The scene in front of me was terrifying.
Harsh was tied to his bed, his body restrained so tightly he couldn't even move. I stepped into his dimly lit room, the air thick with the smell of medicine and exhaustion. His dad sat beside him, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. When he noticed me, he slowly rose from his chair.
"What are you doing here, Madhu?" he asked quietly, as if even speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile.
"Why is Harsh like this? What are you doing to him?"
My voice trembled. I wasn't prepared to see him like this… not Harsh.
"Shuuu! Harsh is finally asleep now. Let's talk in the living room."
He led me out before I could say anything else.
There, under the tired ceiling fan, he explained everything.
Harsh had tried to end his life twice—twice—buried under guilt so deep no treatment was working. Sleeping pills were the only way he could close his eyes.
When his father broke down crying, his voice cracking with pain, my chest tightened. I had never seen a grown man cry like that.
Right there, in that moment, I made up my mind.
I would bring Harsh back.
So I took him far from the city to my grandmother's house in the quiet mountains of Konkan. I still remember the lost look in his eyes… and the camera I placed in his hands. A simple gift. But after a week, he began taking pictures—slowly, cautiously—like someone learning how to breathe again.
The recovery was painfully slow.
But the biggest enemy wasn't guilt.
It was alcohol.
We eventually transferred colleges and continued our HSC in the village. Later, he joined a photography college while I chose business management. Even when we separated for studies, he never drifted too far. He was always close—almost scared to let me out of his sight.
Sometimes, I wondered if the thought of losing me haunted him more than the accident.
Time passed. Mistakes happened. I was the one who crossed the line first. I was the one who got pregnant.
When he found out, he disappeared for months… only to return as someone new. Someone determined. He checked himself into a rehab center, got clean, built a photo studio, then an ad agency—all in a matter of months.
And somehow, we ended up here. Together.
The car had stopped outside my house long ago, but her voice kept flowing, heavy with memories.
"You've gone through a lot… but I'm happy that you got your happy ending," I whispered, wiping my tears.
"I always feel ashamed of the marriage because I'm the cause of everything that happened to him. And I selfishly made a move on him. He never said anything about that to me."
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.
"So I want you to find someone like Harsh, not like your friend Rahul. Do you notice he knows psychological things? He is an art student but he knows things not related to his field. He is not normal. Even Harsh is not normal—he built his business in months, straight out of the hospital. Don't you think that's strange?"
I swallowed.
"Yeah… that's strange."
"The answer he gave me after asking the same question was even stranger. He said: I don't fear anything. Not even death.
That's why I'm telling you this—Rahul is in a way worse mental situation because he's already gotten over his guilt."
Her words echoed in my mind.
"It's your decision what you want to do with your life."
"That's…"
I couldn't argue. Couldn't respond. I quietly stepped out of the car.
"Think about what I said," she added softly.
"I will."
I walked into my apartment, but her words clung to me—shadows I couldn't shake off.