Page 21 of Born in Grief

“No.” Dhrithi stopped him with a quick shake of her head. “I’ll do it myself.”

Sighing, Amay reached for her again, one hand bracing her back and another holding on to her outstretched hand. With a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed, Amay helped her into a sitting position, adjusting the cannula so the tube didn’t kink.

Dhrithi’s breathing was choppy and ragged as she struggled to get her body to do something as basic as sit without support. Amay sat down beside her, one arm going around her shoulders, silently offering his own for her to lean on.

He felt more than saw her head turn towards him as she looked at him, a question he couldn’t answer in her eyes. Slowly her shoulders relaxed and her head settled onto his shoulder, her breathing steadying. Amay didn’t move, he barely even breathed. To have Dhrithi beside him, after all these years was something out of a dream. To have her head resting on his shoulders was tipping into fantasy territory.

They sat in silence, in the dark room, neither willing to address or even acknowledge the ghosts of their past.

“Are you ready to walk?” he asked, forcing himself to break the moment. This was dangerous and neither of them could afford to dabble in it for too long.

Dhrithi groaned, her breath feathering over his collarbone and sending a shiver down his spine.

“No, Amay.”

“Yes, Dhrithi.” Her name on his lips felt both awkward and familiar. Unsettled, he got to his feet and took hold of her IV stand. “Come on, let’s go.”

With his free hand, he wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. She grunted softly, staggering a little before finding her balance.

“I can’t do this,” she whimpered, taking a small, shuffling step forward.

“Sure you can,” he answered, slowly herding her forward. “Aren’t you the same girl who once climbed a tree to retrieve her scrunchie?”

“Aren’t you the same boy who threw my scrunchie into that tree and got it stuck there in the first place?” she asked, some of her old fire shining through in the small smile on her lips.

Amay dragged his gaze from her lips and stared straight ahead as they took another few shuffling steps. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You shouldn’t make any accusations without proof.”

“I know what I know, Ams.”

The old nickname made his heart ache but he forced himself to ignore it. They needed to stop this walk down memory lane. It led nowhere.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Home.” Dhrithi grunted as she placed her right foot forward and leaned heavily on Amay’s bracing hand.

“The thread count on the hospital sheets don’t live up to her standards?”

Dhrithi laughed, an aborted huffing sound. “Nothing lives up to her standards. Not even her daughter.”

Silence fell again as they continued to hobble along the long, hospital corridor.

Until Dhrithi broke the quiet. “He’s dead,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless.

Amay kept walking, one arm wrapped around her, the other pulling her IV stand along, his gaze on the far wall at the end of the corridor. “He is,” he agreed.

“And you’re here.” She glanced up at him, her eyes raking over his profile.

“I am.” He turned to look at her, forever drawn to the pull of her gaze. The moment spun around them like a web of fine gold, infinitely precious and heartbreakingly rare.

“How did this happen, Amay? How did we end up here?”

And just like that the web tore, fragments drifting away on the pain of the past.

“You did this to us, Dhrithi. That’s how this happened.”

Chapter Thirteen

DHRITHI

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