I scrambled downstairs, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I felt sick. My vision blurred as I rushed toward the foyer. “Mr. Chauhan!” I cried out again, but only the echo of my own voice answered.
With trembling hands, I rummaged through my bag, finally fishing out my phone. I dialed his number, my breath coming in jagged gasps. A moment later, I heard a faint ringing. It wasn't coming from outside or a pocket; it was coming from the study. I walked back in to find his phone sitting right there on the desk. He was gone, but his life was still here.
I immediately dialed Uncle Dhruv. It went to voicemail. I hissed a breath between my teeth and redialed instantly. This time, he picked up.
“Ma’am… ” his voice was thick, guarded.
“Where is Mr. Chauhan? Why isn't he answering?” I asked, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “Is he in a meeting? Is he…”
“He collapsed this morning, Kavya,” Dhruv interrupted softly. “He’s in the ICU.”
The world seemed to tilt. I felt the hot sting of tears finally breaking free, spilling down my cheeks. My legs felt like lead.
“What… what happened?” I choked out, clutching the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.
“He hasn’t been well for a few days ever since you left for your dance competition,” Dhruv said, his voice cracking. “When I went to check on him this morning, I found him on the floor. He was unresponsive. I got him to the hospital as fast as I could.”
“I’m coming. Send me the address.”
Dhruv gave me the details, and I practically fell into a cab. The drive was a blur of gray buildings and honking horns. When I reached the hospital, I sprinted through the sterilized hallways, but I stopped dead when I saw a familiar figure slumped in the waiting area.
Saurav.
He was sitting outside the glass doors of the intensive care unit, staring blankly at a fixed point on the linoleum floor. He looked diminished, his usual sharp posture replaced by a hollowed-out exhaustion.
I approached him slowly. He noticed my shadow falling over him, but he didn't look up. “How is he?” I whispered.
No response.
“Saurav, is he okay? What are the doctors saying?”
Still nothing.
“Saurav… ”
Finally, he looked up. I instinctively took a step back. His eyes were bloodshot and raw, yet strangely dry, as if he had no tears left to give. His expression was a haunting mask, hard as stone, yet completely shattered underneath. The silence between us was suffocating. I wanted to reach out, to take his hand or offer some shred of comfort, but the coldness in his gaze stopped me. He looked at me like I was a total stranger. Like I didn't belong in his grief.
The heavy double doors of the ICU swung open. A doctor emerged, looking haggard and drained. He pulled down his mask and scanned our faces.
“Are you Mr. Chauhan’s family?” he asked, his voice low and professional.
“I’m his son,” Saurav said, standing up. His voice was raspy, like he’d been screaming in silence. “How is he?”
The doctor sighed, looking down at his clipboard. “I’m afraid the news isn't good. Your father is in the final stage of a brain tumor.”
The air left my lungs. “A brain tumor?” I whispered. “What are you talking about?”
“The collapse occurred because the intracranial pressure became too high,” the doctor continued, offering a sympathetic look. “There is a massive internal bleed. He has been dealing with this for months. He knew the diagnosis, but he refused the surgery. At this point, there is nothing we can do to stop the progression. He has a few days left, at most. We are focusing entirely on his comfort now.”
The corridor felt like it was spinning. My father-in-law was dying? He had been carrying this secret alone while we were caught up in our own lives?
“Can I see him now?” Saurav asked, his voice sounding hollow.
“Yes,” the doctor nodded.
As the doctor led the way, I moved to follow, but Saurav suddenly blocked my path. He turned to me, his eyes flashing with a warning.
“You stay here,” he said. The words were cold, slicing through the air.