Index

Eleonore

If I called for you..

The fourth floor

Eleonore

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

– Robert Frost

**

“Someone hold her, please! She’s too sick to take all this.”

I heard her shriek, growing panicky with every second that passed.

“Here ma’am, give me your hand.”

A calm voice rang in my ears.

“Ma’am, please.”

She begged.

She adorned white clothing. Complete white. Hair tied in a clean bun, pinned with a white piece of one of those Florence Nightingale caps, formally pleated white pinafore and plain white ballerinas.

Her subtle tone made me comply as the middle aged lady in her late 30s held my hand and helped me get up.

The world was spinning. I could see my whole life flashing in front of my eyes in a reverse traversal.

A drive I wish only ended on the note where my life actually surfaced for the first time on earth. I couldn’t wend my way any more from here.

What it was going to be, not even an iota of the word clue met my senses.

With my hitched breathing, I controlled the endless tears that I could already feel brimming in my eyes as the nurse ushered me to the recliner in that massive room—a place that now looked like a slaughterhouse with every single thing scattered all around.

Flowers.

Photographs.

Coffee mugs.

Paintings.

Colors.

Candles.

And his watch.

**

“Slowly, she had surgery only two weeks ago.”

My mother shrieked once again as her worried voice constantly came my way while she continued talking to the local sheriffs.

With another jolt of realization hitting me, I clenched my fist, while the nurse held my other hand and finally made me sit.

“.. Ma’am, please. Please control yourself. You are too weak. Your stitches are still fresh, you need to relax and not take stress.”

Her words made sense but my own senses were too stubborn to fathom anything now. I could feel the bitter pain forming once again in my stomach as I touched my torso, the stitches and wounds still feeling fresh.

I was ready, however, to go through that pain once again, maybe forever, with a tenfold more magnitude, if only I had the assurance that it would compensate for the pain I was feeling in my chest.

The void that I suddenly found myself enveloped in. An ambiance and turbulence I found myself ensnared in out of nowhere, where the stakes were higher, and everything that once seemed vibrant, joyous and wondrous, was now only wrier.

I shut my eyes hoping against hope that this would pass, not as a bygone but as a dream. But the mighty me could never comprehend that I was only a victim of human tendencies like anyone else—of wishful thinking.

“Its homicide ma’am”

“But there’s no weapon.”

“Once we find the murder weapon, we can..”

I could hear the sheriffs talking, saying something to my mother. All of which was vague, incoherent and unreservedly unavailing to me. My affable conscience today had no ounce of emotions left, for the only person who I had reserved all of it for, was lost. Lost in the oblivion’s curse, somewhere. 

Lost and gone so far, that my human efforts couldn’t suffice in going against the fate’s design.

Nothing of me remained, really; From now on and forevermore.

Feelings—no zilch of it.

Empathy—No ounce of it.

Sanity—No iota of it.

Nothingness—A plethora of it.

It was something that now came in abundance, of course.

“Mr. David Saunders. Age 26. 6^th Frazer Street, Manhattan.”

The mention of his name hit me like a gust of a powerful wind—something that had the capability of affecting me, moving me, resurrecting me, and also killing me.

A flood of tears streamed down my cheeks as someone who I longed, craved, loved, desired, cared for, lived with, now remained only as an entity, which was the new “duty” of the police officials.

 “Time of death 18.30 hours. No murder weapon found. No wounds on body.”

“But someone definitely broke into the house. Motives of stealing or not, I’m not sanguine sir. But the crime scene suggests it was a thief.”

And once again those chains of words halted me to a point in life from where I saw no light. Miles and miles from where I stood, I felt trapped in a dungeon, with no definite end, where I couldn’t run no matter how worthy my pace.

“He’s not coming back”

The deepest layer of my conscience whispered in a hush tone. But the impact was so loud that I could feel every cell of my body dying, turning me into a lifeless soul.

Perhaps, “dying a thousand deaths,” wasn’t a shibboleth after all.

Because every word against his existence dragged me to those gates of insanity from where there was no point of return.

The pain didn’t fade and so didn’t his countenance from my mind that my sight had fondly settled for two years ago.

The ache was malignant and so were the thousands of memories which dated back to freshman year in college, to being enemies, to friends, and finally lovers, from the last two years.

I don’t know what pierced me more. The fact that Dave was never going to come back? Or the now established fact that someone killed him and snatched him away from me.

The idea terrorized me like nothing else.

“Oh my Sarah!”

My mother ran up to me and hugged me, while I buried my face in her bosom, my tears knowing no bounds and the ache in heart surpassing all perimeters.

“Everything will be all right, sweetie. I promise. Please don’t hurt yourself.”

She tried to pacify me. But didn’t I say it before? I lost everything.

I lay callous as my mother tried beyond her abilities to console me, and cajole me to believe that this was not the end. That everything could once again be good.

I wish she knew I surpassed the age of bedtime stories and hunky dory endings.

“Sweetheart, I’m going with the sheriff to his office. They need more information to start with the right investigation.”

She said. Her tone reflected her sorry feelings, perhaps looking at my indifferent reception for every word that came my way.

Maybe she understood it like no one else.

Losing dad in a plane crash when I was only two wasn’t as easy on her as it was on me for my lack of human comprehension about destiny and life that time.

She lived through the harsh times and brought me up.

But two days ahead of my engagement day and my fiancé is murdered with no trace of reason—this was harsher on me than her, and she knew it.

“Marice will stay with you,” she said pointing towards the nurse who stood just next to her.

“I will be back in an hour, sweetie. Please, please, I beg you. Please control yourself.” My mother urged to me.

I sat in silence as I saw the retreating backs of the officials along with my mother leave the mansion while the tall French doors remained open, letting the cold breezes in. I shivered as they touched my skin, while my mind shivered at the thought of all the conjectures I had reached in the past few minutes about my life, and everything else.

My stomach ached as I touched the thick layer of bandage that had stayed there for over two weeks now. I could feel the blood pumping in my veins and the stitches hurting bad from all the tension that I witnessed in less than 12 hours, both physically and mentally.

My wounds suggested I was alive. There was life in me.

While everything around me suggested, I had died long ago.

“Water”

I uttered softly, my voice barely audible to me.

“Yes ma’am, just a moment.”

The nurse replied politely as she rushed towards the kitchen to bring me some water to drink.

The deafening silence reflected the abominable lull that now clouded this house, the same place which once used to be full of laughter, silly fights, iffy arguments, sweet nothings—and so much more.

**

“Mrs. Sarah Saunders”

“See? Sounds better!”

“No way! I’ll rather remain Sarah Reeve than have that weird last name!”

“Oh yeah?”

“See you already have the hots for me, so you can drop the fake anger, Sarah!”

“Fake anger? Na-uh”

“I can’t believe I’m going to marry such a brat who forgot his girlfriend’s 25^th birthday.”

“But the same brat apologized, like a 100 times, got you flowers, your favorite Gucci dress, concert tickets for your favorite singer, and… well, a pool of never ending love from himself.”

“Cut it short, Dave. Bragger, bragger, go and waver!”

“Okay, enough. I know how to make it up to you.”

“Where? In the land of Narnia?”

“Whatever missy”

..And he scooped me in his arms as he shut the bedroom door with one kick, throwing me in the bed.

“You!!”

“You cannot get away with everything, alway-“

“Mmmmmm…”

Our lips were sealed.

Just like our hearts.

Every single thing was a part of our lives together, everything except giving up on each other.

“I love you, little Miss. Sarah Reev-“

I shushed him as I placed a finger on his lips while his sight met mine, puzzled.

“Mrs. Sarah Saunders.”

I whispered softly against him, as his face displayed my favorite lopsided smile, something that I had always fallen for instantaneously every time I saw him.

“I love you baby.”

“I love you too.”

.

.

“Ma’am, here. Water.”

And that beautiful reverie was broken by the most powerful imposter—reality.

The staircase, walls, lights, windows, curtains—everything looked so different now. As if nothing of it resembled the aura that it possessed until last night. When David was there with me, planning our wedding card, talking about the wedding venue and guest list. 

He had been equally excited if not more planning our engagement detailing two months ago and now that our wedding was the same slot away, he was all geared up for the arrangements. Perfection was beyond doubt his middle name.

I trembled at the thought of the list of things that now ended up broken. My dreams, my love, our promises and Every. Single. Thing.

I resisted the unstoppable tears in my eyes, as I held the glass of water but somehow the meaning of resilience defied me.

Fighting against my own self, I sipped the water from the glass and looked at the nurse.

“This isn’t cold. I need cold water.”

I said softly.

“Oh! I’m sorry ma’am. Excuse me for a moment, I’ll get it for you.”

She said, apologetically.

“No, wait.”

I stopped her. I didn’t intend to though, but it came out from my mouth spontaneously.

“You be here. I’ll get it.”

“But ma’am, you are unwe-“

“Please. I want some time alone.”

I interrupted and told her, in a tone less polite.

With everything that was happening to me, talking etiquettes were the last on my morality list.

“Umm, okay.”

She complied, having no choice.

I faced difficulty in getting up as I flinched in pain, more from the mental pain that I was going through rather than the pain from the accident that happened a fortnight back.

Marice assisted me as I finally managed to get up, and struggled walking slowly towards the kitchen.

As I took each stride, memories came haunting me.

My eyes darted frantically as I seemed to fail in recognizing my own house, the same place which I had decorated with my own hands.

**

“Peach color for the side walls!”

“No, blue.”

“Peach”

“Sarah, do you plan to turn the whole house into shades of pink, purple and peach?”

“No! But you certainly want to transform it into BLUE!! Men, how predictable.”

“Oh, really? Look around, it looks like a doll house!”

“DAVID!!”

“Ugh. Okay fine, you can have your peach color. But every time you can’t win me over with that puppy face, get it?”

“What? Reply now and stop smiling.”

“Stop it I said. Fine, I know how to stop it.”

“What? No!!!”

.. And I had run away, like every time, with every end of our silly fights.

I could picture every memory of it, happening right in front of my eyes, in the same kitchen, near the same counter. Preparing breakfast together every morning, criticizing each others’ culinary skills, and then running in the whole kitchen as if it were an open ground.

A light chuckle escaped my lips as I lived those priceless moments once again. That was humanity for me.

Joy

Fights

Teasing

Anger

Jealousy

Passion

Sex

Friendship

And all of it was now dead.

He was gone, and so was a part of me.

.

.

Lifting the hem of my long skirt, I watched my steps as I walked ahead of the counter, carefully avoiding the shredded pieces of glass that lay scattered on the floor.

Our paradise was ruined.

Our wonderland was slaughtered at the hands of fate.

Our dreams were crushed by the reality.

It was just numbness that welcomed me with open arms and embraced me in its ever perennial viability.

It wasn’t comfortable though, but still inviting.

After all, there was something that was ready to accept me, and not condone me for sins I never committed, for people I only dearly loved and ended up having lost.

Wiping the tears with the back of my palm, I took a step forward when my eyes landed on something that I had admired all of my life, more than life per se, something that lay down there against the wall, sporadically after the probe by the police officials.

Art.

“His paintings”

I gasped.

The strokes of the brushes

The blend of colors

The abstract

And..

The trademark signature of his below every masterpiece that he created.

I agree that emotions left me.

But human mind never fails to baffle a human, really.

Because when a surge of those absconding emotions overwhelm you, they come as a bandwagon, like a hurricane. A whirlpool that has the ability to drown you deep, deep underneath its currents.

And here I was.

Baffled, and battling.

Nostalgia

Agony

Misery

                       

Helplessness

**

“But I never wear maroon, Dave. I don’t like the color, and besides, you made me look fat in the painting. See?”

“Such a spoilsport! I think you look completely ravishing in my painting. I made it, you should thank me for making you look ultra gorgeous, missy!”

“Drop the narcissistic grin, Sir David. I don’t look like that.”

“Are you questioning my art?”

“Your ART !? My my! Look who’s boasting with the honorary title of an ‘artist’?”

“You! You will never stop tantalizing me, will you?”

“You know what you signed up for, Mr. Saunders.”

“Besides, on a second thought, the painting isn’t that bad after all. BUT, and mind this ‘but,’ I do not wear maroon.”

“Ugh! You pampered missy! I’m an artis-“

“Yeah, Mr. Beeeeeeg Arteeeeest?”

“Jeez, let me finish?”

“Okay, go on.”

.

.

“I’m an artist, Sarah. I like manifesting my imaginations into my canvas. I pictured you in maroon last night. And I made it.”

“.. Hmm”

“.. What, no words to counter attack my reasoning, Miss. Reeve?”

“Say something. What are you thinking?”

“.. Nothing. I.. I like it.”

“.. You do?”

“Mmhmm.”

“.. I see. Well, if that’s true, then I hope.. You will like this too.”

“DAVE! NO!”

And he splashed the whole bottle of maroon paint on me.

Our laughter that seemed an event of ages ago echoed in the pin drop silence that now adorned the place.

.

.

I sighed as I slowly opened the door of the refrigerator, pouring four ice cubes in my glass of water.

.

.

This was it now. Me and perpetual series of haunting memories—both good and bad.

I looked outside the kitchen window and could see the backyard of our house that was now blanketed by yellow tapes that deemed the once jovial place that bloomed with congeniality as a “crime scene.”

.

.

Standing near the sink at the counter I glanced at myself in the mirror.

How much I irked him at the idea of having a mirror in the kitchen.

But he would always give in. He had no choice. He loved me.

Or so I thought.

I wish I were dead too.

Tracing the bandaged dressing on my stomach, I recalled how we survived that deadly accident. Our car was speeding at the highway and Dave found that the brakes weren’t working.

We ended up badly wounded, critical. But still we made it.

We both did.

.

.

I would trade my soul to have died in that accident. With him.

At least we would have been together, if not alive.

.

.

Perhaps fate had other plans.

.

.

I gazed at my own reflection, trying to find out any puny similarity between who I used to be and who I was now. But I found none.

My eyes unblinking, I could see the reflection of his artistic manifestations too. Those paintings, he devoted his days and nights into. Creating and drawing, “manifesting what was there in his mind,” as he put it.

.

.

A smile tugged at my lips, as I saw the reflection of those paintings even more keenly.

Tall woman

Long ebony tresses

Accoutred with maroon

Wearing a mesmerizing sapphire necklace

.

.

.

All the paintings had her. Me.

Each one of them.

Was it really me?

.

.

I looked at the glass of water in my hand, the chilly water droplets brushing against my skin, while the traces of ice were all gone.

As if it never existed.

**

“The paintings, Dave.”

“The woman in the paintings. Who is she?”

.

.

“How could you, Dave?!”

“How could you?”

.

.

“Did you not flinch?”

“Ever?”

"I'm talking to you, Dave!!"

"ANSWER ME!!"

.

.

The ice was all melted.

The one in the glass.

And, the one inside his body.

One satiated my thirst for cold water.

And one satiated my longing for chastisement for betrayal.

“No weapon found. And it shall never be found.”

Ice melts. 

Ice cube, or an ice knife.

Wrath doesn’t.

Though the world must not know; and it will never know.

**

A/N: Not proof read

If I called for you...

If I called for you..

A name

An alias

An essence

An identity

For every single time, that you hear that familiar tone, and letters that are way more than just being coherent, your reflex ushers you to wherever that sound comes from.

But what were you to do if you lay alienated about that place where you left something too dear to your heart? What were you to do when life’s indefinable intricacies trapped you in a cocoon and there was no way you could manage to escape? What are you to do when the one you keep seeking for, never answers despite being omnipresent, all the time?

.

.

**

“Miss. Wilson?”

The faint voice of the lady in white woke me from my slumber. I wasn’t even aware when I had dozed off.

Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I managed to get up from the somewhat uncomfortable position on the small recliner, on which I fell asleep, I don’t know when.

The faint noises of other people talking around me came to me as words so incoherent.

“My head.. It’s aching,” I said, almost muttering to myself.

“Oh! Dear.. It’s bound to. You hardly had any sleep in the past four days. Wait here, I’ll get you a coffee. You will feel better,” said the lady as she paced towards the cafeteria, so fast, I could already see her retreating back disappear in mere seconds.

She was certainly a kind nurse. Someone, quite rare.

There are cases of people who happen to show no ounce of kindness to their own blood, so anything even relatively near to humbleness and being cordial from anyone, seemed more than gratifying to me.

Four days in the hospital, round the clock, were more than enough for me to tag her with that adjective, especially, when I had no one else around me who I could count on.

I had my own reasons to stay aloof.

We all have our reasons, and I was no different.

Not that I would call myself a sociopath, but socializing wasn’t really my forte.

I knew I would have plethora of people around me, if that’s what I wanted. But you would already know it, I didn’t.

Whatever I had, and whoever I had, no matter how fashionably small my circle of people seemed to others, I was contended. Rather, beyond contended.

I sighed as I walked towards the giant door, my steps automatically halting at the place which started looking and feeling so familiar to me now. I don’t know what the reason was. 

Either, it was the last four days that made me grow habituated of standing there and peeping through the glass. Or, it was the person who lay oblivious to my presence on the other side of the door.

The Intensive Care Unit.

“There is nothing worse than seeing the one you love the most in pain.”

The words echoed in the back of my mind.

I don’t know how they kept ringing in my head on their own accord. Perhaps, I had read it somewhere or someone had said it randomly during some discussion in the past.

But never had these words made any sense to me before like they did now.

Tracing his countenance with my fingers as I drew abstract lines on the glass, wishing to touch his face for real, as I saw him lying almost lifeless on that cot, I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.

Someone had said it right. It didn’t matter how long you have known someone. What mattered was how much you knew someone in the shortest span of time.

And I had known him all my life, despite knowing him for only a year.

Ryan.

The essence of his name brought in a surge of emotions in my mind instantaneously, making my eyes welled up, blurring my vision.

This was routine now.

Four days and it felt like four years that we had been here.

I had already lost so much and I couldn’t afford to go back on that track once again.

It was crushing me inside, so much, that I knew it was damage beyond repair.

.

.

My 22^nd birthday party.

The dance.

The promises.

The plans.

The long drive.

And the accident.

The events flashed in the mind in their conspicuous chronology, like they have been doing for the last four days, registered in my head and soul as deep as a carving on a stone.

My life had become stagnant all of a sudden.

“He has lost so much of blood.”

“His body is not responding to the treatment.”

“We are trying our best, Miss. Wilson. Please keep faith.”

“We will conduct another surgery.”

“There has been no improvement..”

Everything kept hitting my time and again.

It was as difficult for me to wade through this phase of life as it would be for vagabonds to satiate their wanderlust.

I only wished this to be an ephemeral phase, and nothing else.

I continued to stare at the other end of the door, when I heard my phone ring.

It was the umpteenth time that I saw the name flash on the screen. Everything seemed to be a routing ritual in my life suddenly. As if things were stuck in a time loop, and there was no way I could evade it.

“Yes, mom”

I said, my voice almost choking as the tears continued to stream down my cheeks.

“Sharon. Don’t lose hope. He will be fine.”

My senses were not even showing any tinge of normalcy in their exercise as I could hardly utter words to reply to my tensed mother, who was on the other end of the country for her work.

“Mmhmm”

I responded, my voice barely audible to me as some more words of pacification came from my mother’s end.

“Hmm. I’ll talk to you later”

I said softly, as I hung up the phone and felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Here, have some coffee.”

The nurse handed me a mug and ushered me to the visitors’ room, sitting right beside me, caressing my back, trying her best to pacify me. Something she had been doing since the last few days that I had been there.

“Miss. Wilson, you don’t look good at all. You should really get some rest.”

She said, in her usual kind voice, as I took a sip of the coffee.

“You know Margaret, you asked me to address me by your first name on the very first day and I agreed to your request. It’s been four days now. It’s time you agree to mine. Call me Sharon”

I demanded, as I saw her lips curve up into a faint smile.

“Miss. Wilso-“

“..Sharon”

She rectified herself, as she continued,

“Although you are much, much younger to me and but of course I have seen so much more of life than you would have so far, I respect you way too much.”

I looked at her, my eyes conveying my curiosity. It was instantly answered, as I watched her speak,

“You may ask why. But, it really is a wonderful to see someone so dedicated, so committed, so deeply in love at your age. I mean, look at the world. People are cheating, marriages are breaking. It’s so hard to find true love.”

I listened to her patiently, as she stressed on each of her syllables, making it evident in her tone that whatever she said, she truly meant it.

Keeping the coffee mug aside, I took a deep breath and spoke after a period of brief silence,

“It’s not so Margaret. My father loved my mother. Too much. Way too much.”

An unusual stream of emotion hit me, as I spoke those lines.

Perhaps, it was nostalgia.

Or maybe, it was a longing. A longing for something that I didn’t recognize.

Something that I refused to recognize.

“Loved? You mean, they have separat-“

“My father died.”

I cut her midway, before she could even complete her sentence of query, as I spoke the truth, the very truth that remained the biggest reality check of my life till date.

The truth, that certainly and most definitely inundated the humble lady, as much as it overwhelmed me, even today, despite the span of eight long years since I lost him.

“Oh! Dear, I’m so sorry”

She said, her brows frowning, as she held my hands in hers, feeling genuinely sorry about my loss.

Brushing away the tears from the corners of my eyes, I smiled faintly, bewildered, at the same time amused at how kind god had been to me when it came to allotting happiness.

“.. You will be happy, Sharon. Don’t lose faith. Just have some trust on god.”

I heard her say softly, as if she could read my mind.

Actually, no one needed to be a mind-reader to comprehend what was going on in my head. 

My life was an open book.

“You should get some rest, dear. You haven’t had proper sleep for so long now.”

She said.

I couldn’t go home, when that one person I loved way more than myself, remained at a cliffhanger, battling life and death.

But before I could nod my head in denial, she said,

“I know you won’t agree, but please. I need you to go home. Feel home. Please, Sharon.”

There was something about her request, her voice that made me not want to defy her. She was caring. Too caring, just like a mother.

Mom’s absence certainly irked me and there was undoubtedly a void in my heart. But I couldn’t be selfish. She found her happiness after so long. Not that her remarriage with her business colleague was something I was completely merry about, but she was happy after so many years, since dad died. And I had no right to take it away from her.

Although my mother would have been equally consoling and warm, had she been here now, I felt no heart to disobey Margaret’s request.

“Trust me dear. It will all get better. Just call for it.”

She said, as she brushed some strands of my hair away from my face.

“It’s easier said than done, Margaret.”

I replied, as I stood up. “But, I will go home and get some rest.”

“..Just because you asked me to”

I said with a small smile, making the petite, old lady’s face brighten up as I nodded my head in affirmation for the request she made to me moments ago.

.

.

Walking out of the visitors’ room, I paced through the corridors, stopping once again outside the I.C.U.

Taking a glance of his face, I closed my eyes, flashes of our memories rushing to me, like strong gusts of wind. Memories that were so fresh, so beautiful, moments that were so different, just a few days ago, that it seemed only so hard to believe that I was actually standing where I was standing right now.

“Don’t worry. He will be fine.”

Margaret said to me, as she stroked my back, consoling me, as always.

“..Hmm. I will be here in the evening.”

I said, as I reluctantly turned away from Ryan.

I knew her cajoling was for my good, but for some reason, maybe obvious reasons, I didn’t want to go.

.

.

.

Much against my mind and heart, I put the key of my car into ignition and the engine roared to life. Taking a deep breath, I drove away from the place which had become my current address now, Richmond Hospital.

.

.

Yes, it would be untrue if I said I didn’t like the light.

Who doesn’t?

Especially, after being ensnared in cages of darkness, it feels more than satiating to be extricated.

But what when you know a part of you is still lost in that darkness?

Things change, just at that.

Life’s conundrums were no easy tasks to resolve.

And in the current status quo of problems, I had the life of the one I loved the most at stake.

Hitting the accelerator, I paced towards the 15^th Rivers’ street, when suddenly realization dawned in my head and hit the brakes, making the car screech to a halt.

“Shit”

The word escaped my mouth without any intention, as my eyes slowly darted at the ambiance, my vision too familiar with the surroundings, at the same time estranged with the entire set that remained in front of me.

The lanes.

The shops.

The trees.

And then, the house.

Our house.

The house that we left, long ago.

My first home, where I was born.

I could hear the birds chirping, the trees swaying, following the winds’ order, as I looked at the front verandah of the three-storeyed house, still belonged to us on papers but we hardly had any connection with this place for the last six years now.

I could picture a seven year old me, playing in that verandah, dad running behind me, to feed me another morsel of that corn cereal that I resented so much.

A light smile adorned my face as I went down the memory lane, a series of unexplainable emotions running in my veins.

Of pain.

Of nostalgia.

Of love.

Of longing.

I didn’t realize how and why I drove myself here. It was as if the steering functioned on it’s own and brought me here.

My current house was nowhere near five miles of this area, yet I was here.

In the place, which I once wholeheartedly regarded as my home.

The place, which I perhaps still regarded as my only home, but refused to acknowledge it, ever since that event.

Recalling some of the events from my past, my hands automatically curled up into fists, my mind having second thoughts whether I wanted to stay there for another minute.

That is the fascinating thing about life.

We don’t acknowledge some things. We despise some things. We never want to go back to some things. But the heart wants what it wants.

I had no intention to come here. This wasn’t even my home, any more. But still I drove myself here. Because, no matter how much I engraved the bitter memories in my mind and tried to put a charade over it, the truth would always find its way out.

Not wasting a single second, I lashed out of the driver’s seat, keeping my cell phone in my pocket as I proceeded towards the big house, my house, that seemed nothing less than an abandoned structure today.

.

.

Deep inside, I knew why I was here.

There are some strings in life, which although look weak, emerge as the most strong ones.

My string of attachment to this place was somewhat same.

The last time I was here was when mom got engaged to Shawn, her colleague.

Neither was I happy. Nor was I sad.

But there was a part of me which didn’t feel home about the whole idea, and that part led me here.

Today, I had no idea why I was here.

Just then, I recalled Margaret’s words just before I left the hospital.

“Go home. Feel home.”

A strange tinge of inquisitiveness overwhelmed me.

The place I currently lived in could never outdo the scent of this place that despite being an abandoned house, gave me the same warmth that I felt years ago.

Tracing the ever familiar lavender walls of the rooms with my palms, I entered the room, which once consisted of what I called my world.

The dolls.

The wall hangings.

The pictures.

It all remained the same.

I could feel the sour essence forming on the back of my throat, making me well aware that tears were to stream down my cheeks any minute now, but I tried holding them back, as I looked at the most favorite picture of mine in that wall.

Dad and me.

Walking towards the golden framed picture, I removed it from the wall, holding it close to me, as I sat on the small bed, tracing the picture, my father’s face, with my fingers, trying to live those moments which seemed so good to be true.

“I’m home, daddy!”

I whispered, imitating the tone of an eight-year-old me, as exactly I would say those lines to my father, whenever I would return home in the evening after playing with a bunch of kids in the neighborhood, years ago.

.

.

I don’t know for how long I sat there.

In that same position, staring at the picture, which only reflected happiness, making me reminisce about the happy times, which only accentuated a contrast to where I was today.

.

Trying to regain my composure, I stood up, walking through the corridor, when suddenly my steps halted in the middle of the passage.

My fingers, curled into fists, I reluctantly lifted my sight in a vertical panoramic timeline , from the floor to wall.

My vision finally met the object that was as untouched and unchanged as everything else in the house.

The silver mirror.

.

.

For what meets the eyes, I could see myself in the mirror. Broken, hurt, exhausted, sad, agonized and petrified.

Petrified, for what I could see in the reflection much innate than what appeared just on the exterior.

.

.

The reflection, that took me back in time, to an era that seemed not so long ago, yet so old. Eight years ago.

“Happy anniversary, love”

“Johann, you are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you? Chocolate cake, heart-shaped balloons, it seems we are still stuck in teenage romance.”

“Cicil, you should be proud and happy that your husband loves you so much even when you are starting to have three-four grey hair.”

“What?! Where? I can’t have grey hairs. What are you saying?”

“Haha! I caught you off guard, didn’t I? Come, Sharon! Give daddy a high-five!”

“You!! Johann, this is so not funny. And Sharon, stop taking your dad’s side always.”

“Mom! Chill! You look lovely. And about taking dad’s side, well, I’m a daddy’s girl!”

“That’s like my princess! Woo-hoo!”

“Fine. Now let’s cut the cake, shall we?”

“Yes, my princess. Come on honey, let us cut the cake.”

.

.

“So, you liking this restaurant?”

“Yeah, it seems nice.”

“Since you love Italian cuisine, I thought this would be the place for you.”

“Thanks Johann. Now that I see it, I must say I’m lucky to have such a husband like you.”

“Whoa! Finally. There came few words of appreciation, from my lovely wife.”

“I hope you are not joking though. See Sharon? Is your mom seriously complimenting me?”

“Come on dad! Stop pulling her leg!”

“Oh all right! Here, honey! Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

.

.

“Johann, will you please keep that pack of cigarettes away?”

“Oops! Sorry!”

“No, I mean seriously. It’s our anniversary today. At least, for once, I expect you to be sober. For me?”

“.. I’m sorry hon, I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Here! See? I threw it in the bin. The ENTIRE pack of Marlboro, just for you. Happy now?

.

“Come on! At least smile, now.”

“Hmm. Good.”

.

.

.

“But then we ordered cannoli for dessert not panettone.”

“It’s okay, honey. We can have this. I don’t mind.”

“No, Cicil. I know you love cannoli and not this pane- whatever.”

“Joe, it’s okay. We can have this. Cannoli isn’t important.”

“Wait, wait. I will just get cannoli for you. You see there? They will definitely serve cannoli.”

“Hon- hon, wait-“

“Be back in five”

“Joe-“

“Miss me, hon. I’ll be right here in five.”

.

.

If only he could be back.

The five minutes turned into five years, then six, seven and eight. But dad’s absence remained as constant as the northern star.

Mom always cursed herself for even agreeing for that anniversary dinner.

I cursed the cannoli and dad’s obsession with perfect moments, when I was 14. God, when I was 18. And time, when I was 20.

But nothing could change the fact that he was gone, never to come back.

Nothing could make it untrue that the giant truck hit him, knocking him down, bleeding, right in front of our eyes.

Nothing could undo that night, where I screamed and cried, helplessly, but the doctor declared him already dead, when we took him to the hospital.

He was gone.

Forever.

At least that’s what it looked like.

And that’s how it was.

For everyone.

Everyone, except me.

.

.

.

.

“God! Who the hell invented Chemistry?”

I pouted, as I complained for the umpteenth time, tired of solving chemical reactions on paper, afraid about the test that I was supposed to take the very next day.

Staying alone in the house wasn’t a good choice, especially when one’s mind is so much clouded with life’s intricacies, but I really didn’t have much of an option.

Mom had to go to work and I had to take my exams, if I wanted to survive in this world.

.

“Hi! So how much did you study?”

I rang up my classmate, Tessa, who happened to be as clueless about the subject as me.

“Oh no way! I’ll flunk.”

“Yeah right. “

“But then-“

“Hey, wait a sec”

My attention deviated from the one-liners conversation as a strange thing caught my sight.

“I’ll call you back”

I hung up, hurriedly, my brows furrowed, tensed.

.

It wasn’t the first time that such a thing was happening.

It was rather, the fifth time that this happened in the last six months. The last six months, that dad died.

“I remember I had switched off that light.”

I said in my mind, as I recalled very well that I had turned off the verandah lights just minutes ago, and now they were on, lighting up the entire verandah in golden.

Biting my lower lip in apprehension of the events, I mustered up some courage as I proceeded towards the verandah.

Gusts of winds hitting me, I could feel the indefinable cold essence in the atmosphere, and a shiver ran down my spine.

Holding one of the railings, I stood still.

My mind brought back so many memories that I spent with him since childhood, standing here, in the same place, when suddenly a jolt of shock hit me.

“No!”

I whispered, my eyes wide open in shock as my inhibitions apparently were turning all true.

“T..That cologne”

I stuttered, as realization gradually dawned in my head.

It was the scent my father used, all throughout his life.

We recognize people by their faces, their voices, but more than that, by their scent, something, which can validate their existence, their presence, perhaps even when they are not there.

“-It, It can’t be.”

I managed to find my voice, as I rushed out of the verandah, running away as fast as I possibly could and headed downstairs.

.

.

Switching on the T.V., I shuffled through random channels, increasing the volume to its maximum, while I lay trembling on the sofa, covering myself with a quilt, with my eyes closed.

.

.

I didn’t realize when I fell asleep, and by the time my eyes opened,, my mom was already in the kitchen, making me breakfast.

“Sharon, wake up honey. Don’t you have a test today?”

She said, while I watched her prepare some pancakes with my half-open eyes.

As much as I wanted to adapt to the normalcy of human life, there was some part of me that kept rejecting it.

I felt pain when I saw my father die.

I felt hurt when I came to terms with the fact that he would never come back again.

And as much as I hated to say it,

I felt fear, when I felt his presence that night.

There was some part of me which wanted every single thing to be restored as it was six months ago. And there was another side of me which wanted to move on, and hated to acknowledge my father’s uncanny presence in my life, in such a way, in this side of the world, when it was clear enough through documentations as well as reality that now he was a part of the other side.

I didn’t know which part was more dominant. But what I did know was that I was scared.

Way too scared.

I didn’t tell my mother anything about it. Not that I didn’t want to. But I had no reasons why I didn’t feel like sharing anything with anyone, after the mishap.

.

.

“See you, mom.”

“Bye, sweetie.”

I waved my mother a bye, as I walked towards the bus stop, to catch my school bus.

Life had to go on, and everything had to be like it was supposed to be.

School, friends, tests, scores.

I wanted to forget last night, with all my might. And even if it stayed in the back of my head, I wanted it to remain as a bad dream.

Something, I was sure would never happen again.

Something, that I trusted god would not let happen again.

Something, I was grossly wrong about.

.

.

.

“No!”

I shouted at the top of my lungs, as I ran frantically, searching for any means, that would end my despair, but to no avail.

.

Tears trickled down my cheeks as I sobbed, hiding behind the headboard of the maroon cot of the room.

I fidgeted, as I recollected all the happenings in the past one year that dad died.

It was so sporadic.

And there was no way out.

I shivered in fear, as my eyes darted around the room, the ripples of the fluctuating golden verandah lights, coming through the glass windows.

The scent of the same, familiar cologne, adorned the room, making every ounce of the house scream of dad’s presence there.

Something that was definitely intangible but whose presence was undeniably true.

.

.

Mustering some courage, I stood up, walking towards the corridor of the house.

My teeth gritted in fright, as I kept walking, slowly, looking at every corner of my surrounding, when suddenly my steps paused, my eyes, wide in terror and shock, as I looked at the silver mirror hanging on the passage wall.

I stood spellbound as I saw the smoke building in the reflection of the mirror, the very same Marlboro cigarattes that mom had always admonished dad about.

I stumbled as the whole mirror reflected nothing but that very same smoke, the entire house now clouding with the same scent.

.

.

Clenching my fists, losing every remain of strength that I had, I ran towards my room, petrified, shocked, resenting every single frame of memory that I had with my father.

I tripped as I lost my balance, hurting my ankle, every cell in my body praying and wishing fervently to god to put an end to this dismay.

.

.

.

“I HATE YOU, DAD!”

“JUST GO AWAY!!”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!!”

“I’M SCARED! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT?”

“JUST GO AWAY!”

“AND DON’T EVER COME BACK!”

I don’t know for how many times I would have repeated those phrases, screaming at the top of my voice, my tears choking me every single time I said it.

But my soul begged for him to listen to it and obey.

I don’t know if I truly meant what I said, but I did know at that point, it was all I wanted.

To be left in peace.

To not be afraid.

.

.

I don’t know what really happened after that, the whole thing remained too vague to be distinctly recollected. I do know that I had lost my consciousness for hours after that night.

I also recall telling everything to my mother when my senses came back to me.

I didn’t expect her to empathize for her life was all about busy schedules, overtime working, but to my surprise, she did understand.

And it was she who decided we would leave this house and move to a new society.

I never asked her why she didn’t sell this house or give it away to tenants on rent.

But all I did remember was that for the two months from that incident till the day we shifted to our new house, I never felt any essence of him.

Not even a zilch of it.

It’s unusual to even believe that I had never even seen dad in my dreams, ever since that night.

Although the memories remained deeply engraved in my heart, their manifestation was never seen in reality.

.

And now, standing in front of the very same mirror that showed me something that changed my whole perspective about life, I felt everything, and at the same time nothing.

There was no iota of dad’s presence in this house.

It had been so many times when I had wanted to speak to him and wished that he would answer me back, even in death, but I was only disappointed.

I hated myself for the harsh words I said to him that night.

But I was young and I was scared.

But was he too stringent to never come back again?

I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I could face life’s challenges and be more than happy if I knew my dad was watching over me.

But maybe he could never condone my words to him that night.

Perhaps my contemptuous lines hurt his soul.

But it was not my disdain for him. It was my fear speaking.

If only, I could feel his presence, once.

I don’t know how many hours had already passed, and I was still not contended seeking for answers, the questions to which perhaps weren’t even rational.

But we all know how naïve a human heart can be.

And how stubborn and headstrong a human mind can be.

.

.

My gaze fixated on the old mirror, I tried to think straight, when suddenly the vibration of my phone broke my reverie.

.

.

“Miss. Wilson?”

.

.

My whole world came crashing and I couldn’t feel myself anymore.

It was as if my own self was an apparition, because if this was reality, then I didn’t want to live in it.

“N..No!”

I fumbled, as the phone fell off my hand, and I broke into tears, hitting the ground, my heart refusing to believe what my ears just heard.

.

.

“Miss. Wilson, we are sorry to inform you that Mr. Ryan Sanders has slipped into a coma. You should really come here, before it’s too-“

It couldn’t be true.

I could give up anything to make whatever that lady on the phone spoke, untrue.

.

.

I could feel a strange pain in my chest, something that I had felt long, long ago, when I had lost my father on that tragic night.

I was not ready to go through that same night again.

My tears refusing to stop, I managed to get up, holding the walls for support, as I looked everywhere in the house, and called for something, that I had myself given away.

“DAD!!”

I cried, as I heard my voice echo, out loud in the whole house.

But only silence met my baffled query.

.

.

“DAD???”

I never felt so helpless, like I did today.

I wanted to cry, and so I did.

But I wanted strength, and it was too far off to find me.

.

I kept looking at the mirror in anticipation, but all my rays of hope kept vanishing into nothingness, as only deafening silence, and emptiness greeted me in return.

.

I sat against the wall, hugging my knees, my tears now dried, but my heart aching, with no remedy for my agony.

For every bit of memory in this house that had haunted me in the past, were now something I desperately wanted to re-live, just in order to believe that everyone that I have loved didn’t leave me.

But when have the odds ever been in my favor?

My body giving up every ounce of strength in exhaustion, I felt my head spinning as I realized I was falling into the oblivion’s curse, detached from the world, where there were people, where there was life, where there was Ryan, who was right another soul that I was about to lose.

.

.

.

.

If the sun’s rays didn’t give warmth to my skin, I would have refused to believe that I was still alive.

My eyes opening to the sight of the bright sun rays peeping through the tall glass windows in the corridor, I found myself lying on the floor, everything around me unchanged, like I had seen it last night, before I fell asleep.

Taking the view of everything around me, the chain of musings broke, as my eyes met the sight of my cell phone lying on the floor, few feet away from me.

Realization dawned in my head, as I instantaneously jerked up, running towards the cell phone, grabbing it in my hand, only to find that the battery had already discharged.

I glanced at my wrist watch and the time gave me a whiplash.

6.00 am

“Shit!”

Pacing towards the other room, I grabbed my car keys from the bed side table where I had kept it yesterday, and without a second thought, I rushed towards my car.

My thoughts, way too urgent to even think clear, I put the key into ignition as I recklessly drove through the streets, my mind and heart fixated only on one thing: Ryan.

For every turn that I took, and every passing second that I knew I was nearing the hospital, my mind brought in the most obvious inhibitions, which my heart refused to acknowledge.

I didn’t know if I would see him.

I didn’t know if he was still alive.

I didn’t know how I was going to cope with this new episode of grave loss.

But I did know that I had to be there. With him. Beside him.

Life was not going to be kind to me, but when has it ever been, even in the past?

I had had my hours of introspection, and that solitude, with moments that I recalled in retrospect got me only to one bottom line, that happiness wasn’t going to be a part of me.

.

.

Keeping aside my bizarre chain of thoughts, I hit the brakes too hard as my car screeched to a halt, and I lashed out of my seat, rushing towards the hospital gates, a place that again made me come back to reality.

.

I worriedly ran through the white corridors, afraid to hurt any patients on my way, as I neared the I.C.U., my heart beating rapidly in apprehension, as to what was going to greet me the next second.

My heart skipped a beat as I peeped through the glass jack of the door, my eyes perplexed at the sight that caught their attention.

The same bed. The same side.

But a different person.

.

.

The adrenaline rushed in my veins as my mind tried to decipher what this meant, my heart denying it thoroughly that my fear could actually come true.

Broken, exhausted and hurt, I turned away, my eyes unable to hold back the tears as I walked four steps ahead in the corridor, when suddenly an unbelievable instance came my way.

.

.

My eyes refused to blink in shock, as reality seemed too strange to be true.

“How-“

I searched for words, but I failed miserably at framing and uttering them.

.

Lying his head against the headboard of the cot, I saw him talking to a nurse, smiling as he appeared to explain some things to them, while I stood outside the ward, shocked, stunned.

Without wasting another fraction of second, I rushed inside, throwing my arms around him, enveloping him into a tight hug, validating his presence, and existence in every way, humanly possible.

“Ow!”

I heard him exclaim, as he hugged me back, pulling me closer towards him, as he spoke,

“Easy, baby! Your boyfriend isn’t completely in his best shape, right now.”

I chuckled through my tears as I heard his voice, after what it seemed like ages.

It had to be him.

It was him.

The humor. The warmth. The touch.

There was no way this was anything unreal.

It was not any illusion.

“Whoa! Look at you! You look like a zombie straight out of a Stephen King movie!”

He teased me while I looked at him, tracing his cheeks with my palm, convincing myself that whatever was happening was happening for real.

.

“Mr. Sanders, it’s time for you to take some rest. You are still very weak.”

One of the nurses said, while Ryan kept looking at me.

“Oh! Come on, I’m seeing my girlfriend after an eternity, cut me some slack.”

He reasoned, as always in his fabricated kid-like tone.

“Ray, I’m here. Just take some rest, okay?”

I said.

I didn’t intend to sound so grave, but it was something that came to me naturally. And to my relief, he complied.

I gave him a soft peck on his lips as he smiled at me, whispering into my ears,

“I love you.”

“.. I love you more,” I replied as I helped him lie down properly.

 Meanwhile, one of the nurses changed his IV.

I stood there, watching everything when suddenly I heard someone call my name from outside.

Reluctant to leave, I still slowly went outside, only to find Margaret standing, waiting for me.

.

“Hey you!”

She said, her lips curved into a bright smile as she pulled me into a hug, caressing my back.

I hugged her back, closing my eyes, my entire self, still too shocked by the happenings.

.

.

Some seconds later, I pulled back from the hug, my eyes reflecting the obvious questions, as she took my hand and ushered me to the visitors’ room, a place where we had had so many talks in the past few days.

“I told you right, Sharon? Don’t lose your faith.”

She spoke, softly.

“But I got a call last night. It said he was in com-“

“Yes, he was. And for that moment, we thought we had lost him.”

She cut me midway, as she completed my sentence.

After a brief pause, she continued,

“It was too difficult. There was no hope that the doctors had. But then..”

She looked me in the eye, as she said,

“It was nothing less than a miracle. It was like one moment, he is all dead and suddenly, in the next few minutes, he was resurrected back to life.”

.

.

It was too theatrical to actually think of, but that moment it felt like I could give away everything to keep that theory real, and unchanged.

“We shifted him to the general ward two hours ago. He is fine now, and he will be more than fine, since, you are already here to take care of him.”

She said with a smile.

I reciprocated her smile as I thanked my stars for making this a real moment, and not just a dream.

“Thank you, Margaret. You don’t know how happy I’m today. Although, until some time back, everything seemed drastically different, but this… I’m beyond happy.”

I said.

“I can understand, dear.”

“You called for it, and you got it,” she said.

.

“Umm, what?”

I asked, a little confused.

“Nothing, my dear. I just want to say, that Mr. Sanders’ recovery is nothing but a miracle and you know something? We shouldn’t question miracles.”

She said, brushing away my confusion while I nodded my head in approval.

.

.

“Okay dear, I’ll take your leave now. I have few patients to attend to,” she told me as she got up, fixing her uniform.

“Sure”

I replied as I handed the file that she was about to forget.

“Oh, thanks, my dear.” She said.

“That’s okay.”

“.. Umm Margaret?”

I called her name from behind, as she immediately turned to my call.

“Yes, dear?”

.

“I would like to meet the doctor, can I?”

I asked.

“Oh sure! He would be in his cabin right now. Walk straight and then take a left,” she guided me.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Any time, my dear,” she replied as she proceeded towards one of the wards to attend to the patients and I watched her retreating back with a contended smile playing on my lips.

.

.

The contrast in yesterday and today kept playing games with my mind. I certainly knew the phrase everything can change in one minute wasn’t a lie, but I never knew it’s illustration in my life would be so impactful.

Yesterday, I was worried, sad, hurt, crestfallen and afraid.

Today, I was happy, alive in its truest sense, contended, but still afraid.

Afraid, for I didn’t want this moment to be short-lived.

“Enough of the pessimism, Sharon.”

My conscience told me in the back of mind, as I finally reached my destination.

.

.

“Dr. Warren?”

I questioned, as I knocked on the door.

“Oh yes, Miss. Wilson. Please come in.”

The middle aged man said, politely.

“I think your boyfriend loves you way too much, Miss Wilson. He is back from the dead for you.”

He joked, while I lightly smiled at that remark.

“Well, on a serious note, we are beyond happy and at the same surprised. But let’s stick to happy, now that Mr. Sanders is all right.”

He said, without a pause.

“Well, here are his reports and the list of medicines that he has to take for at least 30 days, and I think that shall be it. We will talk about the physiotherapy sessions once he is discharged, which I’m sure you will be glad to know, will be in a day or two.”

I smiled as I heard him, finally some positivity reflected in the air.

He went on to say some more things related to Ryan’s prescriptions, when suddenly a tinge of something familiar hit me.

That instant second, every word that the man spoke appeared incoherent to me, as my concentration completely deviated from our conversation and I was abruptly distracted.

The back of my fingers touching my nose, I knew this essence, this feeling, this scent, but still felt oblivious to it.

Somehow, it was taking all over me, and my consciousness.

That scent.

 I was brought back to reality when I saw the man stand up from his chair, taking his coat, as he walked towards the door.

“…-So any problem, you just give me a call.”

I only heard that as he finished his sentence, while I sat there, unaware of what he had been speaking all this while since I had lost track of our conversation midway.

He gave me a kind smile as he adjusted the stethoscope on his neck, when I called his name, halting his steps midway.

“Dr. Warren?”

“Yeah?”

He answered back instantly.

“.. Umm, do you smoke Marlboro?”

I asked him, hesitatingly.

The man looked at me with surprise, clueless about what and why I was asking him that.

“I have asthma, Miss. Wilson. I haven’t smoked for decades now.”

He smiled as he said that, walking out of the room, while I sat still on that chair, my eyes refusing to blink as my heart skipped a beat.

**

A/N : Not proof read.