The Last Ordinary Days
Recovery was spoken of in careful tones.
Not promised.
Not denied.
Just spoken.
Ananya was discharged for home care. Her parents were relieved—home felt safer, kinder. Her room was cleaned thoroughly, incense lit every evening. Relatives called often.
She smiled for them.
Some days, she felt almost normal. On those days, she sat by the window again. The neem tree stood exactly where it always had.
She wondered—without sadness, just curiosity—
How many times had I looked at this tree while my life quietly moved forward?
One afternoon, she opened an old notebook from college. Between its pages, a pen slipped out.
Not her pen.
She recognised it instantly.
The same one she had once returned.
Her breath hitched—not painfully, just deeply.
She held it for a long time.
In another city, Arjun’s condition worsened suddenly. Doctors spoke faster now. Treatments became aggressive. His parents stayed strong, faith unwavering.
Arjun remained calm.
Strangely calm.
He began giving instructions—small things. Passwords. Files. Responsibilities. His mother scolded him gently.
“Don’t talk like this.”
He smiled. “I’m just being organised.”
One evening, he asked for his old college bag. His mother hesitated but brought it.
He opened it slowly.
At the back, untouched for years, was an empty page.
He stared at it for a long time.
Not with regret.
With peace.
That night, Ananya asked her father to take her to the temple. She didn’t ask for prayers for herself. She lit a lamp quietly and stood there longer than usual.
If something ends, she thought,
let it end gently.
Back in his hospital room, Arjun looked out at the city lights. He thought of nothing specific—just a feeling that had stayed with him all his life.
Something warm.
Something restrained.
Something that never demanded a name.
Neither of them felt cheated by life.
That was the cruelest part.
They had lived well.
Obediently.
Quietly.
And somewhere between duty and silence, they had loved.
They went to sleep that night—both of them—
not knowing it was the last ordinary night they would ever have.
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