Page 50 of Mrs. Rathore

I kept searching my memories, trying to rewind and dissect every moment leading up to it. But no matter how many times I went over it, all I could see was Ira’s face covered in blood, her body limp, her breath shallow, her life slipping through my fingers.

“Aryan…” Mrs. Solanki’s voice pulled me back. She stood now, trembling but firm. Her eyes were red, hollow, and desperate to meet mine.

“I want my daughter,” she said, her tone wavering with fear and rage. “If anything happens to her, I swear you’ll spend your life behind bars.”

I stepped toward her, gently gripping her shoulders. She flinched but didn’t pull away. I met her stare, trying to steady my voice, though I was anything but calm inside.

“Nothing’s going to happen to her,” I said, my voice low but certain. “I won’t let that happen. She’s strong. She’s going to pull through. I’ve known her my whole life. She's a fighter. And yes…” I swallowed thickly. “It was my fault. I should’ve protected her. I should’ve been more careful.”

Her face twisted with grief, but she said nothing more.

“Mr. Rathore?”

I turned sharply at the sound of my name. A doctor stood at the entrance to the ward, his face grim. I shot to my feet, my heart stalling mid-beat.

“How is she?” I asked, nearly tripping over my own feet as I approached him.

He hesitated why the fuck was he hesitating?

“She’s stable now,” he finally said, but then added, “but she’s still in critical condition.”

Mrs. Solanki gasped and stepped forward, clutching the edge of the bench for support. “Please… tell me my daughter’s going to survive.”

The doctor gave a slow nod but didn’t sugarcoat it. “Your daughter suffered multiple injuries. Her left leg is fractured in two places. We’re seeing significant bruising around her ribs…two may be cracked. There was internal bleeding, which wemanaged to control during surgery, and she also sustained a mild concussion.”

Each word hit harder than the last. I leaned against the wall for support, my body finally starting to give out under the weight of my panic. My ears rang, but I forced myself to stay upright, to listen.

“She’s unconscious right now,” the doctor continued, “but you’ll be able to see her soon. However, I need you both to understand, recovery won’t be easy. She’ll require strict bed rest for at least two months, followed by intensive rehabilitation. She’s young, and that’s in her favor. But she’ll need consistent care… and a lot of emotional support.”

A sob escaped Mrs. Solanki as she slumped down onto the bench, her face buried in her hands. “She was just going back to her duty… and…”

Her voice broke off as her shoulders shook violently. I stepped forward and knelt beside her, placing my arms gently around her quivering form. Her grief bled into mine until we were both drowning in it.

The hallway grew quiet, the ticking clock suddenly louder than ever.

I turned my head toward the double doors, imagining Ira lying behind them…pale, bruised, and unmoving.

“I’ll be there,” I whispered. “Every step of the way.”

_____

It was half past one in the morning, and I was still in the hospital waiting room, sitting beside Ira’s mother. The hours dragged on, each minute chipping away at our patience. Ira still hadn’t woken up.

“You shouldn’t have sent her those texts, Aryan,” Mrs. Solanki said suddenly, her voice quiet but heavy. “She still had hope. She believed that somewhere deep down you’d come back to her, marry her. But when she read that message, you crushed the last bit of hope she was clinging to. You saw how much she loved you. That’s why she let you marry that woman without causing a scene.”

I turned to her, confused. I understood some of what she was saying, but what message? I never sent Ira anything, let alone something cruel.

“What text are you talking about?”

She frowned, clearly frustrated, then pulled Ira’s phone from her blood-stained purse. My stomach dropped.

“Read it yourself,” she snapped, unlocking the screen and holding it out to me. “Read your cruel words. You’re so selfish, Aryan.”

I hesitated but took the phone. A long message sat on the screen, dated a week ago. As I read through it, my chest tightened. The words were brutal, sharp, and heartless. And they weren’t mine.

Each line felt like a blade. I could only imagine what they had done to Ira.

Who the hell sent this?

---