The Blazing Heiress

23|| Nightmare of a Mother

"Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces."

―Kill the Dead, Richard Kadrey

***

"Vir, have this soup." Barkha walked toward her son and placed a large bowl of sizzling soup in front of him. "You'll feel better."

A faint smile flickered on Viransh's pink lips as his gaze locked with his mother's concerned irises. He nodded and sniffed in the sweet earthy aroma of the vegetable broth.

"Mom." He groaned when he felt his mother inch closer and grab the hem of the cotton saree before she swabbed his hair.

"Your hair is still wet. I won't be surprised if you'll catch a cold soon."

Viransh soughed as Barkha ruffled his hair, sponging a considerable amount of water into the soft fabric. "Mom, I'm not a kid anymore."

Barkha threw a pointed look at her son. "Don't whine on me. Even if you'll turn seventy tomorrow and have a beer belly and bald head with your teeth on the verge of falling out, you'll be still my little Viru."

"Mom, don't call me that!" His eyes widened in horror. He looked around as if trying to confirm if someone heard his mother.

"Shut up, young man. Now finish this soup." She patted his shoulder. "Don't forget to wash this bowl after you're done eating. Don't bother a maid for simple tasks."

"Fine," Viransh grumbled, picking up the spoon and sipping the broth. He felt marginally better as the warm broth sluiced through his throat.

The thick misty fog in his head cleared a little. Throughout the car ride, he managed to keep a straight face and avoid the questioning gaze of his mother after he hastened out of the Desai Mansion.

Everything was so fucked up. His hold on the spoon constricted thinking about her, his hand ice-cold but steady despite the sharp and ugly churn of his stomach as the suspicions swilled down his mind.

No, she can't be her. That girl has been dead for the past three years.

Agony leaked into his chest at the thought of the woman. The moments with her beneath the shroud of stars had penetrated his heart. When he learned she died, his chest broke so violently that it took him a coon's age to heal from her remembrances. Now, the sharp pain suppressed underneath his soul billowed, stabbing him mercilessly.

There was no denying that he felt something for her that night; maybe compassion but also something foreign—a twinge of familiarity perhaps. And in presence of Avni, he felt something unexplored; probably something he isn't willing to accept right now.

It couldn't be a coincidence finding the portrait of the same cliff. And how can he forget the vaguely familiar mark he saw on Avni's ankle? True that; two people can have a similar mark but on the same spot? His eyebrows furrowed. What if Avni's really that woman?

He nearly scalded himself with soup when the image of Avni, almost lifeless on the ground, flashed in his mind and made him drop the bowl on the floor. Dread buzzed beneath his skin and a slice of ache sluiced into his veins. He hissed and cursed as he stared down at the mess, telling himself that Avni can't be the same woman. No no, Avni is alive...and well.

"She didn't make it sir. There's no way a person could have survived that severe fall."

Viransh swallowed past a strange lump in his throat. He'd had told the girl was dead but a tendril of doubt slithered across his heart. Come on Vir, you didn't see her body. What if they lied?