Why?

The transparent smoke curling through the charcoal-covered incense stick is blocking my periphery of her. The golden bangles around her hand, which is adorned with small fake diamonds, are reflecting the yellowish hue of the sunrays.  

The white garments she wore is appearing yellow not from overuse but from the lack of washing. The shackles of iron circling around her neck are telling me... no, screaming the tales of her imprisonment.  

The pink, scarred lips of hers are chanting mantras, devoting part of her hope to the unnamed god. Eyes closed, face tilted upward.... toward the sun. Unkempt hair, ruffling-moving according to the wind’s desire.

And here I am, standing in front of her, wondering what could have driven her to commit such a horrendous crime. What are the reasons behind those faint, fleeting smiles? Why is she even praying? Would God listen to someone who broke every rule he set? 

Out of all the emotions I thought I would feel after meeting the person behind this nightmare, curiosity was the last on my list. They say curiosity kills the cat, but in my case, it’s killing my rage. It's drowning out my sadness. 

A hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump. I turned around to see a tall, broad-shouldered man speaking to me. It was Detective Varun Singh. His lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear a word. Maybe the sound of my own heartbeat was so loud, it drowned everything else out. 

A sharp clang echoed from outside, and the girl’s eyes snapped open. They met mine instantly, and I froze, gripped by a fear I had never known before. I was so aware of my own body that I could feel a single drop of sweat tracing its way down my back. 

I saw the exact moment she recognized me. That same smile curled over her pale lips again, and it hit me, this wasn’t the smile of someone at peace. It was the smile of someone cruel. The spell broke, and this time, curiosity was gone. 

All I felt was rage. 

I turned toward Detective Varun, who was still speaking to me, standing right beside me. This time, I gave him my full attention.  "Are you sure you want to talk to the person..." 

 "...who killed my son?" 

I looked at his black, bearded face, his eyes heavy with sadness. I didn’t understand why he was acting like he cared. He didn’t even know my son before he died.  "Yes, this is difficult. I understand."  

"No. I want to know why she killed him." 

He nodded at a nearby officer, who stepped into the cell first and cuffed her to the table. With a slight gesture, he led the way inside, and I followed him. As I sat down on the chair across from her, I could feel her eyes studying me. I refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. I forced my face to stay blank. 

"You're his mother, aren't you?" she said. Her voice was soft, almost sweet, a chilling contrast to the cruelty I knew she was capable of.  I didn’t answer. I just looked up and stared straight into her brown eyes.  

"I can tell just by looking," she said, tilting her head slightly, scanning me from head to toe. "Same hair. Same jaw. Same mannerisms." 

Heat rose to my face. I glared at her, my fists clenched.  "Just tell me why you killed my son."  

"Your son," she repeated slowly, as if the memory tasted bitter. "Such a kind-hearted person. Always there to help people. Even when they didn’t want it. A sparkling star in the darkest night." 

I slammed my hand on the table and stood up.  "Don’t tell me things I already know. Tell me why you killed my son!" 

 "Tch. Tch." She clicked her tongue and smiled, making my anger rise further. "Now, why would I tell you that?" 

"Because you killed him. You owe him that much. And you owe it to his mother, you psychotic, cold-blooded murderer!" I leaned closer and spat the words in her face. 

"Calm down, Riya," the officer beside me said, guiding me gently back into my chair.  "You don’t have a choice."  "But that’s where you’re wrong. I always have a choice."  "Either we force the truth out of you, or you tell us willingly."  "Be my guest. It won’t be worse than anything I’ve already survived." 

"What do you want, Sejal?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. It sounded defeated even to me. 

She smirked.  "You know how it feels to be poor? To go a whole day without food? To beg at car windows, hoping someone rich will toss you a few coins? To eat from dumpsters? To watch your kid, cry from hunger and not be able to do anything?" 

I shook my head. I had never known that kind of life. I had always been rich. There was always my father’s money to fall back on. For a brief moment, guilt crept in. Was that why she killed my son? Because life had treated her cruelly while it gave him comfort and ease? Because she suffered, and he didn’t? 

I looked at her frail body, the scars on her hands, the dark circles under her eyes.  "Is that why you killed my son? Because life has been unfair to you? Because you were jealous?" I asked. 

"That’s a story for another time," she said. "Right now, I want you to meet my daughter. Give her five thousand rupees and a message from me." "And if I don’t do that?"  "Then you will never know why I killed your son." she said with a twisted little smile, "Do what I’ve asked, and I’ll tell you everything." 

When I stepped back into our house, I expected silence, but not this kind. Not the kind that seeps into the floorboards and stretches itself across every object like a shroud. It used to be too big for the three of us. Now, with Hitesh gone, it feels like a tomb.

Every corner whispers his name. Every cushion looks like it’s waiting for his weight. Even the dust feels like it’s grieving.

A week. It’s been a week since I saw his face. Since I heard his voice. Since I felt the lightness he brought into my life. I keep waiting to wake up from this nightmare, but all I find is the cold side of the bed and an ache that doesn’t ease.

He was my reason for everything. My compass. My purpose. Every dream I dared to have began and ended with him. And now… sleep mocks me. Because I know that every dream will end in the same place.....his absence.

And I don’t know how to live with that.

The calls haven’t stopped. My relatives keep ringing, my parents, my brother, cousins I haven’t spoken to in years. They all mean well, but every word feels hollow. They talk as if they understand, as if grief is something that can be shared through speakerphone and condolences. But they don’t know this ache. They don’t know what it’s like to breathe and feel it burn.

My husband… he hasn’t said a word in days. He comes home late, eats whatever’s on his plate like it’s tasteless, and goes straight to bed without even glancing at me. We’ve both lost something, but somehow we’ve lost each other too.

Right now, I have no one. No one but this burning need to know what happened to my son. It’s the only thread holding me together.

The next morning, I got ready early. My husband had already left, another silent exit. Part of me was relieved. I didn’t want to lie to him about where I was going. 

I asked my assistant to withdraw the money and texted the address to my driver. We drove into a part of the city I had never seen like this before. A place worn thin with poverty, tired homes, broken windows, laundry strung like prayer flags between rusted poles. 

We stopped in front of a small, crumbling cottage. Mud clung to the walls, and smoke from a nearby burner drifted into the air. I knocked. 

A woman in her late thirties opened the door. Her eyes looked me up and down, not cold but cautious. Somehow, her face felt familiar, like a shadow I couldn’t place. 

“I was sent by Sejal,” I said. “I’ve come to see her children.” 

She hesitated, then stepped aside. “Come in.” 

She pulled a plastic chair closer for me. “Please sit.” 

The inside was dim. Mud-packed walls kept the room cool, but the single bulb in the corner flickered weakly. There was barely anything in the room, just a mat, a shelf with a few utensils, and a metal trunk pushed to the side. 

“Would you like some tea? Or water?” she asked politely. 

I shook my head. My throat had felt too tight for days. I wasn’t sure I could swallow anything without choking on grief. 

“Can I meet Sejal’s daughter?” I asked gently. 

The woman turned toward the inner room and called out, “Munni! Someone’s here to see you.” 

A little girl emerged. About six years old, wearing a stained pink frock and holding a fraying teddy bear with one ear sewn back on with white thread. Her hair was tied in two uneven buns, and her wide brown eyes scanned me curiously. I wanted to laugh at the cruelty of faith, making me meet the daughter of a woman who killed my son.

I forced a small smile. “Hi there.” 

She stopped just short of me and replied softly, “Hi.” 

“What’s your name?” I asked. 

“Ayesha,” she whispered. 

“Ayesha,” I repeated, smiling. “That’s a beautiful name.” 

“Thank you. My mama says it means ‘life that lives forever.’” 

My jaw tensed. The mention of Sejal made my chest tighten. 

"I miss my mommy. Do you know where she is?" she asked, eyes filled with a kind of innocent hope that shattered me. 

I opened my mouth, but nothing came. How do you tell a child that her mother is behind bars? That she may never come home? 

Before I could speak, the woman beside me snapped, “Munni, how many times do I have to tell you? Your mother did something wrong. She’s in jail.” 

My head turned sharply. I glared at her, stunned by the bluntness. How could someone say that to a child? Even if it was true, this little girl didn’t deserve that weight. She didn’t deserve to be punished for her mother’s mistakes. 

“She’s just a child,” I said, my voice tight. 

“I’ve met your mother, Ayesha,” I said, turning back to her. I reached out, brushing her knuckles gently. “She asked me to come see you. She said she loves you very much. And that you must study hard and grow strong so she can be proud of you.” 

“Can you take me to her?” she asked. Her voice was soft, but her eyes lit up like stars. 

Before I could reply, her aunt grabbed her wrist, harshly, and started pulling her back. Ayesha whimpered in pain. 

“Hey! You’re hurting her,” I said, standing quickly. I reached out and peeled her fingers away from the girl’s arm. 

Kneeling beside Ayesha, I looked into her eyes and said softly, “I’m sorry. I can’t take you to her. But… if you want to tell her something, I’ll make sure she hears it. I promise.”  

“Say that I miss her and I love her so much and I always prays to the god she is happy”  I smiled at her. “Okay, I'll tell her that”  

I turned to Sejal’s aunt.  “Can you tell me something about Sejal?” 

Her eyes scanned me, defensive.  “Why? You think listening to old stories will bring your son back?” 

“No. I just want to know what kind of person killed him.” 

She scoffed. “Killed? She didn’t even want help. She never did. Always had this foolish loyalty to Raj. Even when he beat her bloody, she’d say, ‘He’s my husband.’ Pathetic, really.” 

I frowned. “You’re saying… she loved him? Even then?” 

The woman gave a cruel laugh. “She didn’t stop loving him. She’d hide her bruises with that damn cheap powder and tell Ayesha he was ‘just sick.’ Hitesh? He tried to help. But she never asked him to. She pushed him away. Maybe that’s why he died.” 

My stomach turned. 

“She only ever softened for Ayesha. That girl was her lifeline.” 

“Where’s Raj now?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer. 

She shrugged. “Dead, I heard. Slipped into the canal. No one found the body. But it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. Good riddance.” 

I visited the prison the next day. She looked thinner, older. 

“I met Ayesha,” I said. “She still hums your lullabies.” 

Her eyes watered. “She’s okay?” 

“She misses you.” 

“I miss her too.” 

My voice sharpened. “You miss your daughter? What about my son?” 

Her lips trembled. “I never meant for him to get involved.” 

“Then tell me. The truth. Right now.” 

She inhaled shakily. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Raj came home drunk. Again. He found me hiding the notebook. Hitesh had told me to start keeping record… to have proof if I ever wanted to leave.” 

I clenched my fists. 

“Hitesh was helping you?” I asked. 

“Yes,” she said, then looked away. “But I didn’t want his help.” 

“What?” 

Her eyes flicked up, almost ashamed. “I still loved Raj. I thought… maybe he’d change. Maybe if I held on long enough, he’d remember the man I married. I was trying to leave, but not for me. For Ayesha. I couldn’t stop loving him, no matter what he did.” 

I stared at her in disbelief. “So you didn’t ask for help. But Hitesh got involved anyway.” 

She nodded. “That night, Raj tried to stab me. Hitesh got in the way. They fought. The knife turned. Hitesh fell.” 

Her voice broke. “I screamed. I held him. He kept asking me to run. I didn’t.” 

“Why didn’t you tell the truth?” I asked. 

She met my eyes with hollow resolve. “Because if Raj went to jail, Ayesha would have no one. I was the only one earning. He was a mess, yes, but he was all I had. And Ayesha needed someone. So I said I did it.” 

“You gave up your life for a man who abused you?” 

Her voice cracked. “I thought I could keep him alive and protect my daughter. I thought… I thought I could save them both.” 

My heart pounded. 

“Sejal,” I whispered, “Raj is dead.” 

She blinked. “What?” 

“He fell into the canal. Two days after your arrest. He drowned.” 

Her face crumbled. “No… no, no, he was supposed to take care of her!” 

My voice rose, trembling with rage. “You gave up everything for a man who let your daughter starve and ran away while my son bled out on your floor!” 

She shook her head violently, as if the truth would go away if she denied it hard enough. “He wasn't supposed to die. I didn’t know. I thought he’d get clean, find work...” 

“You ruined Hitesh’s life for a fantasy. You let your daughter be raised by scraps of people. And you threw yourself into prison for a man who wasn’t even there when you needed him.” 

Tears streamed down her face. “I loved him.” 

I stood, my body trembling with fury. “And that love destroyed everyone around you.” 

She looked up, broken. “What happens now?” 

I turned my back to her. “You rot here. Alone. Just like you chose.” 

As I walked out, her scream echoed behind me. 

“I DIDN’T KNOW!” 

Outside, the sun was rising. 

I called her aunt. Told her I’d be taking Ayesha. She wouldn’t understand yet. But she’d learn. 

Not just about what happened. 

But about what not to become. 

She’d grow up hearing about her mother. Not the way Sejal might have wanted but the way she deserved. 

The truth. 

I’d make sure of that. 

This ends with me.