Chapter 5: Blame and Betrayal

Papa dropped me at the hospital before heading to work. At lunch, he called three times to check if I’d eaten and if the doctor had seen me. Maa, ever the homemaker, stayed by my side.

Just as Maa stepped out to buy food, her phone buzzed. She pressed it to her ear, standing near the window with a heavy sigh. "Hello, bolo."

On the other end, Ananya’s mother exploded, her voice sharp enough to pierce through the hospital din, above the wail of an ambulance siren. "Tumhara beta kahan hai? Ananya ke saath kyun nahi gaya aaj?"

"He said he’d protect my daughter, but look what’s happened now!"

Maa’s eyes widened, hand clamped over the phone. "What? Kya bol rahi ho? Mera beta toh bimar hai, school gaya hi nahi aaj. Kya hua Ananya ko?"

"Abhi hospital leke aa beta ko!"

The call ended with a snap, leaving behind a heavy silence. Even the nurse at the next bed looked over, eyebrows raised. My usually calm Maa muttered under her breath, "Pagal hai kya? Uski beti ki galti hai toh hum pe chillana shuru."

She tossed her phone onto my bed, forehead creased with worry. I understood—Kabir had succeeded this time. Ananya was in trouble.

As soon as my IV finished, Maa wrapped my muffler around my neck, tugged my cap on tight, and gripped my arm. She whispered a prayer, touching my forehead with her dupatta as we hurried through hospital corridors buzzing with whispers and the sharp smell of Dettol. Old uncles tried to hush the growing commotion as we reached the gynaecology department, where Ananya’s mother—bindi blazing—was causing a scene.

Ananya was being examined, her mother and police hovering anxiously. The doctor emerged, report in hand: "Minor tear. There was intercourse just now."

The police pressed her: "Beta, zabardasti hui? Batao, hum culprit ko pakdenge."

Ananya’s mother wailed and slapped her own forehead, then collapsed onto a plastic chair, sobbing. "Kaun hai woh? Kisne kiya yeh sab meri beti ke saath? Bata mujhe!"

The entire corridor seemed to hold its breath. Ananya stood, clothes rumpled, kajal smeared, lips trembling. She kept her eyes on the floor, fingers twisting her dupatta, voice barely above a whisper.

"It was... it was Rohan."

My heart crashed against my ribs, the room spinning as blood roared in my ears. My mouth went dry. For a split second, I saw the memory—Ananya’s cold eyes as she watched me die, her sneer as she turned away. The betrayal, raw and fresh, cut deeper than any knife.

I stared at Ananya, my name still echoing in the corridor, and realised—some curses follow you, even into your next life.