One week had passed, and Aryan was finally discharged from the hospital. The costs of his stay had been covered by his insurance, and the mysterious organization had even assured him of financial support for the future. Yet, none of this brought any relief to Aryan. His legs were still paralyzed, his body still broken, and all the help in the world couldn't change the fact that his life had been shattered in an instant.
Throughout his stay at the hospital, Aryan had tried to envision a future for himself, but all he could see was darkness. No path seemed open to him, no dream seemed possible. He often closed his eyes, sighing deeply as his thoughts spiraled into hopelessness.
On the day of his discharge, a nurse entered the room, her face bright with a smile. "Congratulations, Aryan! You're going home today," she said cheerfully, trying to uplift his spirits.
Aryan barely glanced at her, nodding without any expression of happiness on his face. There was no joy in leaving the hospital, no excitement for what lay ahead. If anything, it felt like another burden being forced to return to a life that now seemed meaningless.
The nurse's smile faltered a bit at Aryan's lack of enthusiasm, but she pressed on. "Where's your family, Aryan? Are they coming to pick you up?" she asked, her tone filled with the kind of curiosity that only someone unfamiliar with his situation would express.
Aryan stiffened at the question, caught off guard by it. "I'm an orphan," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been alone since I was a child. My grandfather was the only one who raised me."
The nurse blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting such a response. "Oh… I see," she said, a bit more cautiously now. "But... do you have any other family? A distant relative? Someone who could be with you during this time?"
Aryan closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the memories of his childhood. He had never known any other family, no aunts, uncles, or cousins. His world had revolved around his grandfather, and when he died, Aryan had been left entirely on his own. "No," Aryan said finally, shaking his head. "It was just me and my grandfather. We lived in a small village, far from here. He passed away when I was a teenager."
The nurse nodded, her expression softening as she realized how truly alone Aryan was. She didn't press the issue further, sensing the pain in his voice. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said quietly. "Well, in that case, the hospital will arrange for an ambulance to take you back to your home. We'll make sure you're comfortable."
Aryan nodded in agreement, though he still felt no sense of relief. He was going back to his small apartment, but it didn't feel like home. Not anymore. Not with his legs in this condition, not with the weight of everything that had happened bearing down on him.
A short while later, the nurse returned with a wheelchair, carefully helping Aryan transfer from the hospital bed to the chair. She made sure he was comfortable, adjusting the cushions and positioning his legs gently, trying to make the process as smooth as possible. Aryan sat silently, watching her work with a detached expression, his mind far away.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked kindly, looking down at him.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Aryan muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. There was nothing to look forward to in this homecoming. He wasn't going back to a life of freedom or mobility just to a small, lonely apartment where his new reality awaited him.
The nurse smiled sympathetically, understanding that words wouldn't comfort him. She gently pushed the wheelchair, guiding Aryan through the familiar hospital hallways one last time. They passed by rooms filled with patients, nurses attending to their duties, and the low hum of hospital life continuing as it always did. Aryan barely noticed any of it, his mind too consumed by his own bleak thoughts.
At the entrance, the ambulance was already waiting. The driver, a burly man with a kind face, stepped out and opened the back doors of the vehicle. A second attendant, a woman, approached with a lift to help Aryan into the ambulance. They worked efficiently, their movements practiced and smooth, ensuring Aryan's comfort as they secured him in place.
"All set," the driver said with a nod, as they closed the doors and started the engine.
The journey back to his apartment was a quiet one. The soft hum of the ambulance filled the air, and Aryan stared out the window, watching the cityscape blur by. He hadn't been outside the hospital for over a month, and yet, nothing seemed different. Life had continued as usual for the world outside, while his own had been torn apart.
After what felt like an eternity, the ambulance slowed to a stop in front of Aryan's apartment building. It wasn't much just a modest, run-down complex that he had called home for the past few years. To most, it would seem depressing, but for Aryan, it had always been enough. Now, however, it felt like a prison. The small, cramped space, which he had once found comforting in its simplicity, now seemed suffocating.
The attendants carefully unloaded him from the ambulance, wheeling him to the front entrance of the building. The driver gave him a nod as they prepared to leave, "Take care of yourself, Aryan."
Aryan mumbled a thanks, though his thoughts were already far from the present moment. He looked up at the building, a sinking feeling in his chest. This place had been his refuge, but now it was just another reminder of what he had lost.
As the ambulance pulled away, Aryan found himself sitting in front of the entrance, unable to muster the strength to move forward. He stared up at the old, weathered facade of the building, the peeling paint, the cracks in the walls. He used to not care about these details, but now every imperfection seemed to echo his own broken state.
Finally, after a few minutes, Aryan took a deep breath and rolled himself toward the door. He used the automated button to open it, grateful for the small mercy of not having to struggle with the heavy door in his condition.
Inside, the building was quiet, the usual sounds of life muted at this hour. Aryan's apartment was on the ground floor, thankfully, so he didn't have to worry about stairs or elevators. He slowly wheeled himself down the narrow hallway, each moment feeling like a small battle against the overwhelming sense of defeat that clung to him.
When he finally reached his apartment door, he fumbled with the keys for a moment, his hands shaking slightly from the effort. He hadn't realized how weak he felt until now. The door creaked open, and Aryan rolled himself inside.
The familiar scent of his home greeted him, but it no longer brought comfort. The space was just as he had left it over a month ago tidy, though small. His bed was pushed up against the far wall, the tiny kitchenette on the opposite side, and a single window that overlooked the back alley.
Aryan wheeled himself further into the room, feeling the weight of loneliness settle in. He hadn't missed this place. In fact, he had barely thought about it during his time in the hospital. Now that he was back, the reality of his situation felt even more oppressive.
He moved toward the bed, but stopped halfway, unsure of what to do. There was no plan, no direction. Just endless days ahead of him in this small, confining space. Aryan's eyes wandered to the wheelchair he was sitting in, and a fresh wave of bitterness washed over him.
"I'm stuck here," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "I'm stuck in this chair... in this place... in this life."
The weight of it all was unbearable. He had always prided himself on being strong, on facing whatever life threw at him with resilience. But now, all of that felt hollow. His strength had been taken away, his future ripped apart, and all he could see ahead of him was an endless stretch of nothingness.
For the first time in a long time, Aryan felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. He blinked them back, refusing to let himself cry. But the pain in his chest was too much to bear. He couldn't ignore it, couldn't push it away.
The irony of it all was almost laughable. The very thing he had admired and dreamed of cultivators, people with incredible power had been the cause of his downfall. And now, here he was, left with nothing but the broken pieces of his life.
He stared out the small window, watching as the last rays of the setting sun disappeared behind the buildings.