As soon as the words escaped my lips, Agastya's eyes widened, filled with shock and disbelief.
He stood up from the bed, locking eyes with me, the tension palpable between us.
"Agastya," I continued softly, trying to keep my voice steady, "I know it's hard for you to talk about Inayaat without getting emotional. But I’m your wife and I can't ignore your past forever. I need to know about it too and I want to comfort you during your emotional breakdowns, but you never let me in. Please, Agastya. Tell me about her."
I stood up as well, walking toward him. I stopped just short of him, maintaining a respectful distance, but my heart was heavy with the weight of the words I’d said.
"Why do you want to know about Inayaat all of a sudden?" Agastya’s voice was tight, his steps taking him closer to me. His presence was imposing, but my breath hitched only for a moment. I held my ground, keeping my expression steady.
"It’s not all of a sudden, Agastya," I said firmly. "I've always wanted to know about her, about you. But I didn’t have the courage to ask until now. But enough is enough. Tell me, Agastya. Tell me about her. Tell me how important she was to you... tell me how she—how she died."
The word "died" hung heavy in the air, as soon as I spoke it, a single tear slipped from Agastya’s eye. The pain and sufferings in his gaze was unmistakable, raw and unspoken, and it tore at my heart.
"You’ll become insecure," Agastya’s voice was barely above a whisper as he turned away, walking slowly toward the balcony of our room. "Insecure at the thought of me with someone else, and I don't want that."
I followed him, standing just behind him on the balcony, my heart in my throat.
"I won’t, Agastya. I promise. I won’t be insecure." My voice was a soft plea. "But please, please, tell me about her. Who was she? How was she?"
I placed my hand gently on his shoulder, and I could feel his body tense under my touch. His jaw clenched, and his chest rose and fell with a heavy breath.
"Inayaat was my everything," he began, his voice breaking with the weight of the memory. "I had no one but her. Our love story wasn’t easy. It was full of pain and suffering. At first, I didn’t like her. But over time, she won my heart and ruled over it. She was the only girl I ever surrendered to, the only one I bowed down for."
His voice faltered, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn’t continue. But then, he spoke again, his words a quiet plea.
"But fate had other plans. God couldn’t bear to see me happy, and he took her away from me. After her, you came into my life, Ipshita. You made it beautiful—like a garden full of roses. I love you. I love you more than words can express. Please, never be insecure about her, or about my love for you."
He turned toward me, his eyes red and puffy, tears still tracing down his face. And though the pain in his gaze nearly broke me, I knew I had to ask the question.
"Do you still want to hear about our story?" His voice was raw, but there was a flicker of resolve in his eyes.
I looked back into his eyes, my decision clear. "Yes. I want to know about your story... with her."
He nodded slowly, a deep breath escaping his lips as he prepared to reveal the past I had longed to understand.
"It all began seven years ago, on my mother’s 12th death anniversary..."
FLASHBACK BEGINS
AGASTYA'S POV :
It was 7:00 in the morning when the soft rays of sunlight kissed my face. I rubbed my eyes and slowly opened them. Reluctantly, I pushed myself off the bed and made my way toward the photo frame hanging on the wall of my room.
"12 years, Maa... It’s been 12 years since you left us," I whispered, my eyes fixed on her picture, which hung on the grey wall. "Aisha was only ten years old then, and I still remember how hard it was for us to console her."
Her smile in the photo was as warm as ever. I thought to myself, She looks so beautiful. After a moment of quiet reflection, I turned away and headed for the bathroom.
Inside, I quickly took care of my morning routine, emerging wrapped in a bathrobe. I changed into a white kurta-pajama—it was my mother's 12th death anniversary, after all.
Downstairs, I found Aisha standing beside her best friend, a girl whose name I had never really bothered to learn. Aisha always called her "Inu."
Inu had a childish way about her, and honestly, I couldn’t stand it. But, there was something about her that changed when the situation called for it. When the moment demanded maturity, she had it in spades. That was the one thing I could appreciate about her, whatever her real name was.
I walked over to Aisha and Inu, who was trying to console her.
As soon as I reached Aisha, she wrapped her arms around me tightly. "Bhai, why did Maa have to leave us? I miss her so much," she whispered, her voice trembling.
I gently pulled her back and smiled, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. "Aishu, don’t be sad. Maa was, is, and always will be the most important person in our lives. No one can ever take her place."
At that moment, Inu spoke up. "I guess I should leave you two alone now."
She didn’t say much, but she knew when to step back—when to give us space. That’s one thing I respected about her. She never overstepped, only intervened when it mattered most.
Wait. Why was I thinking about her? I shouldn’t be.
"Aishu," I said, "let’s go. Panditji is calling us for the Pooja."
Aisha wiped her tears and nodded. "Yes, let’s go... and take Mumma’s blessings."
With that, we both made our way toward the place where the rituals were being held.
INAYAAT'S POV :
I decided to leave Aisha and her brother alone, not wanting to intrude on their sibling privacy.
The rituals wrapped up around noon, and it was time for me to head out.
As I made my way to leave, I suddenly found my path blocked by a black cat. Irritated, I stomped my foot. In Indian culture, a black cat is often seen as a symbol of bad luck.
Frustrated, I picked up a stone and threw it into the air, aiming to scare the cat away. But fate had other plans for me.
The stone soared through the air, and instead of hitting the cat, it made contact with none other than my sweet best friend’s brother—Agastya Singh Rajput.
He was dressed in a sharp black business suit, likely on his way to work, and now, I had just given him an unexpected stone shot right on his chest.
He stood frozen for a moment, stunned and furious at the same time. "Who the hell dared to throw a stone at me?" he growled, his grip tightening around his phone and he kicked the stone so hard, enough to make my eyes bulge out.
Panicking, I ran over to him. "I’m so, so, so sorry, Mr. Arrog— I mean, Mr. Rajput! I didn’t mean to do that! It was an accident!" I stammered, but he only glared at me in response.
"Okay, so here’s what happened. There was a cat sitting in my path, and according to tradition, in order to get rid of my... bad luck, I had to throw a stone at her to make her move," I explained, but before I could finish, he cut me off.
"Enough with your explanations," he snapped. "I’ll let you off this time, but if you ever do something like this again, I won’t be so lenient."
With that, he glared hard at me and stormed off toward his car, clearly angry.
"Such a khadus (arrogant) guy," I muttered under my breath as I watched him go.
As I climbed into the car, I added, "His wife will be so unlucky, having such an arrogant husband."
My driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror and said, "Ma’am, we’ve arrived."
"Thanks, Uncle," I replied with a smile, stepping out of the car and heading inside.
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