Page 18 of Born in Grief

Amay: I have a new patient. Car crash victim.

Ishaan: Tragic. What’s it to do with us?

Virat: For fuck’s sake, Ishaan. A little empathy would be nice.

Ishaan: Empathy? For someone who couldn’t fucking control their car? I ask again, what’s it to us?

Amay: It’s Dhrithi.

Amay sat back in his seat, watching the dots dance across his screen as his friends typed. He waited endless moments, but it looked like they were deleting and editing forever because nothing appeared. Finally…

Ishaan: Your Dhrithi?

Amay: Not exactly my Dhrithi, but yes.

Virat: Do you need me?

Did he need his friends? No, he didn’t think so. Not yet anyway. Dhrithi was just his patient, one that was in a lot of trouble from the looks of it. But that had nothing to do with him. All he had to do was heal her. And then she’d go her way and he’d go his.

Amay: No. I’m fine.

Ishaan: Please don’t say you need me.

Amay: Definitely don’t need you @Ishaan.

Ishaan: Is that all? The love of your teenage hormone infused dreams reappeared. Or is there more?

Amay: She married Varun.

Ishaan: Of course she did. Statistically speaking, that was the only possible outcome of their relationship.

Amay: He’s dead.

Ishaan: Good riddance. Are we supposed to mourn the dickhead?

Amay: He died while crashing his car into hers. The same crash that landed her in the hospital.

This time there was silence, no dancing dots appeared for a while. And then…

Virat: I ask again, do you need me?

Chapter Eleven

DHRITHI

The pain was ebbing and Dhrithi was finally starting to feel a little better. She watched the nurse inject something into her IV bottle, her eyes tracking every little movement the woman made.

On the wall across from her bed, the television had a daily hindi soap running, the heroine weeping copious tears over her child’s bad behaviour. Her mother, perched on the attender’s bed, her legs up and a bowl of chips in her lap, watched the drama unfold, her rapt attention not leaving the screen long enough to even clock the nurse’s presence in the room.

The door to the room opened and the doctors swept in for their rounds. Dhrithi’s gaze immediately searched the group, looking for him. But he wasn’t there. Dhrithi was surprised by the intense disappointment that swam through her. The lady doctor from the other day approached her bed and started asking her questions. She answered as best she could.

She saw the doctor glance over at her mother who hadn’t looked away from the television. She hadn’t lowered the volume either.

“Did you go for a walk this morning?” the doctor asked.

Before she could answer, the door swung open and Amay walked in. Her breath caught as her gaze snagged on his serious face, the lines of exhaustion etched into it telling her he’d had a long shift.

“Good morning,” he said in his deep baritone, his eyes meeting hers, and Dhrithi took what felt like her first full breath that day.

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