𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆

PART-50

"Sir!" Siddharth's voice ricocheted down the open corridor of the wellness centre as he sprinted after Aanand, who was striding farther away.

His footsteps thudded against the stone floor, echoing off the high walls in a relentless chase, almost in rhythm with his hammering heartbeat. Sweat beaded along his eyebrows, sliding down his temple, while damp strands of his black hair clung stubbornly to his forehead, tangling around his eyes and ears.

"Aanand sir!" he called again, louder this time.

The older man halted mid-step and turned. His weathered face tightened, eyebrows knitting together.

Siddharth lifted a hand, palm out, urging him to wait as his legs devoured the distance between them. "Rafiq's here," he exhaled.

Aanand's furrowed eyebrows shot up. "That's impossible. He should be in jail, the court made it clear."

"I know," Siddharth wheezed, dragging air into his lungs, "but he's here. I told you before—it's him. It's truly him." His hand pressed against his chest, trying to steady the thunder inside.

"But what enmity does he have with my son?" Aanand's fists curled at his sides, nails biting into his palms. "What has he done to him?"

"They're cowards, sir." Siddharth straightened, his shirt clinging damply to his spine. "When they couldn't win in court, they turned to filth. Now they're striking at what we hold dearest."

A weighted silence pressed down between them, broken only by the distant murmur of the crowd.

Aanand's gaze, lost for a moment in the void, fastened back onto Siddharth. "Did you get Rudraksh?"

Siddharth's eyelashes lowered, and he shook his head slowly. "Did you?" he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet the father's desperate gaze.

"No." Aanand's reply carried the same heaviness, his head bowing under its burden. "Dr. Tanvi isn't in her cabin either."

The pause stretched again, taut as a rope about to snap. Both men stood with heavy shoulders and uneven breaths, the silence crowding them from every side.

"We can't stay still like this."

"We can't stay still like this."

Their voices collided in unison, urgency shattering the stillness.

Without another word, both turned sharply on their heels, their feet striking the ground in a hurried rhythm. Their eyes swept across the restless grounds, searching desperately – for Rudraksh, for the missing doctor, for any clue in the encroaching uncertainty.

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Morning sunlight spilled through the swaying branches of the trees planted along the sidewalk, dappling the brick floor with shifting patterns of leaves.

Rafiq stood rigid in the middle of the path, the files pressed to his chest so tightly their edges bent against his shirt. Sweat had gathered beneath his crumpled cap, clenched in his free fist. His arm rose, placing the cap over his head as he lowered his chin, hiding the restless twitch in his jaw. His gaze slid sideways, toward his companion standing a little distance away at the corner, wearing an expression flat as stone.

Mukhtar lifted his hand—first a stiff thumbs-up, then his fingers fanned open, flashing all five digits.

Rafiq's lips stretched into a crooked smirk. His chin dipped once, and he tugged the cap again.

"Hey! Ward boy!"

Rafiq's head snapped toward the sharp, cutting voice, his eyes narrowing.

An old man leaned heavily on a stick, his frail limbs trembling, though his voice carried all the stubbornness of age. "What are you doing here?" He jabbed the stick toward Rafiq's chest, the wood quivering. "Do they pay you to loiter?"