digging in as if anchoring herself to reality.

"Yes, mam... we have found some of her things. Maybe she has fallen down from the ditch near the hill. We have found her slippers, wallet, and some other personal belongings..." A police officer's voice was flat, professional, but it was too late. The words had already pierced the fragile shell of hope around everyone's hearts.

Agastya's fists tightened so fiercely that his fingernails dug into his palms. A vein throbbed visibly along his temple. His jaw flexed, and he exhaled slowly through his nose, a low hiss of a sound that almost became a growl. His eyes, dark and stormy, swept across the room. The guards behind him all lowered their heads in guilt, shame palpable in their posture. Every one of them had followed his orders, every one of them had been loyal... and yet, this time, they had failed. The failure weighed heavily in the air.

One of the mafia team members stepped forward cautiously, clearing his throat, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of him. "It is possible... someone might have pushed her. I mean... this could also be a murder. But the main thing is, we did not find any proof there..." His voice faltered slightly, the tension of being near Agastya so thick that it made his words stumble.

Agastya's chest rose and fell sharply, each breath shallow, ragged. His fingers twitched, as if itching for motion, and his entire frame seemed barely able to contain the storm within him. He lifted his gaze slowly toward the man who had delivered the news. His eyes, dark as midnight, shimmered with an unnatural light-part sorrow, part fury, part disbelief.