Losing Echoes [Complete]

9. Revealed

Flashbacks are in bold

"Major Zaviyar is most probably alive but not in any ideal situation. He's hostage."

The car took another turn moving on the clear Islamabad road.

"We have to dig deeper to know who is behind it and this isn't going to be easy."

Her hands clutched the steering tight while she felt her veins would burst any point now. The reverberation of the conversation she'd just been part of was colliding with her ears making it difficult for her to breathe. She stopped the car close to a tree and leaned against the seat.

"Major Zaviyar is most probably alive."

"But not in any ideal situation."

"He's hostage."

"Major Zaviyar."

"Alive."

"Probably."

"Not."

"Any ideal situation."

"Hostage."

Covering her face with her palms she let the reality hit her and as soon as the words which were not mere words made their full impact, she took a long breath to contain her sobs but it was in vain. The tears and the cried were mingling together, getting muffled the way she had covered her face. But anyone could see how torn and devastated she was. But if the person for whom she was crying would see her right now, he'd move worlds to reach her. And that was making her cry even harder. How would they reach other? Where was he? Why was he taken? Was he alright? Was he even alive?

He had to be or else those people wouldn't go through the ordeal of his fake death.

Fake death.

Was it a joke? Who could be this cruel to be this level of twisted? Faking someone's death like this? She felt sick to the core. Her tears were telling their own story of helpless and anger. She was on the verge of breaking into pieces. For three weeks her life was in a whirlwind of agony and just now she was getting the hints that may be it wasn't their fate, it was made theirs forcibly. No one was here to tell her to stop so she didn't even try. She let the tears flow and kept on crying on this turn her life had taken. Her eyes darted towards the mirror on the front. The bloodshed eyes and tales of unfinished farewells, she could see it all. Soon, the reflection started changing; morphing into something she was so familiar with. A distant memory. A distant world. Her. His. Theirs.

"Harram, I've told you I'm used it. You don't have to try to hide your tears from me with the excuse of packing my stuff."

He stood leaning against the wall seeing her folding his clothes and wiping her face every now and then. It's been just a week they had sorted all the issues between each other. In other words just a week since he had finally gotten her forgiveness. But now he was called on a short notice back to the duty and the new case that needed his attention. His on field and off both work was increasing. He had never minded it and he wasn't doing so even today but Harram wasn't ready to let go yet. Since the time he had come back home all bandaged with bullet wound on his arm, she was always scared whenever it was time for him to go back to work. She had never let it show. He'd still seen it so now, when she was not even hiding, how would he not know?