Jayant

 When we found out that today was Alisha's mother's death anniversary, we all felt the same thing-we needed to be there for her. Even if we couldn't do much to help, just being by her side felt important. So instead of heading home after school, we went straight to the temple.

Evening had set in. Alisha had picked up some khichdi for her father and brother. Now, the only question left was-how would she get home?

There were five of us and only four bicycles. My cycle was a single-seater, so riding with someone on the back wasn't an option. Among us, only Dip had a cycle sturdy enough for two people. But he immediately refused, saying he wasn't good at balancing with someone sitting behind him.

To be honest, neither was I. None of us had much experience riding with a passenger.
But then, Rishi stepped forward, full of confidence.
"I'll do it," he declared.

Slowly, we made our way forward. Behind us, Rishi struggled to keep Dip's cycle steady, swerving left and right as he pedaled. Alisha sat behind him, gripping her prasad tightly. Before getting on, she had already warned him, "My prasad better not fall from my hands!" Maybe that was why he looked so nervous.

After a short distance, Rishi finally gave up. He skidded to a stop and huffed, "I can't do this. This girl keeps moving!"
Alisha shot back, "Well, you were riding so badly! Of course, I had to adjust!"
Rishi groaned. "You're heavy, and this road is steep."
We all knew he was just making excuses to cover up his failure.
Rahim immediately called him out. "What steep road? This is completely flat!"
Rishi scoffed. "Look properly, man. You'll see it."
Dip and I were already out of ideas, so we turned to Rahim. "Your turn, buddy. Give it a try."
Rahim got on, but within seconds, he was struggling just like Rishi had.

Alisha was getting frustrated. "None of you know how to ride a cycle properly! Move aside, I'll do it myself."
We all turned to her in shock. "You know how to ride a bike?" we asked in unison.
She nodded confidently.
"Yeah, sure," I said. "But can you ride with someone sitting behind you?"
Alisha sighed. "I can. But the person behind me has to be lighter than me."

That ruled out almost everyone except Rahim, who was the lightest among us. So, we made him sit behind her.
To our surprise, Alisha actually rode pretty well. Not perfect, but definitely better than Rishi and Rahim.
Slowly, we made our way home.
After dropping Alisha off at her place, we all split up, heading to our own houses-ending the day with yet another ridiculous adventure.

The next morning, it was the same school, just a different day. Everything seemed to be going well.
By now, Rishi and Rahim had fully welcomed Alisha into our group. Even Dip had somehow ended up as a part of it-unfortunately. But what surprised us the most was how comfortable Alisha had become with us.

Lunch had quickly turned into our favorite time of the day-sharing food, stealing bites from each other's tiffins, and just laughing over silly things. That day was no different. We were sitting in a circle in the garden, enjoying our meal, when suddenly, from our section, Riya collapsed.

The moment we saw her faint, we rushed to inform the teacher and took her to the medical room. We stayed outside, waiting anxiously.

After a while, the nurse stepped out and called for Alisha. Curious, we peeked through the door.

Inside, we saw the nurse handing Alisha some medicine and saying something-probably asking her to give it to Riya after lunch. But Alisha immediately refused.
"Give this responsibility to someone else. I can't do it," she said, her voice steady but firm.
The nurse seemed taken aback. Maybe she thought Alisha was being selfish, unwilling to help. The teacher also urged her to take the responsibility, but Alisha stood frozen. Her hands trembled as she hesitantly reached out toward the medicine. The moment her fingers touched it, she flinched.
"No!" she screamed.

We rushed inside, alarmed by her reaction. The teacher and nurse looked just as shocked. Alisha's breathing grew rapid, her eyes fixated on the medicine that had fallen to the floor. Her whole body trembled as she whispered frantically, "No, no... I can't take this responsibility. What if something happens?
What if... what if she dies? What if I forgot to give her medicine? No, no, no..."
The room fell silent except for her panicked murmurs. She clutched her ears, rocking slightly, her gaze locked onto the fallen pills as if they were something terrifying.

"It happened because of me... death happened because of me... No, no!"
Something inside me twisted at her words. What was she talking about? What did she mean by 'death happened because of me'?
Without thinking, I stepped forward, placing myself between her and the scattered medicine. We all called her name, but she didn't seem to hear us-lost in some invisible storm raging inside her.

Gently, I reached out and placed my hand over hers, trying to pull them away from her ears. But her grip was tight-too tight. It was as if she was trying to block out a voice only she could hear.

Something was terribly wrong. Alisha wasn't just afraid... she was reliving something. Something painful.
My hand rested gently over hers as I stood in front of her, meeting her gaze.
She had stopped mumbling now, but her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto mine. Silent streams of tears ran down her cheeks, falling like an unbroken thread.
And then, in a barely audible whisper, she said, "I didn't do anything."
"I know," I replied just as softly.
Carefully, I led her to the bed and helped her sit down.

Without letting go of her hand, I sat beside her, holding it firmly-letting her know she wasn't alone.
The teacher had already informed her father, and soon, Alokh Uncle arrived.
The moment he saw Alisha, he pulled her into a tight embrace. "It's okay, I'm here now," he whispered.

And just like that, Alisha broke down completely in his arms. She clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably.

But unlike before, seeing her like this didn't make me uneasy. Instead, I felt relieved that she was in her safe place, with someone who could hold her together when she was falling apart.
Uncle turned to Rishi and asked him to bring Alisha's things. He was taking her home.
I wanted to ask him why this had happened-why Alisha had reacted this way, why she had a panic attack. I had known her for two years, but I had never seen her like this before.

But looking at Uncle, I could tell he wasn't in the mood to answer questions.
He took Alisha's belongings from Rishi, held his daughter close, and left without another word.

Even the teacher didn't ask anything. Maybe this wasn't the right time for questions.

No one in class could focus. Without Alisha, it felt like something was missing. She was a part of our group, a piece of our little world. And after what had happened earlier, not knowing why it happened or how she was doing made it even worse.

So after school, we decided to go to her house. We needed to see her, to make sure she was okay.
Her father opened the door. His face was heavy with worry, the sadness evident in his tired eyes.

"We came to see Alisha," we said.
He stepped aside, letting us in, but his voice was gentle yet firm. "She's sleeping right now. You can see her tomorrow at school."
But I wasn't satisfied with that answer. I couldn't leave without at least seeing her once. So I insisted.
Eventually, he let us peek into her room from the doorway. She was lying there, fast asleep.

Satisfied, we followed Uncle back to the living room, where he offered us water and even asked if we wanted something to eat.
We politely declined-except for Rishi, of course.
"Biscuits would be nice," he said without hesitation.

We all shot him a glare, silently scolding him. Realizing his mistake, we quickly told Uncle not to bother.

Rishi, clearly embarrassed, sank into the couch, his face falling like a disappointed child.

I turned to Uncle without hesitation. "Uncle, please tell us-why does she behave like that?" My voice carried the weight of expectation, hoping he would finally give us some answers.
But he shook his head, brushing it off with a weak excuse. "It's nothing, son. Sometimes people just get exhausted."
Dip, however, wasn't convinced. He quickly interjected, "Uncle, that wasn't just exhaustion. It looked like a panic attack... or some kind of trauma trigger."
I nodded, pressing further. "Uncle, please tell us. What is it that triggers her so badly... that she completely loses control?"
Rahim added in a low, thoughtful voice, "Is she blaming herself for something?"
Uncle fell silent, lost in thought. He seemed to be debating whether or not to tell us the truth.

In the midst of this heavy moment, Rishi mumbled just loud enough for us to hear, "Should I say something now, or did you guys rehearse this whole dialogue beforehand?" He had whispered it to Rahim, but we all heard it.
No one reacted. We simply ignored him, our focus locked onto Uncle, waiting for his answer.

Uncle took a deep, shaky breath, as if gathering the strength to unearth something buried deep inside him. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and for a moment, he seemed lost in the past.
"She's blaming herself for her mother's death... even though it was never her fault."

His voice was raw, heavy with a sorrow that time had failed to erase.
"She was just twelve," he continued, swallowing hard. "Manisha-her mother-was in the hospital, fighting cancer. It was the final stage. We knew we were running out of time, but I never thought..." He exhaled sharply, struggling to hold himself together. "That day, I had to come home for a while, just for a short while. I left Alisha with her mother, told her, 'If anything happens, call me. Or call the nurse."
His fingers trembled as he clenched them into a fist, his knuckles turning white. "I gave a twelve-year-old girl a responsibility no child should ever have to bear."

Silence settled around us like a suffocating blanket.

"She was alone with her mother in that cold hospital room," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "The nurse handed her a medicine, told her to give it to Manisha in an hour. But she... she forgot. She lay down beside her mother... and fell asleep."

He shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to block out the memory. But it was clear-he could still see it, still feel it.
"She didn't even realize... that while she slept, her mother had already... left."

His voice cracked, and he let out a ragged breath. "When I reached the hospital and saw Manisha lying there... cold, lifeless... I lost it." He clenched his jaw, his eyes brimming with unspeakable pain. "I-I turned to Alisha and... I blamed her."

A stunned silence filled the room, the weight of his confession pressing down on all of us.
"I told her it was her fault. That because of her, I never got to say goodbye to my wife."
His shoulders shook, and his breath hitched. "At that moment, I wasn't a father-I was just a grieving husband. And I destroyed her with my words."

His voice grew weaker, almost pleading. "Maybe if she had given the medicine, maybe if she had stayed awake... Manisha could have lived just a little longer. Just a few more moments. I know she was going to leave us either way... but that regret-it's unbearable. That final goodbye I never got..."
A tear slipped down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, as if ashamed of his own grief.

For the first time, we truly understood the storm raging inside Alisha.
The way she flinched at responsibility. The way she shut down at the mention of sickness or medicine.

She wasn't just afraid. She was carrying a wound so deep, so raw, that even years later, it still bled.
None of us spoke.

Because in that moment, there was nothing to say.

So we just sat there, letting the silence wrap around us, waiting for Uncle to gather himself. Waiting for the heaviness in the air to lift-if it ever would.
A soft voice broke the silence from behind us.
"Papa, are you crying?"
Alisha had woken up. Her voice was groggy, still laced with sleep, but her question was clear. Had she heard anything? Hopefully not.

Uncle quickly wiped his tears, composing himself. "It's nothing, beta. Look, your friends are here to see you." He forced a smile as he stood up. "Sit down, I'll get something for you to eat," he added, turning toward the kitchen.
Before he could leave, Alisha gently grabbed his hand. "Are you okay? What happened to me?"
Uncle chuckled, pulling his hand away. "You're fine. Don't worry about it." And with that, he disappeared into the kitchen.

Alisha sat down with us, but for a moment, none of us knew what to say. The weight of everything still lingered in the air. So, to break the tension, I casually brought up a new topic.
"Next year is our board exam. Should we join a coaching class together? It'll be easier if we all go to the same place."
The atmosphere lightened a little as everyone chimed in, discussing plans for studies and tuition.

As we talked, my eyes wandered across the room. That's when I noticed it-a framed photo of Manisha Aunty with a garland draped over it.
I don't know what came over me, but without thinking, I stood up, removed the garland, and placed it on the side table.
The room fell silent. Everyone stared at me, confused.
I turned back to them and simply said, "Why make her feel distant by putting a garland on her picture?"
But deep down, I knew the real reason. I didn't want Alisha to see the garland and be reminded of her mother's absence. Seeing a garland on a photo is a painful reminder of death.

Uncle and Alisha didn't say anything-but from the look in their eyes, I could tell they understood. And they didn't mind.

The atmosphere slowly returned to normal. Alisha hadn't wanted to laugh, but we made sure she did. At first, she tried to resist, offering only small smiles, but eventually, she gave in. Her laughter was hesitant, but it was there-fragile, like a flame struggling against the wind.

We spent the rest of the time playing, teasing each other, and even pretending to study. Hide and seek with Smit, as always, turned into the most competitive game in the world. Every moment felt lighter, as if we were trying to erase the weight of what had happened earlier.

Then, Uncle's voice broke through our fun. "It's getting late, kids. You should head home now."
We knew that was our signal. Slowly, we picked up the scattered books, folded the blankets, and straightened the room. The warmth of the moment was still there, but something lingered-like an unfinished conversation, a shadow we weren't acknowledging.
As I reached the door, ready to leave, something made me pause. I turned back, my eyes instinctively seeking Alisha.
She looked fine. Or at least, she was pretending to be.

But then my gaze drifted to something else-Manisha Aunty's framed photo. And beside it, the garland.
The same garland I had removed earlier.
A strange feeling crept up my spine. I looked away, shaking off the thought, and stepped outside. But before I could take another step, something pulled me back.
I turned around, walked up to Uncle, and-without really knowing why-I picked up the garland.
"Can I take this with me?" My voice was steady, but my chest felt tight.
Uncle frowned, confused. "What will you do with it?"
Suddenly, all eyes were on me. Alisha. Dip. Rishi. Rahim. They all waited for my answer.

But I didn't really have one. So, I lied. "We're already heading out. I'll just drop it in the river on the way."
The second the words left my mouth, Uncle's face changed. His gaze sharpened, his expression unreadable. When he spoke, his voice held an edge I hadn't heard before.
"The river is far, son. Leave it. I'll take care of it."
His refusal was clear. Almost... protective.
Something about it made me uneasy. Why didn't he want me to take it?
I didn't back down. "The river is right in front of my house. I'll do it." My words were casual, but inside, something was stirring.
Then, before Uncle could protest, Alisha spoke.
"Okay, you can take it."
Her tone was calm. Too calm. As if she was trying to figure something out, just like I was.

Uncle hesitated but didn't argue. Maybe because Alisha had given permission.
I took the garland put in the bag. and stepped outside. But as I rode my cycle, my hands gripping the handlebars tighter than usual, I didn't go toward the river.
I went straight home.
Because something inside me knew... this wasn't just about a garland.

After dinner, I walked toward my parents' room. The door was slightly open, and I saw my mother standing in front of the mirror, adjusting her hair.
Dad, moving slowly, came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug.
"You need to pay a little more attention to your son," Mom said, her voice soft but firm.
Dad raised an eyebrow, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Why? What has he done now?" His tone was light, but he could sense the seriousness in her words.

Mom let out a small sigh. "He came home late today. Alok told me he was at their place. But he didn't tell me himself, and that worries me."
Dad chuckled, kissing her cheek. "He's growing up."
Mom shook her head. "That's exactly why I'm saying this."
I knocked on the door, making them turn toward me.
Mom smiled warmly. "What happened, beta?"
Dad's voice followed, more observant. "Is there a problem?"
They could already tell something was on my mind just by looking at me.
I hesitated for a moment, then looked at Mom. "Can you come to my room for a bit?"
Dad straightened up. "I'll come too."
But I shook my head. "No, just Mom."
Something in my voice must have told him not to push, because he didn't insist.

Mom and I sat on my bed, her warm hands gently holding mine. I could see the concern in her eyes-the silent question of why I couldn't share this with Dad.
I hesitated for a moment, then, staring down at my lap, I finally asked, "Mom... what does it feel like to not have a mother?

A strange stillness filled the room.
Mom's grip on my hand tightened slightly, her eyes searching my face. It was an unusual question, and I knew it caught her off guard.
"Tell me, please," I said, my voice quieter this time.

She reached out and gently lifted my chin, making me look at her. "First, tell me what's really on your mind."

So, I told her. I told her about Alisha. About how she had lost her mother. About how she blamed herself for her mother's death. About how lost she looked today, drowning in something none of us could understand.

Mom listened in silence. And then, without a word, she pulled me into a tight embrace.
Her arms around me felt safe. Warm. Like home.
She stroked my hair, her voice soft but full of emotion.

"A mother is a nurturing and loving caregiver, a source of unwavering support, and a vital influence in shaping the lives of her children, embodying both strength and tenderness."

"God cannot be everywhere, so He made mothers. A child always knows that as long as they are in their mother's arms, nothing can hurt them. A mother is a safe place."
She pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes.
"For a girl, her mother is the one who teaches her what it means to be a woman. Right now, Alisha must be going through so many changes-things only a mother can explain, things only a mother can comfort. She may not say it, but she is missing her mother in ways she doesn't even understand herself."

I felt a lump form in my throat.
Mom wiped a tear from my cheek before it could fall. "She's still just a child, beta. She will miss her mother, but that's where you-and all her friends-come in. You can't replace her mother, but you can make sure she doesn't feel alone."

I nodded, my chest feeling heavier yet lighter at the same time.
Because now, I understood.
Mom looked at me for a long moment before asking softly, "And having me... how does that make you feel?"
Her question caught me off guard.
I opened my mouth to answer but paused. I needed a moment.
I looked at her, at the woman who had always been there-through every scraped knee, every bad grade, every moment of doubt. And then, I found my words.
"Having you... is like having a best friend.
You always love me, even when I mess up.
You scold me when I make mistakes, but only because you care.
You cheer me on, no matter what I do.
You protect me from Dad's scoldings, even when I probably deserve them.
You do so much for me, Mom... and I don't even know how to put it into words."

I swallowed hard, feeling something stir deep in my chest. "You're precious to me. I don't ever want to lose you."
As I spoke, something clicked inside me.
The answer I had been searching for-the one about Alisha, about what she felt-was right there, hidden in my own words.
I wanted to understand what it meant to not have a mother.
But maybe... the real answer lay in knowing what it meant to have one.

"So, did you find your answer?" Mom's voice was gentle, but there was knowing in her eyes.

I didn't respond right away. My gaze drifted somewhere distant before I turned back to her. And then, without a word, I pulled her into a tight hug.
"Yes," I whispered. "What Alisha doesn't have... I do. And now I know how to fill the emptiness in her heart. I just have to make her feel what I feel about you."

Mom smiled, though there was a flicker of confusion in her eyes at my words.
She tucked my hair behind my ear like she always did when I was a kid. "Alright then, I should go. Your dad is probably pacing near the door, worrying himself sick."
We both chuckled at the thought.
She pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "Good night, beta."
"Good night, Mom."

As soon as she left the room, I let out a deep breath. My eyes went to the bag kept on the desk nearby, I took out that sandalwood mala from it.
running my fingers over the beads, feeling their weight in my palm.
For a long moment, I just stared at it.
Then, a small smile formed on my lips.
Alisha... I won't let you feel that emptiness anymore. You'll still remember your mother, but with happiness-not just sorrow.
With that silent promise, I carefully placed the mala inside the safest corner of my cupboard.

Some things weren't meant to be forgotten-only remembered with love.
_____

The next morning, I went straight to Alisha's house. My steps felt steadier, like they carried a sense of purpose.

As her father opened the door, I greeted him with a polite smile.
"Uncle, I've come to pick Alisha up. From today, we'll go to school together."

He looked at me strangely-curiously, even-as if trying to read something beyond my words. Alisha was probably still in her room, getting ready.

Uncle nodded slightly and gestured for me to sit down before heading into the kitchen to pack her tiffin. But I didn't stay in the living room long-I quietly followed him.

"Uncle... how is Alisha now?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

Without looking at me, he replied, "You can ask her yourself today."
I lingered by the kitchen doorway, pacing a little, uncertain. He must have sensed it-my hesitation, my bottled-up thoughts.
"Do you want to say something?" he finally asked, still focused on the lunchbox.
I quickly shook my head, forcing a small smile. "No, Uncle." I reached out to take the tiffin from his hand.
But before I could leave, he gently stopped me.
"Wait... did she panic too much yesterday?" His voice was calm, but there was a layer of concern underneath.
I looked at him and nodded softly. "Yes, she did... but Uncle, we're all here for her. We won't let her feel alone again."
He smiled faintly and placed a warm hand on my cheek, a gesture that caught me off guard. It felt... fatherly.
And then, gathering all my courage, I said the words I had actually come to say.
"Uncle, I promise you... nothing like yesterday will happen again. I'll take care of her. I'll treat her like a princess-the way mother would treat their own daughter."

"I'll protect her like a princess. Her past will never touch her again."

He looked at me, a bit puzzled. "What do you mean, beta?"
I met his eyes and said clearly,
"I'll treat her like a princess... the way a mother would-with gentleness, patience, love... everything she's missing."

"I promise you... I promised to myself.."

He didn't respond right away. Maybe he didn't fully understand what I meant, or maybe he wasn't ready to.
But before I could explain, Alisha appeared, ready for school.
There was no time left for deeper conversations. So I smiled at Uncle once more, took Alisha's hand in mine gently, and we left.

Some promises don't need explanations. They just need to be kept.

____________________________________________________________

Note: A 15 years old boy, Jayant spoke from a place of pure emotion rather than understanding. He couldn’t fully comprehend the promise he made to Alisha’s father—he only knew he wanted to be there for her. He wanted to do something for her.

___________
🫶🫶