Alisha

The fire alarm blared, and suddenly, I felt cool water droplets hitting my skin.
I slowly opened my eyes—Jayant was standing in front of me, completely drenched.

Water trickled down his face, past his sharp features. His brown eyes shone even in the dim light of the storage room.
For a moment, I just stared at him, mesmerized.

Then, without warning, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.
He peeked outside, checking for danger. But I… I wasn’t looking at anything but him.

The chaos around me faded. The sound of rushing footsteps, the echoing alarm—nothing mattered.
I could only see Jayant.

Even in the crowd, he didn’t let go of my hand.

We ran toward the ground, weaving through students, his grip firm around mine. I followed closely behind him, watching his determined steps.
At one point, he glanced back and suddenly picked up speed.

Our bus was waiting ahead. As soon as we reached it, we stopped, catching our breath.

I turned around—and there they were.
The same group of guys stood just a few feet away, staring at Jayant.

A nervous chill ran down my spine. Without thinking, I clutched not just his hand but his arm too.

The atmosphere grew tense. Their eyes were locked onto Jayant.

But then—they smiled.
One of them spoke in a strangely sweet voice, "I hope you both had a good time here. Goodbye. Do visit again."

Visit again? Not in a million years.
Jayant simply nodded and responded politely, playing along.

We quickly got on the bus.
As the doors closed behind us, I finally let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

Something strange happened on the bus.
Rishi—the same Rishi who had been teasing us all day— suddenly insisted that I sit next to Jayant.

I just stared at him, confused.
Was this really the same Rishi? Or had the students at Bright Future High secretly swapped him with someone else?

As if that wasn’t enough, he even handed me some fruits from his own fruit bag.
Weird. Really weird.

Then, out of nowhere, Rishi placed something in my hand—my prize medal.
I looked at it and felt a rush of happiness. But the moment my eyes landed on Jayant’s silver medal, my excitement faded away.

Jayant must have noticed because he suddenly smiled and said, “I’ve won plenty of medals, but this is my first silver. Next time, I’ll aim for bronze.”

I looked at him, puzzled.
“Why bronze?”
He chuckled. “So that I can collect all the colors.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with him.
“People usually aim for promotions, but you seem to be working toward a demotion,” I teased.
“Yeah, well, that’s just my luck,” he said with a grin.
We both burst into laughter—forgetting all the anger, all the pain.

--______-----_____

After some moments his eyes wandering beyond the glass as if searching for something unspoken in the world outside.
After a moment of silence, he turned slightly toward me and asked with a curious frown, “By the way… what does ‘dashed’ mean? I heard you say it to Rishi while Rishi and I. Honestly, it sounded like a cuss word. I’ve never heard you speak like that before.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. There was a playfulness in his tone, but also genuine curiosity.

“It is a cuss word,” I admitted with a mischievous smile tugging at my lips.
Jayant raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Really? I’ve never heard you swear.”

Leaning in close to his ear, I whispered, “That’s because this is my style of cursing.”

He laughed, the sound soft and full of amusement. “What kind of style is that? The other person doesn’t even realize they’ve been insulted. How is that even satisfying?”

I cut him off, grinning. “I don’t curse to make someone feel bad. I do it for my own relief. It's not about them… it's about letting something out of me.”

I rolled my eyes a little, remembering my mother’s stern voice from years ago. “Mom always told me, ‘Don’t use bad words.’ So, I don’t. At least, not the obvious ones… because of her.”

Jayant leaned back slightly, an intrigued smile on his face. “So, ‘dashed’ always means a curse, according to you?”

I looked at him, a playful glint in my eyes, and said with a small smile, “Well, I only ever use it that way. But my mom… sometimes she used it to express love.”

His eyes widened slightly, not quite sure what to make of that. “Wait, how? If she wanted to say something loving, wouldn’t she want the other person to understand it?”
I smiled gently, the memory warm in my chest. “No… sometimes she didn’t want them to understand. Just to feel something. Even if they didn’t catch the words, the feeling behind them… that’s what mattered.”

Jayant fell quiet, as if trying to piece it all together. Maybe he didn’t understand. Or maybe I wasn’t explaining it right.
Either way, he just stood there, lost in thought.
And I… I leaned back in my seat, resting against it. Slowly, I let my eyes close, a faint smile still lingering on my face.

--_

After after exhausted day, i straight went to home.
"Papa, look at my medal!"
I ran excitedly into his room, holding the medal tight in my hands.

He took it from me, his eyes soft with affection as he examined it.
"Gold medal," I said with pride, my eyes sparkling.

Papa smiled, then casually remarked, "It's just gold-colored... not real gold."
"What? Seriously?" My excitement vanished in an instant.

"So, it’s not real gold?" I asked, disappointment sinking in.
Papa chuckled. "No, it's not real gold."

With a sigh, I took the medal back and turned to leave. But just as I reached the door, his voice stopped me.

There was a heaviness in his tone—a pain I could almost feel.
"Tomorrow is Manisha’s death anniversary… Let me know if you’ll be there for the prayer."

I knew there were tears in his eyes, but I didn’t turn back.
I didn’t answer.
I just walked away, back to my room, and lay down on my bed, tears silently streaming down my cheeks. My heart ached with an emptiness I couldn’t put into words—I was missing my mother. Tomorrow was her death anniversary, the day we performed the rituals that never seemed to bring peace, only memories.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered into the darkness, hoping somehow she could hear me.

Whenever I thought about her passing, my mind dragged me back to that cold hospital room. I could see it as vividly as if I were still there—the sterile scent of medicines, the sound of machines humming, the pale white bedsheet wrapped around her frail body. I saw myself sitting beside her, waiting... just waiting... for her to open her eyes. I never stopped hoping, even when I knew deep down she wouldn't.

It’s a cruel thing, how our memories work. One painful thought unlocks another, and soon you're drowning. Her tired, pale face haunted me, her thin arm hooked to the IV line, life slowly slipping away. I had pretending to be strong—but inside, I was breaking.

The sadness crept into every corner of the house. Even as we sat around the dining table later that night, an unspoken silence hung over us. My father and I exchanged glances—we were both hurting, but we said nothing. Across the table, little Sonu stared at us, confused. He was too young to understand grief in its full depth, and maybe that was a blessing. Neither Papa nor I wanted him to carry the weight we bore.

After dinner, I quietly washed my plate and went straight to my room. I heard Papa take Sonu with him to his room. I tried to sleep—I truly did—but every time I closed my eyes, those hospital scenes returned. My mother, the machines, the waiting, the goodbye that never felt we get.

Unable to bear it any longer, I got up and walked to Papa’s room. He was already lying down, holding Sonu close in his arms. I slipped in beside them without a word. Papa noticed me but didn’t speak. He simply moved a little, making space for me. I nestled into the warmth of the bed, and he gently ran his fingers through my hair. He knew. Somehow, he always knew when sleep evaded me.

I reached out and began stroking his head in return. Neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to. He was on one side, I was on the other, and between us was Sonu—our little bridge of hope, of love, of continuation.

In that quiet room, wrapped in silence and shared sorrow, we drifted off to sleep. Not with peace, but with love. Not with words, but with understanding.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

The Next Morning

When I woke up, I saw Papa busy with the preparations for the puja. Without a second thought, I got up to help him.
Sonu was still asleep. Probably in deep sleep.

In a low voice, I asked Papa, "Should I ask Reema Aunty to look after Sonu for a while during the puja?"

Papa, adjusting Mom’s photo, replied, "I’ve already spoken to her. Just take him there and let him sleep at her place."
"Alright, Papa."
I left the hall and walked toward Sonu. He was curled up under his blanket, looking so peaceful. Carefully, I picked him up in my arms, making sure not to wake him.

As I carried him through the hall, his tiny eyes fluttered open.
"Why are you carrying me?" he mumbled sleepily.
Papa and I didn’t want him to know about the puja, nor did we want him to see Mom’s picture.

His innocent gaze was fixed on me, searching for an answer.
Thinking quickly, I twirled on my feet and started dancing with him still in my arms, making sure he kept looking at me and not around the hall. He giggled softly, unaware of what I was trying to do.

I danced all the way to Reema Aunty’s house, where I gently put him down. She understood everything without me saying a word.

Her son, Kabir, who was around Sonu’s age, immediately took his hand and led him to play.

As I turned to leave, I felt something warm roll down my cheek—a tear.
Just one or two.

He was still too young to understand any of this.
With a Heavy Heart
Papa and I sat together for the puja, but sitting through it wasn’t easy for either of us.
For me, the hardest part was looking at Mama’s garlanded photo.

The puja eventually ended, but Papa seemed to have forgotten to get up. The priest began gathering his things to leave, but Papa remained seated, his eyes still fixed on Mama’s picture.

This was harder for him than it was for me. I finally understood that.
Silently, I reached into the pocket of his folded kurta and took out the money he had kept for the priest. After handing it over and taking his blessings, I turned back to Papa.
He was still sitting there.
I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and nudged him.

"Papa, we should clean up. We can’t keep Sonu at Aunty’s place for too long."

At my words, he quickly wiped his tears and stood up. He took Mama’s photo and placed it back on the family picture wall. But he didn’t remove the garland.

Together, we hurried to clear everything up.
Before we finished, Papa turned to me and said, "Go to the temple today."
A little outside the city, there was a beautiful temple of Lord Shiva with a small pond beside it.

Mama used to go there often. On anyone’s birthday, she would prepare prasad—simple khichdi—and distribute it to everyone.

Papa wanted me to do the same today.
Without a word, I got ready and left for the temple.
I didn’t even get the chance to tell Jayant—or anyone—what today was or why I wasn’t going to school.

At the Temple
After reaching the temple, I took Lord Shiva’s blessings and then walked towards the back, where a few people were already preparing the khichdi. Papa had already assigned him to help me.

I joined them, taking their help as I started cooking. The fire burned hot, and soon, I was drenched in sweat.
Seeing this, Ramu Kaka said, “Betiya, why don’t you go outside for a while? Get some fresh air. We’ll handle things here.”

I refused at first, but he insisted. Eventually, I had no choice but to step away.
As I walked around the temple courtyard, memories of my mother flooded my mind.
Deep inside, I had always blamed myself for her death. Papa had told me it wasn’t my fault, but… still.

I found myself near the lake and sat down, burying my face in my knees, trying to hold back my tears.
And then—

“Alisha!”
A familiar voice called my name.
Quickly, I wiped my tears and looked up.
Jayant, Rishi, and Rahim were cycling towards me, with Dip following behind.
The four of them stopped right in front of me, still catching their breath.

Jayant spoke first. “Why didn’t you tell us it was your mother’s death anniversary today?”
I looked at them, confused. “How did you even know I was here?”
Rishi smirked. “You didn’t tell us, so we had to find out ourselves.”
“Just say it clearly,” I said, eager for the truth.
Jayant sighed. “We were worried when you didn’t come to school.”

I turned my gaze to Dip and asked him the same question. Unlike the others, he always gave straight answers.
Dip exhaled before explaining, “When you didn’t show up, we wondered why. Even the teachers didn’t know anything, so… your father got a call. But I didn’t do it, they did.”
I froze. “Papa?”
“Where did you even get his number? Wait—where did you get a phone?”
Rishi smirked again. “Jugaad.”
Jayant gave me a sheepish little smile, avoiding my gaze.

I turned to Rahim, hoping for an honest answer. “Did you guys do something stupid?”
Rahim shrugged. “Not really. We just stole the parents' contact list and borrowed a teacher’s phone with a little… persuasion. Simple.”
“You STOLE my dad’s number?” I stared at them in disbelief.

Before I could continue scolding them, Ramu Kaka came to call me. “Betiya, the khichdi is ready. Come check.”
Instantly, all four boys perked up, excited for the food.

They ended up helping with the distribution, and after everyone had received their share, we even washed the utensils together.

At last, we sat down to eat the remaining khichdi, laughing and chatting like nothing had happened.

Afterward, while the others explored the temple, Jayant and I stood by the lake, talking.

I turned to him with a soft smile. “Can I tell you a secret?”
He looked at me, his gaze just as warm. “Go on.”
“If you ever can’t find me, look for me here.”
(Jab main tumko kahi na milu, tab main yahi milungi.)
Jayant didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, as if memorizing my words.
Holding his gaze, I whispered, “Thank you… for coming.”

Earlier, I had been sitting here, drowning in sadness. I used to believe that sharing pain only made it worse.
But today, I realized—it makes it lighter.
I had started cooking the khichdi with a heavy heart, but in the end, feeding people had made me feel lighter, happier.
All because of them. All because of him.

..*.*.*.*.
🫶🫶