The Body Remembers What the Heart Hides
Ananya fell ill during the monsoon.
At first, it was nothing alarming—fever that came and went, weakness she blamed on long study hours. Her mother made herbal drinks, her father asked her to rest more.
“She’s always been sensitive,” her mother said gently.
Ananya didn’t complain.
She had learned early that pain, like feelings, should not take up space.
But the tiredness stayed.
Some days, even sitting by the window felt heavy. The neem tree outside looked the same, but she felt as if something inside her had begun to slow down, quietly.
Doctors came. Tests were done. Words were exchanged softly outside the room.
“Nothing to panic,” they said.
“Let’s observe.”
In another city, Arjun began experiencing breathlessness.
He ignored it at first. Deadlines were tight. Work was important. Responsibility always came first.
One evening, while climbing stairs, his vision blurred.
He sat down, embarrassed more than afraid.
His colleague insisted on a hospital visit.
“Probably stress,” the doctor said after initial checks. “But we’ll need more tests.”
Arjun called his parents later that night.
“I’m fine,” he assured them. “Just tired.”
He didn’t mention the fear that had quietly settled into his chest.
Days passed.
Ananya’s diagnosis came wrapped in careful language—something rare, something treatable, something that required time and strength.
Her parents stayed calm.
They trusted doctors. They trusted God.
Ananya listened silently.
She wasn’t afraid of dying.
What unsettled her was a strange thought that surfaced one night, uninvited:
If I disappear… will anyone remember the quiet parts of me?
Arjun’s condition, too, revealed itself slowly—an underlying issue he had lived with unknowingly, now demanding attention.
Treatment began.
Hope existed.
But hope, like silence, did not make promises.
Some nights, Ananya dreamt of a classroom filled with sunlight.
Some nights, Arjun dreamt of a window that looked like home.
Neither dreamt of each other clearly.
Just feelings.
Familiar. Warm. Aching.
Their lives were no longer running parallel.
They were simply… running out of time.
And yet, neither knew the other was struggling too.
Because some connections are so quiet
that even destiny doesn’t announce them aloud.
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