Yugh went straight home. His first act was to walk into the bathroom and splash cold water on his face, as if he could rinse away the turbulent thoughts. It provided no relief. He then went to his bedroom and lay down on the bed, stretching out with the deliberate intent of forcing his mind to replay everything. đ
The images came in a relentless torrent: Zayan and Zahra, together in death as they had been in secret. The details from the police inspector's investigation, the cold, clinical facts from the autopsy reports, the intimate confessions in Zahra's diary, and now, the final piece, her financial investment in Zayan's venture. All of it swirled in a chaotic loop behind his closed eyes.
"Zahra having an affair with him is one thing," he whispered into the empty room, his voice strained. "But why invest in his business? What was the real reason behind that?" đ€
Yugh was a man of strong will, hardened by life's trials. Yet, the cumulative weight of this betrayal; emotional, financial, and now so vividly confirmed, proved crushing. As he lay rigid on the bed, staring blankly upwards, he felt a hot, unfamiliar sting in his eyes. Against his will, tears welled up, tracing a slow, burning path down his temples, past his ears, and onto the pillow below.
He didn't sob; the pain was too deep for sound. It was a silent eruption of grief and utter bewilderment. đ„
The ceiling above him blurred into a featureless, beige haze. The quiet of the house, once a comfort, now felt like a suffocating blanket.
"Why, Zahra?" he finally spoke aloud, his voice a broken rasp in the stillness. "Why did you leave me with this maze of secrets? Why did you make a fool of me?" His questions hung in the air, met only by the profound, unanswering silence of the empty room. It was a silence filled with the deafening echoes of her absence and her deceptions. đ