AKSHAT SINGHANIA - A literature professor in Singania Institute of Arts and Commerce. He is soft and caring person
with a tough exterior, who doesn't believe in love or marriage because of his parent's broken relationship and his ex wife's betrayal...
Akshat's heartbeat pounded against his chest, louder with each passing second. His face was tense, brows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a tight line. His eyes darted left and right as he walked faster, almost running now, pushing open every door along the corridor.
The rehearsal hall was empty, the waiting area held only two chatting juniors, and the green room showed no sign of her.
His breathing became uneven. Frustration and fear clouded his face. He pulled out his phone with shaky hands, pressed her contact , Amrit 💫🫀 and put it against his ear.
The phone kept ringing, then came a dull beep, it was switched off.
His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Damn it,” he muttered, gripping the phone tightly in his palm before shoving it into his pocket.
He didn’t waste another moment. Turning on his heel, he rushed toward the front gate. His strides were long, hurried. As soon as he spotted the security guard, he stopped abruptly, out of breath.
“Bhaiya!” he called out, his voice rough. “Amrit ko dekha kya? Red Anarkali pehna tha, curled hair?”
The guard looked confused for a second. “Sir, Amrit bitiya to abhi yahin khadi thi. Main bas do minute ke liye andar gaya, wapas aaya to nahi thi. Mujhe laga andar chali gayi hongi... Aap CCTV me dekh lo.”
Akshat’s fingers curled into fists. His lips trembled slightly, eyes sharp with worry.
“Mujhe CCTV dekhne ka time nahi hai!” he snapped. “Agar vo bahar chali gayi toh? She’s not in her senses…”
He turned and rushed off before the guard could respond.
His steps were hurried, almost running now, as he made his way to the parking area. Students noticed him. Some glanced, some stopped. A few whispered amongst themselves. The air around the college had already shifted after what had happened on stage. Everyone had sensed the tension. But none of them knew what was going on in his head.
His eyes scanned every corner of the parking lot, moving quickly from one side to the other. Behind cars. Near bikes. By the boundary wall. Nothing.
“Idiot…” he muttered under his breath. His voice cracked slightly. “Kyun bhaag gayi… kahan chali gayi… kuch ho gaya toh…”
He wiped the sweat forming on his forehead, his throat dry, panic clearly visible on his face.
She wouldn’t go home. She couldn’t. Not in this state. And if she had, she would have called.
“Call bhi nahi kiya… ghar toh gayi nahi hogi... aur nashe mein ghar kaise jayegi…” he whispered to himself, mind spiraling with worry.
