Page 32 of Born in Grief

“The billing formalities are done. But we need you or one of your attenders to sign your discharge form.” The woman held out a sheaf of papers.

Dhrithi took the papers from her with a wan smile. “No attenders. Just me.” She clicked open the pen the lady handed her and scribbled her signature in all the appropriate places.

“Thank you.” The woman took the papers back. “Do you need a wheelchair?”

Dhrithi’s pride grabbed her by the throat but she nodded. Her legs felt like wet, soft noodles and fainting on her way out of the hospital wouldn’t be the greatest look on her first day of true independence.

She got off the bed and into the chair they wheeled in, her normally comfortable track pants bagging on her hips. She’d always been on the thinner side but now, her build was best described as toothpick style.

The nurse picked up her packed duffle bag and laid it in her lap. Dhrithi checked she’d put her phone and its charger inside and then it was time to go.

Her gaze went to the door, buthedidn’t appear. The last thing she remembered was watching him work, serious frown in place as he highlighted something on some important looking papers. At some point, she’d fallen asleep with his quiet, steady company and then she’d woken up alone. When she’d opened her eyes, there had only been the quiet.

“Ready?” The nurse asked her, smiling kindly.

Dhrithi took a deep breath and nodded. She clutched at her duffel, so it didn’t go tumbling to the floor as the attender wheeled her out of the room. They went down the long hallway she’d painstakingly taken stumbling, shaky steps to traverse. The memory of Amay’s strong arms wrapped around her, bracing her as she struggled to get back on her feet enveloped her, taking her breath away.

She blinked rapidly as sudden tears stung the backs of her eyes. He’d left without waking her this morning and she’d probablynever see him again. That was good. Amay and she had nothing in common. Not anymore. They were on parallel life paths. No intersection in sight. Not unless she planned to be in another car crash.

A snort of laughter escaped her, a single tear slipping down her cheek at the same time, drawing a curious look from the nurse who was walking her out. Dark humour, the darkest, had always been what got her through her days. And yet, today it only highlighted the desperate, chaotic quiet of her life.

They exited the elevator, turning right towards the large double doors that led out onto the road. Dhrithi watched the brightly lit pavement outside, teeming with people rushing into or out of the hospital. Everyone had a purpose, somewhere to be. Everyone but her.

“Will someone be picking you up?” the nurse asked as they approached the doors.

“No.” Dhrithi shook her head, surreptitiously wiping the rogue tears that escaped her rapid blinking. “I’m booking a cab.”

“No, you’re not.”

Amay’s voice almost had her dropping her bag. She managed to right it at the last moment.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked huskily, looking up at him as he walked beside her wheelchair. He didn’t look at her, his gaze on the view outside the doors they were rapidly approaching. And then they were out. Dhrithi found herself parked on the pavement and tried to struggle to her feet. Before she could manage it, Amay grabbed her duffel bag and wrapped a hand around her arm steadying her.

“I’ve got this from here,” Amay told the nurse who looked relieved to be able to hustle away. His arm moved to wrap around her waist as she swayed a little by his side. For a second, just the smallest microsecond, she allowed herself to lean into him, to soak in the quiet strength that was so much a part of him, and so little a part of her manic life.

And then she pushed away, standing straight on her noodle legs.

“You’ve got what exactly?” she asked him.

Before he could answer her, if he ever had any intention of doing so, she heard it. A throaty purr that warned of its arrival before it appeared. She knew those purrs. She’d been married to a man who’d been hooked on to those purrs. She looked over Amay’s shoulder to the Porsche 911 Carrerra GTS that hove into view. A subtle, sexy grey, with the top down, it was one sexy car. And it had nothing on the man who drove it.

Dhrithi watched, amusement slithering through her, as traffic literally stopped to watch the car roll to a stop beside them and the driver got out. The man driving it was dressed like he had just stepped out of a board meeting, one in which he’d ruthlessly acquired some poor company before eating the founder’s guts for dinner.

“Was the dramatic entry necessary?” Amay growled from beside her.

“Always,” the man replied, tipping his sunglasses down and looking over the top of them at Dhrithi. His gaze scanned and dismissed her before her shaky smile of greeting had even managed to form. He turned back to Amay and shot his cuffs, tugging on his suit jacket so it aligned perfectly, no creases allowed.

“What do you need Ams?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to all the covert and not so covert interest he was garnering.

“Ish,” Amay said, warning sharpening his tone. “You remember Dhrithi? From school?”

“Hard to forget Ms. Goody Two Shoes,” he answered, not bothering to look at her. “What do you need?” he asked Amay again, the cold, hard planes of his chiselled face completely impassive.

“Ishaan Adajania!” Dhrithi exclaimed, memory sliding through her brain as recognition clicked through. “Wow. You’ve changed.”

He turned then, taking his sunglasses off to look at her. Frigid, hard eyes the colour of obsidian stared down at her. “Not the shabby nerd you remember? Sorry to disappoint.”

“Th-that’s not what I meant,” Dhrithi stammered.

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