Hey there lovelies! New week and here I am with a new update! Now these week we are gonna have three updates, i.e. another two chapters beside this. Yaaay!!!

Dedicated to themysticalqueen for helping me reach 2K reads!!

Chapter 23 is gonna be Basheer's POV. Double Yaayy!!

There's no darn place for me to hide the gun in this godforsaken bare room. A room should atleast have a potted plant. I can't hide it in the cupboard, that would be the easiest location.

Fuck!

I am doomed. The gun still strapped to my right leg feels like a noose around my neck, a little tug and it will be the end of me. I look around the room frustrated as to where I can hide the gun without risking getting caught. For a moment I contemplate if I should just return it back. But that will leave me defenceless.

As exasperation and fatigue takes over me, I pinch my nose bridge trying to focus, find a solution. The sight of the untouched bed calls to me, my aching back agreeing to it immediately. It's uncomfortable with the strapped gun as I rest my upper half on the foot of the bed while my legs dangle downwards. My muscles hum satisfied immediately as the soft cushions touch my back. My legs swing in their own accord as I rethink about the ideal place to hide my gun.

Cupboard, chair, bathroom, bed.. . ..

Bed?

My sheen bounces against a soft padding and then it hits me. The mattress!

I can hide it in the mattress! Yes!

I bolt up immediately having got the idea, the headache now wearing off.

I push myself up albeit my back protesting the lack of comfort of soft cushions before crouching down, inspecting the mattress. No one unless looking for a gun, would pull up the mattress. My hands move to the drawers, scanning the contents searching for a knife or scissor or blade coming up with none. I am about to get up and make my way to the door when it strikes me, I have a used surgical knife in my coat pocket. I had used it to drain an abscess, but having no bin nearby I just kept in my pocket deciding to throw it away later.

Without any further ado, I pull the mattress before flipping it over. I test the area for a spring before using the blade to make a diagonal cut on a corner nearest to the headboard. Then pull away the cloth on each side as I roughly cut through the polyester padding pulling out a chunk of it making space for a gun. When satisfied with the space, I place the gun in it making sure it's nearer the side rail, before covering it thin slices of the polyester padding making sure the gun isn't felt. My fingers sew the small cut expertly, making it almost unidentifiable before flipping the mattress back and arranging the bedding. Thanks to the sew kit he had kept!

My fingers lightly graze the sides of the mattress near the cut, feeling the softness of the padding but on pressing it hard, the hard texture of the gun can be easily felt. It won't be a hard task to slice through the padding bringing out the gun.

I place the surgical knife in the bedside drawer before collecting the remaining pieces of padding and flushing them hoping they don't get stuck.

______________________________________________________________

The study room is mostly dark, the only source of light being the light emanating from the running desktop as it boots. The certified green meadow and blue skies with specks of clouds pops up as soon the computer finishes booting.

I wonder if it will come to any use other than what I'm supposed to do given that he agreed as soon as I wanted to access the computer for research. Right, research! I need to know what disease Basheer is suffering from because no matter however I wracked my brain for it, I came up with nothing but a resounding headache. And to be honest, I haven't got much time to do the thinking given my spy business.

The PC connects to the wifi, and I click on the familiar green, yellow, red icon as the page loads.

I type in the symptoms. Several links open up immediately but I only meet disappointment as I further scroll down.

Isn't that obvious? Otherwise Google would have been the doctor.

My mind flashes back to Dr. Nizamuddin as I consider asking him for help, after all he has completed his post graduation degree. But would it be fair to reveal such information to him, that would otherwise be sensitive?

Given the symptoms are not common, it won't be fair to reveal it. Perhaps he has a reason to hide it. But again, what harm will Dr. Nizamuddin do, anyway? The tip of my ring finger rubs over the shift key as I regard my options. Blowing out a harsh breath, I decide that's what I have to do without giving out the real patient in that.

I notice the time at the right end of the screen. Half an hour since I sat has already passed. For a moment I am tempted to open my email id. But, ISI being on my tails after that incident, my email address might be under their scrutiny, maybe even this desktop. Maybe that is why this computer doesn't even have a simple password. It would be just another futile attempt to try to go through the files.

Tired from the days toll, I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes momentarily.

If he doesn't have anything on his computer, then he will have his files somewhere in this study or his bedroom.

My eyes shot open as soon as the thought strikes, scanning the space before me looking for any probable place that could be used as a hiding space.

Those books! My feet carries me to the bookshelf immediately without any further thought.

-

-

-

Half an hour later, I lean against the pillar, blowing out a harsh breath. Past one hour has been nothing but an utter waste of time. When Basheer rushed out today, I thought it's my lucky day. But apparently not. Nothing, I could get nothing of any importance. Where does he hide it all? His bedroom?

Tired from the day's activities I rush to the computer switching it off, before striding out of the door. I don't know why I stop near Basheer's room. I don't even know why I turn the knob, slightly opening the door half expecting to meet Basheer's surprised orbs, but instead I find the room empty, engulfed in darkness.

He isn't back yet? He has been going out today more than often. He rushed out after returning from the Dargah, and hasn't been home since. I didn't even see him during dinner. The curtain billows in the wind, almost thrashing against the open window panes.

Is that a storm outside? What is he doing outside in the storm? As I try to reign in the curtains, sharp blows of wind hit my face like a punch, I struggle to keep my eyes open in spite of the dirt swirling in the air and getting in my eyes. I hastily try to close the windows while the wind assaults my face. When I am done, I look out through the glass panes admiring the strength of nature but my eyesight catches a blackish figure lurking in the shadows beaneath a large banyan tree half hidden by the trunk. And somehow it manages to make my stomach churn.

For a moment I wonder if its him, but then discard the idea immediately. Why would he be there if that's the case? If he's here to keep an watch, then it could be either me or Basheer, since only the windows of these two rooms open on this side. Why would they keep an eye on Basheer? That leaves only me.

A cold shiver runs down my spine making me retract from the windows as if afraid to be caught, although for sure he can't see me. My breath shudders as the only possible name comes to my mind. ISI? Have they been watching me all this time? Do they know of Apa? All of a sudden her safety concerns me, if she's safe.

I pull away the curtains, closing the view. Before I can scurry back to my room something white catches my line of vision. My curiosity takes me forward as pull the duvet revealing a white envelope.

Without any further thought I pick it up, scanning it's contents .

What are these?

The first picture shows the cowcatcher of a train, a plate that has the train number written on it and its destination.

Amritsar Puri Express.

19028

My brows crinkle in confusion as I bring out the next picture.

The second picture shows Gate No. 5 of Amritsar Station.

The third and last picture shows a man standing in a storage room of sort , his back facing me and behind him several sandbags are placed, one on top of another in a pile. He seems to be talking to someone. The other man's facial skin is milky white but dry and flaky with an unmistakable double chin. His brown irises stare at the other man whose face is hidden and seems eerily familiar. But I can't remember from where.

How does Basheer have these? What are these doing here anyway? What do these mean anyway? I can't seem to wrap my head around it. Realizing this wasn't meant to be seen by me, I immediately tuck the pictures back, putting the envelope on the bed just where it was.

Before I move out, I press the button once, letting them know I have information to convey. I move out stealthily from his door, shutting the door behind with a soft click. As soon as I get back to the confines of my room, a shuddering breaks through me with all the questions still swirling in my mind.

Who was that man?

Author's Note:

So where is Basheer? Read Chapter 23 to find that out!

Don't forget to vote ⭐and comment💌 and make this stupid heart ❤ happy!