Words Whispered in Doubt

If death was my goal, I had certainly found the wrong path, for I wasn’t dying; I was being rescued. But the process was still killing me.

Pain bubbled at the bottom of my stomach and surged up to my vocal cords, making me want to shout, to scream. I would have, if it weren’t for the tubes running out of my mouth. The constant beeping of the monitor, proving I was alive, wasn’t much comfort. The blurry vision of the nurse’s face loomed over me. “He looks cute,” she said to someone else in the room. “Shame, though.”

The letter I wrote flapped on the table nearby. Maybe the doctors wouldn’t have such a hard time if I had written down the name of the poison I consumed. So, how did I get here?

If I had to blame someone, it would be Trisha, Amogha, Nadia, and Yamini—not necessarily in that order. That’s just the order they entered my life. The level of destruction they caused, well, that’s an entirely different list. The misery they put me through is quite an accomplishment, driving me to the state I am now, helpless in a hospital bed.

Had I known 7 years ago that this is how it would all end, I would have done everything in my power to avoid running into the four of them. Who am I kidding? The odds were stacked against me, and every single thing that led me to them was an astronomical coincidence. Maybe God was having a laugh at my expense, making me juggle three balls at once: love, pain, and heartbreak. I could only hold on to one ball at a time. I was a circus of my own.

Love, in my mind, was something pure, untainted, divine—something that brings joy and happiness. But so far, I have been led to believe otherwise. I know that by holding them accountable for my actions, I am being irresponsible. The truth is, I wanted to be mourned, and maybe my death would stand as a symbol of lost love. I was pretty sure that their collective tears wouldn’t even fill a glass. But was that what I really wanted? The nurse said that suicide is a permanent solution to temporary problems. The real deal would be to stand tall and fight through it. She was right. Should I kill myself for a half-filled glass of tears?

“There is a girl here named Yamini. She says she’s your friend,” I heard the nurse say. “She’s come to see you. Should I let her in?”

Oh, we’re friends now?

I bet it was guilt that brought her here. She never came when I needed her to. Yamini stood there for a long time, her unblinking eyes on mine, welling up. Forcing herself to cry—she always was a good actor. She let out a single tear before quickly wiping it away.

“Why did you do this to yourself?” she asked. Her eyes were clear again, the tears gone. I suppose she deserved an Oscar for this performance.

“I don’t know, Kami,” I tried to reach for her hand.

“You should let go of me. I’m not your Kami anymore. Please don’t tell me you still love me after everything we went through.”

Kami was the name I christened her with on our fourth date; it means God in Japanese. She certainly had a loyal devotee in me, making me believe in a power that never existed.

“I don’t love you anymore!” It was hard to lie with my heart rate being monitored.

She took my hand in hers, our fingers interlocking the way we used to do during class. “This is the last time you are going to hold my hand. Is there anything you want to say?”

There was a time when the touch of her fingers sent electric arcs down my body. Now, all I felt was the IV drip. “I wish I would never see you again.” I lied

Her tear hit my eyelid like a falling anvil as she bent to kiss me on the forehead. This one was real.

“Goodbye,” she said, leaving the room in quick strides, as if staying any longer would make her uncertain. So, that was what three years of love was worth: two drops of tears, a kiss, and a goodbye.

“That could have gone better,” the nurse said as she entered my room.

“Were you eavesdropping?” I asked. “You had…”

“Of course not. My table is right outside your room,” she cut me off. “And you guys weren’t exactly quiet…” She paused for a while as she filled an injection. “Also, I had to make sure she didn’t slip a vial of poison into your hands.”

“She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t kill me,” I found myself getting a bit annoyed.

“Funny, in here you’ve written that she, along with three other girls, was responsible for your death,” she said, waving the letter that was supposed to be my epitaph.

“That…”

“We make our own life choices. Remember that. Don’t blame others for your shortcomings. Now, get some rest.”

“Wait…” I tried getting up and failed. “Can you stay here for a while?”

“Why? Do you want to add my name to that list too?” She was half out of the room.

“I would if I got your name, nurse!”

“Flirting even on a sick bed,” I saw her shake her head in disapproval. “Manisha. Now rest.”