Jayant

"I won't let anything happen to you. As long as I'm breathing, your breath will never leave you."
The words left my mouth before I even realized I'd said them. She was already curled against me, small and fragile in my arms, and I didn't want to imagine a world where she wasn't.

She lifted her into my arms and walk to towards uncle while carring her. I tucked Alisha into the back seat, and she clung to my arm as if holding on would stop the world from tipping. Her head found my shoulder and rested there, warm and heavy. Uncle and Aransh watched from the front seats, silent and uneasy.

When we reached her house I carried her up the stairs, each step a quiet ache. Inside her room I laid her down gently. I peeled off her heels, draped a blanket over her body. She blinked up at me.
"I'm sorry, Jayant," she whispered. voice raw "Maybe I shouldn't have hide this."

I pressed a finger to her lips and hushed her. "Shh... rest. That's all."

She fell asleep almost immediately, breath evening out like a tide finally finding shore. I adjusted the blanket, lingered a second, then looked toward the door. Uncle stood there, his face unreadable in the doorway.

I stepped out. He met my eyes and asked, blunt as a knife, "You found out about her illness, didn't you?"

I let the question hang and walked straight to where Aransh stood. "Are you leaving for Mumbai tomorrow?" I asked.

Aransh hesitated. "That was the plan... but Alisha's not well. Maybe I should stay."

My voice cut through his worry. "Stop the fake-boyfriend act, Aransh. It isn't helping anyone." He stared at me, startled. "How do you know?" he asked.

"I'll book your flight right now," I said, forcing a smile that felt like a fracture. "You can go tomorrow morning. Mumbai has work waiting for you anyway." He nodded, bewildered but compliant, and went off to Sumit's room.

Uncle's question found me again in the hallway. "How did you find out?" he asked.

I met him squarely. "I went to her flat," I answered. "I read everything. I found Dr. Randhir Khurana's card-he told me. about her diagnosis, about her condition."

Then i asked firmly "aap kab se jante hai yeh?"

("How long have you known this?")

Uncle lowered his gazed "6 Mahine hone wale hai ab" he admitted.

("It's going to be 6 months now.")

My breath hitched of its own accord. "Aur abhi tak aap use bacha nhi paye?" The accusation tasted bitter in my mouth.

("And you still couldn't save her")

He said it aloud like a verdict: "It has no cure." Tears pooled in his eyes as if to soften the brutal truth. "She will die," he whispered, the words splitting the air.
"Mar jayegi, Ma..r..mar jayegi"

("She will-she will die.")

I felt something inside me snap, then harden. "No," I said, louder than I meant to. The word was a promise and a defiance both. "Woh nhi maregi, main use nhi Marne dunga, aap samjh rahe hai main kya keh raha hu. Main nhi hone dunga aisa. Nhi hoga kuch use."

("She won't die. I won't let her die. Do you hear me? I won't let anything happened to her")

It was partly for him-Uncle's grief needed something to anchor it to-but mostly it was for myself. I needed to say it until I believed it.

I took sumit's laptop from Sumit's room, sat by Alisha's door, and opened it. The hospital's numbers, research papers, anything I could find-if there was the smallest thread of hope, I would follow it. I would chase down every option. I would become the kind of man who could fight fate-not with prayer, but with stubbornness, with plans, with undying insistence.

Because in the soft rise and fall of her sleeping chest, I heard a life that wasn't finished yet. And I couldn't, wouldn't, let it be.

The dim glow of the laptop screen painted my face in pale blue light as I scrolled through article after article. Neurostoma. The word had already begun to sound like a curse etched into my skull. Page after page of medical journals, case studies, and survivor accounts of Neurostoma-a rare tumor lodged between the hippocampus and temporal lobe, right in the center of memory itself.

Symptoms-sudden gaps, hallucinations that blur the past with the present, wild emotional swings, blackouts. Treatment? Surgery, but at the risk of erasing every memory. Radiation and chemo would only stall it for a couple of years before it came back. Sometimes, rarely, the tumor went dormant on its own.

I read every line twice, three times, as if I could force the words to rearrange into a miracle. There had to be a way. The world outside was waking up, but inside my head there was only a single mantra: There must be a way to save her. There must.

Day 7_____

"Jayant... what are you doing?"

Her voice startled me. I snapped the laptop shut and turned. Alisha was sitting up in bed, her hair spilling over her shoulder, eyes heavy with sleep but searching my face with quiet concern. I crossed to her immediately.

"You're awake?" I said, forcing calm into my voice. "Are you feeling okay?" i asked.

She gave me a small, practiced smile. "I'm fine."

I placed the laptop on the table and pulled open the cupboard to fetch clothes for her. "Go freshen up first," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

But then she asked it, soft and direct. "Jayant... are you alright?"

Her question struck me like a blow. For a heartbeat, I had no answer. Since learning about the tumor, about the ticking clock inside her head, I hadn't been able to feel anything for myself. My emotions were a storm I didn't know how to name.

"I'm... not," I finally admitted.

Her eyes softened, her breath catching. "Jayant..."

"I don't know what I'm feeling," I said, my voice low, raw. "Maybe I want to burn the world down. Maybe I want to smash everything until there's nothing left. I'm so angry I could scream until my throat breaks. But instead, I'm just... feeling helpless."

She swallowed hard, blinking fast. "You're not okay."

"I can't be okay," I said, voice dropping to a vow. "I won't be until you are."

Something flickered in her eyes then-fear, sorrow, and a tenderness so sharp it felt like a knife. Tears gathered at the corners of her lashes. She brushed them away quickly, her fingers trembling. "Don't say things like that again," she whispered. "I don't want to hold on to the hope of living."

She rose abruptly and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door softly but firmly. I knew she was crying on the other side.

I went to the door and rested my forehead against it. My voice came out rough, almost a vow. "Alisha... don't cry. I'll fix everything. I promise. Just... get ready and come out. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Then I sat back on the edge of her bed, waiting.

When she finally emerged, dressed and composed but with faint shadows under her eyes, I stood and pulled her into my arms. She melted against me, and for a moment, I held her as though nothing matters.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

Alisha, Uncle Alok, and I were at the hospital. A nurse wheeled Alisha away for her tests, leaving Uncle and me seated opposite Dr. Dutta.

He spoke quietly, "She doesn't have much time. Keep her as happy as you can."

That was it. No hope. No plan. Just a slow countdown.

When we stepped out into the corridor, his words spun in my skull like broken glass. She doesn't have much time... keep her happy...

"Koi to rashta hoga hi," I whispered to Uncle, my voice tight, almost a plea. "Jarur koi rashta hoga, usse bachane ka."

("There has to be a way, Some way to save her-there must be")

He looked at me for a long, exhausted moment before answering. "Koi rashta nhi hain."

("There is no way.")

We just stood there, staring at each other in heavy silence. Then Uncle said quietly, almost as if confessing, "Ek baat kahu jayant, tumhe lagta hai alisha ko bchane ko koshish sirf tum kar rhe ho, par aisa nhi hai, main sari koshish kar chuka hu, uska wakt badha skte hai par uski maut nhi taal skte hain."

("Do you think you're the only one trying to save her? I've tried everything, Jayant. We can stretch her time, but we can't stop her death.")

"surgery bhi to option hain" I began.

("But surgery-")

"Surgery ke liye alisha nhi maan Rahi Hain," Uncle cut in.

("She is not agree,")

"Main mana lunga usse," I said immediately.

("I'll convince her")

He gave a dry, bitter laugh. "Koshish kr lo." And then he turned and began walking down the corridor toward Alisha's room.

("Then try")

I followed, That's when Uncle came back to me suddenly. Panic flickered across his face.
"She's gone. Alisha's gone."

My heart lurched. "What do you mean?"

"She was supposed to wait here. The nurse told her to wait." His hands were trembling.

I forced myself to breathe, to steady him. "She's here somewhere, Uncle. Don't worry. I'll find her."

I ran down the hallways, scanning every room. Then, through the open door of a patient's room, I saw her. Sitting on a chair by the bed, laughing softly, talking to someone who wasn't there.

I pushed the door open gently. The room was empty except for her.

"Alisha," I called.

She didn't respond.

Uncle entered behind me. "Alisha."

She turned at once, her face lighting up. "Papa, you're here!" She grabbed his hand, pulling him to sit beside her on the bed. "Mom and I were talking about you. We were wondering when you'd come."

Mom.

A chill moved through me. Auntie had been dead seventeen years ago.

Uncle's face went ashen. He couldn't speak.

"Papa," Alisha said, eyes shining with childlike joy, "when will we take Mom home?"

His voice trembled. "Alisha... come with me. Let's go home."

"No," she said softly, shaking her head. "I'm not leaving without Mom."

"Alisha," Uncle whispered, "your mother isn't here."

Alisha turned to the empty bed and smiled. "She's right here. Mom, tell Papa."

Something inside Uncle snapped. "Your mom is dead!" he shouted. He grabbed her arm. "Come with me."

Alisha pulled her hand free, her voice suddenly rising. "You're trying to take me away from her! That's why you're saying this, isn't it?" She looked back at the bed. "Mom? Mom, where are you?" Her voice cracked. "You were just here."

She began throwing things, her face twisted with panic and grief. My chest felt like it was caving in. I tried to reach her.

"Alisha-"

She grabbed something from the bedside table and hurled it at me. It hit my forehead with a dull thud. Uncle tried to calm her, but she was beyond hearing.

Then, abruptly, she went still. Her shoulders trembled. Her eyes filled with tears. "It's my fault," she whispered hoarsely. "It's my fault she died. Papa, you were right. She died because of me." She began smashing objects with her hands, sobbing. Nurses rushed in at the sound.

Alisha snatched up a sharp object from the tray. "I should die too," she cried. "It's all my fault."

She raised it to herself.

I lunged forward and grabbed her wrists, but she fought like a wild thing, slashing my hand in the struggle. Blood slicked my fingers.

"Alisha!"

"Alisha shant ho jao please" I said, trying to calm her down.

("Alisha, please calm down.")

Uncle was shouting, nurses yelling for help, the room a storm of noise and fear.

Then Dr. Dutta appeared and plunged a injection into her arm. Her body jerked once, then went limp in my arms.

"What the hell did you do?" I roared at him.

"She'll be fine," he said calmly. "It's a sedative. In fact, you should thank me. I just saved your life."

"I didn't ask you to save me," I spat. "I could have calmed her down."

"No one can control her anymore. This is madness," he said, his voice flat.

I sank to the floor with her still in my arms, my hand bleeding, Uncle crouched beside me, broken. The hospital corridor beyond us buzzed with life, but inside that room it felt like the world was collapsing in on itself.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

After tucking Alisha into bed and smoothing the blanket over her. I sat in the dim hallway with Uncle Alok. The hospital's words still buzzed behind my eyes-no time, keep her happy. They felt like a sentence passed down to both of us.

Uncle took my hand to bandage the cut the panic had given me. His fingers were steady, but his eyes carried the same hollow worry I felt. "We must keep her happy at all costs," he said, voice low. "Anything from her past, any small trauma... it could trigger her, make everything worse."

I nodded, jaw tightening. The image of her slashing herself in anger at the hospital was still fresh in my mind. "We can't leave her alone even for a minute," I said. "Not for a second."

For a long time we sat there, the silence between us filled with unspoken fears. We talked in fragments-her health, her behavior, the way she was slipping into moments we could barely understand. And then Sumit walked in.

"Where's Alisha di?" he asked quickly, "I need to talk to her."

"She's sleeping," Uncle replied.

Sumit frowned, confusion on his face. "Sleeping? At this hour? She never sleeps in the evening."

Sumit's eyes darted between us, his worry rising. "Di is fine, right? You both went to the hospital-don't tell me-"

"She's fine," Uncle interrupted, his voice a little too sharp, a little too quick. Sumit knew about the tumor, but Uncle hadn't told him about what happened today at the hospital.

<•∆∆∆∆∆•>

Night fell, and we gathered at the dining table, plates in front of us but no appetite to touch them. The clinking of cutlery felt louder than the silence. Finally, Sumit broke it.

"When are you leaving, Jayant bhaiya?" he asked.

"I haven't thought about it yet," I replied.

Sumit gave a half-sneer, half-complaint. "Well, I'm not sharing my room with anyone anymore."

"Jayant," Uncle said then, his voice calm but insistent, "maybe you should go back. I'll be here with Alisha. You have your work, your responsibilities."

"I already told Papa," I said, my voice flat. "He'll manage."

"Still, beta-"

"Uncle," I cut him off, louder than I intended, "I'm not going anywhere." The firmness in my voice left no space for argument. Without waiting for a reply, I pushed my chair back and walked straight to Alisha's room.

She was still asleep, her face peaceful in a way that tore at me-too peaceful, almost fragile. I sat near her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Then her phone began to buzz. Rishi's name flashed on the screen.

I picked it up. "Hello?"

"Alisha? Where are you? The baraat is about to leave!" Rishi's voice was hurried, festive sounds echoing in the background-drums, laughter, the chaos of a wedding house.

"Rishi," I said, and the moment he heard my voice, he recognized it.

"Jayant? Where's Alisha? Bring her quickly. Dip's baraat is starting, everyone's waiting!"

I swallowed hard. "Okay," I said, and ended the call.

Alisha had wanted so badly to be there. I remembered the light in her eyes when she spoke of Dip's wedding, the way she held on to those little joys like lifelines. I went straight to Uncle.

"When will Alisha wake up?" I asked, urgency lacing my words.

"She should have by now," he admitted, frowning. "Why?"

"It's Dip's wedding," I said. "She wanted to see it more than anything. She's been waiting for this."

Uncle's expression tightened, and without another word he hurried to her room. I followed. He leaned over Alisha, gently calling her name, brushing her arm, trying to wake her. But she didn't stir.

Not even once.

A cold weight settled in my chest as I stood by the doorway, watching.

But Alisha did not wake.

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