Page 5 of Born in Grief

Scrubbed clean, Amay let them gown and glove him before moving into the main surgical space.

“She’s under,” Dr. Faraz, the anesthetist said from the head of the table.

Amay nodded his thanks. “Scalpel.” He was making the cut even before the last syllable left his mouth.

Four hours later, Amay rolled his shoulders and stepped back. The damage had been far more extensive than the reports hadshowed. The patient was lucky she’d reached the hospital when she had.

“Post op and then ICU,” he said, voice rough with fatigue. “I’ll speak with her family now.”

“Her husband was killed in the car crash.” The nurse’s voice dripped with pity. “No attenders to speak to at the moment.”

Tragic but Amay didn’t care. He’d done his job. The rest of this shitshow was the unconscious woman’s problem.

All he wanted to do was fall into the bed in the break room and sleep. “Wake me if-“

But whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips as the anesthetist removed the mask and he caught sight of the patient’s face.

“Dr. Aatre?” One of the nurses came to stand beside him, puzzled.

“Her husband died in the crash?” he asked through numb lips, his gaze still frozen on the unconscious woman’s face.

“Yes Sir. Except-“ She trailed off, her demeanour stiff and uncomfortable.

“Except what?” Amay asked, taking a step closer to the table, unable to help himself. He could feel the years dissolve as he stared at her. Under the bruises, the swelling, the cuts, she looked the same.

Dhrithi. His Dhrithi.

“They weren’t in the same car,” Dr. Faraz’s dry voice cut through. “He was the one driving the car that rammed into hers.”

Amay’s heart pounded, its beat a roar in his ears. “What was the asshole’s name?”

“Some Gokhale.” Faraz shook his head. “I peeked at the initial police report while they were prepping her for surgery. The cops are still out there, not sure what they’re waiting for. The dude is dead and this lady won’t be waking up for a while.”

The dude was dead.

Decades later, Varun Gokhale was dead. And Dhrithi Sahay or Dhrithi Gokhale, as it were, was back in his life.

Chapter Three

DHRITHI

She heard voices first, though everything remained dark. She turned her head blindly towards the noises, an instinctive plea for comfort. But there was no comfort to be had. The voices kept nattering on without heeding or understanding her silent cry.

Was she still alive? She wanted to ask but her lips wouldn’t move, her body seemed to have abdicated from her mind. Alive, she shuddered. She was still alive. Which meant he would be waiting…patiently. He always had endless patience when toying with her.

The pain came in waves. Endless waves, that receded before swirling back and submerging her, drawing her under, deeper into its embrace. She went gladly. This pain was nothing compared to what was waiting for her if she woke up. She prayed she never woke up.

When she next woke, she heard nothing but the darkness around her shifted, shadows snaking through her vision and making her hyperventilate. She glanced around the strange room, pain lancing through her at the slightest movement.

Nothing. There was nothing and no one. Beside her a machine started to beep, a noise that was starting to resound in her head. The door to the room swung open and a slim, gnarly looking nurse walked in.

“You’re awake!” she said in Marathi, her voice sounding like water flowing over crushed rock. “How are you feeling?”

Like she’d been hit by a truck, Dhrithi wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. She opened her mouth a couple of times but no sound came out, her terrible joke dying unspoken. She brought one shaking hand to her throat and the nurse smiled kindly. “Thirsty?”

She produced a small paper cup with a straw from nowhere and brought the tip of the straw to Dhrithi’s lips. She sucked at it greedily, allowing the cool liquid to filter down her raw, scraped throat.

“Am I-“ The tortured words slipped out, seconds before the door swung open again.

---