“I’ll keep him happy,” I forced out the words.
A small, peaceful smile touched his lips.
“Thank you,” he breathed.
Slowly, the tension left his fingers. His grip loosened, his hand sliding limp against the white sheets. On the monitor, the rhythmic mountain peaks flattened into a single, unending line. The high-pitched hum filled the room, signaling the end of the journey.
He was gone.
_______
Chapter 37
KAVYA
The house was full, yet it had never felt more vacant.
A sea of people flowed through the hallways, a tide of hushed whispers, rhythmic footsteps, and the heavy scent of incense. Mourning rituals were underway, a clockwork of tradition designed to ground the living, but I felt untethered. I stood retreated into a shadowed corner, my fingers laced so tightly together my knuckles turned white. My eyes remained fixed on the floor, tracing the patterns of the rug while the sacred chants echoed against the high ceilings. The ancient Sanskrit verses were meant to be healing, but to me, they were just noise.
My mind refused to stay in the present. It kept drifting back to the hospital room. I was still there, trapped in that singular, horrific second when his hand slackened within mine. I could still hear the mechanical, heart-piercing whine of the flatline on the monitor. In that moment, the world hadn’t just slowed down; it had stopped entirely.
Across the crowded room, Saurav sat near the garlanded photograph of his father. He was a portrait of stillness. His face was a mask of stone, no tears, no furrowed brow, just a terrifying absence. It was as if his soul had vacated his body, leaving behind a hollow shell to play the part of the grieving son. I stared at him, aching to bridge the distance between us. I wanted to crawl into his mind, to find the dark place where he was hiding and drag him back to the light. I wanted to be his anchor, butI was paralyzed by a cold realization: if I tried to reach for him now, I might only make his burden heavier.
"He loved him so much," a voice whispered beside me.
I started looking up to see Mrs. Rathore, Mr. Chauhan’s sister. Her eyes were bloodshot and the skin around her cheeks was splotchy and raw from hours of private weeping. Like her brother, she wore a mask of composure for the public, but it was cracking at the edges.
"Just take care of him, Kavya," she said, her hand heavy on my shoulder.
I couldn't find words. I simply gave a stiff, jerky nod. Soon after, Rhea and Avni found me. They collapsed into me, their tears dampening my shoulder. For a few moments, I held in their embrace, and felt a flicker of safety. I gripped them back with a desperate intensity, the urge to beg them to stay rising in my throat. But the world kept moving for everyone else; Avni had children waiting at home, and Rhea had a flight to Delhi at dawn.
Aryan had stayed by Saurav’s side for hours, but eventually, even his patience wore thin. Saurav was a black hole, absorbing everything and giving nothing back. Finally, Aryan sighed and retreated, giving my husband the isolation he seemed to crave.
Night eventually fell, dragging a heavy, suffocating silence with it. The guests had trickled out, the rituals were complete, and the house was left to its ghosts.
I stood in the kitchen, the cold glass of water in my hand trembling. The silence was so thick it felt like a physical weight.Then footsteps broke the quiet. I turned to find Saurav near the door. He wasn't looking at me. His car keys were clenched in his fist, the metal jingling like a warning.
"Are you going somewhere?" I asked, my voice small in the vast room.
He didn't respond. He didn't even look at me. He walked past me as if I were made of glass, the front door clicking shut behind him. I moved to the window, my forehead pressed against the cool pane, watching the red glow of his taillights vanish into the darkness.
Unable to sleep, I wandered into Mr. Chauhan’s study and found an old leather-bound album. I retreated to my room, curling into a ball on the bed as I flipped through the pages. I saw a different Saurav there, a laughing boy perched on his father’s shoulders, a wide-eyed child on a Ferris wheel, a nervous student on his first day of school. Then, I stopped. There was a photo of a young woman in an Air Force uniform. She was beautiful, barely in her twenties, with a sharp, intelligent gaze. His mother.
I flipped faster, searching. There were wedding photos, college snapshots, even pictures from their school days. But as the pages turned, a pattern emerged: there was not a single photo of Saurav with his mother. Not one.
I knew why. The diary I had found earlier sat on my nightstand, its secrets heavy enough to sink the house. The truth inside was haunting, a jagged piece of history that would shatter what was left of Saurav. I couldn't let him find it.
Driven by a sudden, frantic energy, I grabbed the diary and hurried downstairs to the backyard. I stood by the rose beds, themoonlight casting long, distorted shadows. My breath hitched. I felt as though the woman in the uniform was watching me from the darkness. My hands shook as I flicked a lighter, the flame dancing near the paper. Do it, I told myself. Protect him. But I couldn't. My fingers cramped, refusing to let go. The weight of the words was too much to destroy, yet too much to keep. Frustrated and trembling, I retreated back inside. The clock read 1:30 AM.
"Where the hell are you, Saurav?" I whispered to the empty air.
I dialed his number. The subscriber you are trying to reach is unreachable. I tried again and again. Panic, sharp and cold, began to claw at my chest. Finally, I dialed Abhiraj. He picked up on the first ring.
"Kavya..." his voice was low, wary.
"Do you have any idea where Saurav is?" I asked, failing to keep the tremor out of my voice. "Abhiraj, please. He’s not answering."
There was a long, pregnant silence on the other end. "He’ll be back. Don’t worry, Kavya."