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...
"WHY ARE WE STANDING HERE!!" Akshat's bellow echoed across the hall, his words raw, unraveling with desperation. His eyes were blinded with suppressed tears as he glanced around at the others,Krishiv, Vedant, Nikhil, and the rest,each of their faces etched with the same fear, but none reflecting the maelstrom within him. "We should find her… now!"
Not waiting to hear another word, he whirled about on his heels and ran outside, his footsteps clattering on the marble floor, ringing out like war drums in the stifling hush of the mansion. The chill night air slapped his face like ice, but it served only to do nothing at all to temper the fire raging within him. He flung open his car door and slid into it, his hands shaking as they clamped around the steering wheel.
The engines came to life one by one as the rest took their respective cars, spreading out into the city in frantic chase of Amrit.
Within his car, Akshat panted in shallow gasps. His telephone was white-knuckled in one hand, repeatedly redialing her number. "Pick up, Amrit… come on," he croaked hoarsely, the words cracking as he pressed the telephone against his ear. Each time, the same harsh, robotic voice answered: The number you have dialed is switched off.
His knuckles blanched on the steering wheel as he careened wildly down the streets, his own eyes wild, scanning every corner as if she would suddenly materialize there. His heart thudded agonizingly against his chest, each beat whispering a vicious reminder,she was gone, and he had no clue where she was.
He veered into the familiar path of their apartment complex, car squealing as he hit the brakes hard. Flinging open the door, he rushed out, his footfalls irregular with haste. His chest labored as his gaze landed on the locked door. The lock shone under the pale corridor light, taunting him with its coldness.
"No… no, no, no…" he whispered, shaking his head wildly as he shook the handle. The clinking metal only further fueled his panic. He retreated, his eyes scanning the building like a madman. Then, suddenly, he dashed towards the stairwell, two steps at a time, crying out her name with a voice that ripped through the stillness.
"AMRIT!" His voice cracked, echoing in the thin walls.
He pushed open terrace doors, inspected each dark corner, leaned against railings, looked into dark alleys, hunted behind parked cars and scooters, and even pressed his face against windows where faint lights glowed in other apartments.
"AMRIT!! Where are you?!" he shouted, his voice shattering with each syllable.
People started showing up at their doors, faces from behind balconies and windows. Old uncles sat on railings, murmuring among themselves; women stopped cooking in the middle, peering down with interest. Children stood wide-eyed, holding onto their mothers' dupattas as they saw him dash from one corner to the other like a tormented, restless spirit.
