Morning arrived, but it did not feel like morning.
The sunlight slipped quietly through the thin curtains of Isha's room, spreading across the floor as if nothing had changed. As if the world outside was still moving at its usual pace. As if people were still waking up, making tea, stepping out for work, laughing, living.
But inside that room _____ nothing moved.
Isha lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes were open, but they carried no focus. It was as if she was looking through everything instead of at it. Sleep had come and gone in fragments through the night, never staying long enough to bring rest.
Her body felt heavy.
Her mind felt heavier.
And her heart _____ it felt like something had been carved out of it, leaving behind an emptiness she didn't know how to fill.
She turned slightly, pulling the blanket closer, though she wasn't cold. It was more of a habit now. A way to feel something around her when everything inside felt hollow.
For a few seconds, she closed her eyes.
And there it was again.
The corridor.
The silence.
Rahul's eyes.
And that moment _____ when she understood without anyone saying a word.
Her chest tightened instantly.
Her eyes opened again, almost in panic.
"No…" she whispered to herself, her voice dry, barely audible.
But memories don't listen.
They return when they want to.
She slowly sat up, resting her back against the wall. Her hair was messy, her face pale, her eyes swollen from crying. But she didn't care.
There was nothing left to care about.
Her phone lay beside her.
Silent.
Still.
She looked at it for a long time, as if expecting it to ring again.
As if hoping this time the call would say something different.
Something better.
But it didn't ring.
Of course, it didn't.
Reality doesn't change just because you want it to.
A tear rolled down her cheek, slow and quiet.
She didn't wipe it.
She just let it fall.
...
Downstairs, Sunita moved around the kitchen quietly. She had been watching her daughter for the past two days, noticing every small change, every silence, every moment where Isha seemed lost somewhere far away.
A mother doesn't need words.
She understands.
Sunita prepared tea and slowly walked toward Isha's room. She paused outside the door for a moment before gently pushing it open.
Isha was sitting on the bed, in the same position.
Almost like she hadn't moved at all.
"Beta…" Sunita said softly.
Isha looked up, her expression blank for a second before it softened just slightly.
"Come down… have something," Sunita added.
Isha shook her head.
"I'm not hungry."
Sunita stepped inside and sat beside her.
"You haven't eaten properly in two days."
Silence.
"Isha…"
"I'm fine, Maa," she said, but her voice didn't carry any strength.
Sunita looked at her carefully.
"No, you're not."
That simple truth hung in the air.
And for a moment, Isha didn't argue.
Because she couldn't.
Because she knew.
Her fingers tightened slightly over the blanket.
"It feels… strange," she said slowly, searching for the right words. "Everything is the same… but it's not."
Sunita gently placed her hand over Isha's.
"That's because something important is missing."
That word hit her.
Missing.
Not gone.
Not lost.
Missing.
As if he could still come back.
As if this was temporary.
Her eyes filled again.
"I keep thinking…" she whispered, her voice trembling, "maybe I should call him. Maybe he'll pick up. Maybe this is just… a mistake."
Sunita didn't interrupt.
She let her speak.
"But then…" Isha continued, her voice breaking, "I remember…"
And she couldn't finish.
She lowered her head, tears falling again.
Sunita pulled her into a gentle embrace.
"Cry," she said softly. "Don't stop it."
And Isha did.
She cried quietly this time.
Not loudly.
Not uncontrollably.
But deeply.
Like the pain had settled inside her and was now slowly finding its way out.
...
The day passed slowly.
Too slowly.
Time felt stretched, every minute heavier than the last.
Isha tried to distract herself.
She opened her books.
Closed them again.
She picked up her phone.
Put it down.
Nothing held her attention.
Nothing felt important enough.
By evening, she found herself sitting by the window, watching the sky turn from orange to grey.
Her thoughts wandered again.
To him.
To the moments she didn't realize were important until they were over.
The quiet car rides.
The small conversations.
The way he understood without asking.
She closed her eyes.
"I didn't say it…" she whispered again.
The same line.
Repeating.
Like a loop she couldn't escape.
...
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
She flinched.
Her heart skipped a beat.
For a second, she didn't move.
Then slowly, she picked it up.
Karan.
She stared at the name.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Then she answered.
"Hello…"
"Isha," Karan's voice came through, careful, gentle. "How are you?"
She didn't respond immediately.
"I'm… okay," she said after a pause.
"You don't sound okay."
"I said I'm fine."
There was silence on the other end.
"I'm coming to see you," he said finally.
"No," she said quickly. "You don't have to."
"Isha—"
"I need to be alone."
Her voice wasn't harsh.
Just tired.
Karan sighed softly.
"Alright. But I'm just a call away. Okay?"
She nodded, even though he couldn't see her.
"Okay."
The call ended.
She placed the phone back beside her.
And stared ahead again.
...
Night fell.
The house grew quiet.
The kind of quiet that makes every small sound feel louder.
Isha lay back on her bed again, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep didn't come.
It stayed far away.
Her mind kept replaying everything.
Every word.
Every silence.
Every moment she wished she could go back to.
"If I had just…" she whispered.
But there was no point finishing that sentence.
Because nothing changes.
No matter how many times you think about it.
A tear slid down her temple into her hair.
She closed her eyes tightly.
Trying to stop it.
Trying to stop everything.
But she couldn't.
Because grief doesn't leave when you ask it to.
It stays.
It settles.
It becomes a part of you.
...
And somewhere in the middle of that long, restless night _____
Isha finally understood something.
This pain…
It wasn't going anywhere.
She would have to learn to live with it.
Even if she didn't know how.
Even if it felt impossible.
Even if it hurt every second.
Because some losses don't fade.
They stay.
Quietly.
Deeply.
Forever....