Flames burst through me, the sheer pain and horror bursting open my eyes. I bolt up to find myself on my warm soft bed, sweating profusely, my chest constricting painfully. I heave out a breath full of relief, relieved to find myself safe and sound. I can't remember anything I saw except the lingering feeling that insinuates something terrible has happened.

I lazily make my way to the wet glass panes. Removing the curtains, I look onto the dull grey mono tonal scene. Gushes of streaming water floods the streets making the asphalt street turn a darker charcoal colour and the grass on either side a brownish sludge, as the mud unearth it loosens. The only vibrancy comes from the bent over palm tree, its branches brushing against the street. Some of the wires are torn, dangling from the towers.

Evidence from last night's storm. The man from last night crosses my mind once, but I shake it away. Must have been some man taking shelter from the storm.

I rest my head against the cool glass panes, my heated forehead slightly cooling down. The cool sensation helps me calm down, but I can't seem to forego the uncanny feeling that comes with the dream.

The bedside clock reads 6:00am. Still early.

Maybe the restless feeling has something to do with the rate at which things are progressing. It has been a week or so only since that painful memory. Last thing I want to suffer from now is PTSD.

Shaking my head once as if to dispel the everlasting thoughts, I head into the shower. Twenty minutes later I am done taking a shower. My hair feels nice and soft, thanks to the shampoo and conditioner he provided me with. For the past few days my hair had been greasy tied into knots, and combing through it barely made it presentable. I was thankful for the dupatta wrapped around my hair, thus hiding my tangled mess in the past days.

Having done with drying it as much as a towel allows, I comb my semi wet hair pulling it into a loose ponytail, I take the dupatta deciding to put in on later, as I make my way downstairs.

To my surprise I find the television switched on today. I can't see the expression on his face as he faces the television screen. A woman sits on the other side, adorning a blue colour niqab but rants on in fluent English. I catch a few words, ' Indian authorities' , ' Pakistan', 'injured' and 'deceased' before he abruptly switches off the television.

His sudden action and the few words draws my attention but I pretend to have heard nothing. It's only when I approach the television, I snatch the remote out of his hands. Having not anticipated my sudden movement relents. I switch it back on.

It's her next few words that draw the breath out of me.

'Amritsar Howrah Express that was to leave Amritsar Station at 11:00 pm was blown into flames killing 392 people on the train and 25 injured severely. Indian authorities point at Pakistan for planning this terror attack with notorious terrorist Abdul Gaffar. A bag full of RDX was also found in Gate No 5 of Amritsar Station.

Let's see what Pakistan Defence minister has to say about this:

" They always blame us for everything in their country. We don't know anything." The man in a white kurta says as he avoids the mikes and questions thrown his way.

"But, isn't it true that Abdul Gaffar is hiding in Pakistan? Why does Pakistan not hand him over?"

"Are you trying to protect him?"

He doesn't reply as he gets into his black Mercedes, his black clothed bodyguards hovering around, with the reporters barreling him with questions.

The screen shifts to the anchor as she starts speaking again, " Now, the list of people claimed to be dead.

Mr Amir Haque and his wife -

The words fade out as my mind flashes back to the pictures in Basheer's room I found yesterday while my eyes find the way to his face only to find him staring back at me, gauging my reaction. A part of me breaks with the realisation that there's no way Basheer isn't involved.

He is behind all of it. He must have seen something in my eyes as he tries to come up with something but fails. I hide my disappointment immediately as I revert back to the television screen as the list continues.

Sunita Saha, Age 34 a resident of Kolkata, India.

Abeer Singh, Age 59 a resident of Amritsar, India.

Abeer?

Abeer Singh?

My eyes stick to the photo displayed on the screen, probing it to be someone else but it's unmistakably my father, his dimpled smile and back irises emitting a warm glow through the tv screen.

"Papa?"

A shrill cry breaks out; I realise it's mine.

The screen changes to show someone else but I feel my breath coming out in short pants. The room around me darkens as I squint my eyes trying to look at the screen. Blood rushes to my ears, my head pounds while a violent headache takes over. My chest constricts further, while I struggle to breathe as if drowned.

My limbs feel numb as I try to move them but they don't. I try to think of what's happening to me. I am vaguely aware as a pair of arms hauls me away. I feel myself floating and a shrilling cry ringing through my ears, a cry of a woman who is deprived of the best thing in her life.

Cool glass touches my lips and realising I chug down the cool water that touches my lips I dart out my tongue greedily, tasting the salt of my tears before the water lashes against my lips. The cool liquid soothes my throat that feels hoarse from all the crying.

There's a voice constantly saying something, that I can't catch, but feels soothing.

" - You are strong." A voice whispers.

A soft warm hand touches my cheeks, wiping away the remnants of my now dry tears.

My vision gradually clears as the room around me comes to a stop. I find myself cradled in Basheer's arms, my tears soaking his chest. As I look up at him to find his worried eyes looking back at me. He tightens his hold on me.

" Don't cry Nehali, I am so sorry."

I realise I have been crying.

I cuddle into him as my hands wrap around his shoulders pulling his head to the crook of my neck, breathing him in. The comfort is short lasting as those pictures from last night flash into my mind leaving a bitter taste.

I am in the arms of the man who killed my father, while my Mom is dealing with it alone. I should be there being her prop, she shouldn't have to rely on someone else while I am here.

My fingers creep up on his neck wanting to twist his head and end his fucking life here itself.

Deep breathes, Nehali. Not a time for homicide, besides it's rude to kill someone who's trying to comfort you.

Even when he was behind the pain?

I pull away from him, standing up abruptly.

" What happened?" He has the audacity to ask.

" I want to get to the hospital." I gulp, trying to hold back the fresh tears. I won't allow myself the liberty to cry.

"Was my father's body found?"

"The bomb was in your father's compartment. So no."

My lower lip wobbles at that. She won't be able to see him one last time. Somehow I feel good that she would remember his happy face, not the one burnt and unrecognizable. But, my father deserved his last rites, from my hands not from a fucking bomb. Hindus are burnt when they die, and the sons only get this opportunity. My father wanted his daughter to do his last rites.

I will forgive no one. They took away my father, his last wish.

" Fine. Let's eat. I will take you." He says getting up to stand directly in front of me.

My eyes direct at him, challenging him through the blur of unshed tears.

________________________________________

I wait by the staircase, the same place we met before. My check my hand watch, noting its only ten minutes remaining to the break and there's no sign of her. I sigh impatiently, rubbing my eyes.

" Nehali, I have been searching for you." A voice makes me look up the stairs to find Apa standing on top of the staircase, a black burqa covering most parts except her face.

" I have been waiting for you."

" Well, I thought you would be in the canteen. Anyway, let's set this place as our meeting point shall we?" Apa says descending down the stairs.

"That won't be needed. I want to go back." I say unphased, my tone coming rather cold and detached.

" Why would you now?" She asks. Not even an ounce of shock lacing her voice.

"Well guess what? My Dad died in the blast today!" I exclaim, my lips quivering at the words 'died'. As much as I try to act unperturbed, I can't. " My mom is alone, I. . . need to get back."

" What about your country?" She asks.

" I have a tracker fitted to my body. So guess what, he doesn't trust me at all. And your plan fails there. I am bloody doctor not a fucking spy." I wheeze out the last part, shocked at her cool undertone to the incident.

It's then she turns to me, a cruel glint in her eyes, " Your father wasn't the only one who was killed. There were 395 others killed too. And many more will be killed if we can't catch Abdul Gaffar. Would you want that? We got the wrong intel about the train number, but the right information about Gate number five."

" So that blast was never meant to occur?" I ask her, now confused at the new information.

" Yes. 19029 was never supposed to blow up. We got the info for 19028. Or maybe we perceived it wrong."

" You perceived it wrong? My father died in that!" I almost scream before I realise where we are. My fingers clench around the railing, trying to refrain from making a scene.

" I am truly sorry for that." She says as the cruel glint leaves her eyes, but then returns, " Do you think we aren't facing the backlash for the one wrong number? It's not easy Nehali to serve your country, but you gotta try."

" You said I could get out if I wanted." I assert, not interested in any of it. I made a mistake ever trusting her that I could get out whenever I wanted to. She never wanted me to get back.

" You could, but now you can't. Those illegal migrants have already passed the barrier. We don't know when the next set will be going. So, why don't you try and keep your eyes open instead?" A part of me knows she's lying. There's no way she could have made me go back. The options were laid out just to deceive me into thinking I am in control, while it's the opposite.

A well laid out trap and I just stepped into it.

The bell chooses that moment to ring signifying the end of break.

"Time to go, don't forget that you are serving your nation and the first step to do that is, prioritizing your country over everything else, even you." She says as she skips down the stairs.

" Not for me, my father comes first." I whisper at her retreating figure.

I will avenge my father.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the late upload. Anyway I hope you guys are safe and sound.

-Love Aparajita