Kaushal blinked against the harsh white light of the hospital room, disoriented. The beeping of machines blended into the background, a mechanical heartbeat in the sterile environment. He pushed himself up, muscles protesting. The ceiling above him was a dull shade of beige, and he could feel the cold, clammy fabric of the hospital gown clinging to his skin.
"Get up slowly, please," a voice said, soft yet firm. A nurse entered, her face framed by a crisp white cap. Her eyes, warm and gentle, flicked to the monitors beside him. "You fainted. Your body needs rest."
"Rest?" he croaked, his throat dry. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. "What happened? Where are my parents?"
The nurse's expression shifted, the warmth evaporating as quickly as it had come.
"Your parents…" she hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. "They didn't survive the accident, Kaushal."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the reality crashing over him. No. It couldn't be.
"Wait," he gasped, desperation flooding his voice. "You must be mistaken. They were fine. They were just at the station. I was on my way to them!"
"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "There were multiple casualties. It was—"
"Don't," he interrupted, a note of panic clawing at his throat. "Tell me about them! What happened? Are they… Are they really gone?"
The nurse stepped closer, her hands clasped in front of her. "It was a violent attack. They tried to escape, but the flames—"
"No!" Kaushal shouted, a guttural sound of anguish escaping his chest. The room felt as if it were closing in on him. He pushed the blankets aside, his heart racing. "I need to see them! I need to—"
"Kaushal, please, you need to calm down." She reached out, her touch gentle but firm. "You're not well. Your body is still recovering."
He pulled away from her, the weight of her words anchoring him to the mattress. His parents were gone. The realization spread like a cold shadow through his being.
He shook his head, the dark thoughts spiraling. "How could this happen? Just… just a phone call, and now…" His voice cracked. "I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to protect them."
"Sometimes, things happen that are beyond our control," the nurse said softly. "No one was prepared for this. You did your best."
His best. The words echoed hollowly in his mind. He had failed them.
"What is there left for me?" he whispered, more to himself than to her. The weight of solitude settled over him, a heavy shroud that felt suffocating.
She took a step back, giving him space. "You're alive, Kaushal. You can still honor their memory. You can still—"
"But I have no one now!" he shouted, the anger bubbling inside him, mixing with despair. "I have no family left. No friends. No one!"
The nurse's eyes softened, and he could see the glimmer of tears threatening to spill over. "You still have the community. You have—"
"Community?" he laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "What community? I don't even know who to turn to. Everyone I love is gone. It's just me."
"Don't say that," she urged, her voice steady. "You can rebuild. You have a life ahead of you. It might not feel like it now, but—"
"Rebuild?" he spat, anger and grief intertwining. "How do I rebuild when the foundation is ashes? How do I—"
The breath caught in his throat, and he pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to stem the tears that threatened to spill. "I can't do this."
"Kaushal," she said, her voice low and soothing. "You're not alone. You have the hospital staff, the people who care—"
"Care?" He scoffed, wiping his eyes. "They're just doing their jobs."
"Maybe," she conceded, her tone gentle. "But that doesn't mean they don't care. You're going to need support. It's okay to ask for help."
He looked at her, really looked at her. She was trying—he could see that. But it didn't change the hollow ache in his chest or the weight of grief pressing down on him like a lead blanket.
"I don't want to talk about it," he murmured, his voice a whisper.
"Alright," she replied softly, pulling back a little. "But if you change your mind, I'm here. You can talk to someone. You don't have to go through this alone."
The door closed behind her, leaving him in silence once more. The beeping machines filled the void, and he closed his eyes, envisioning the chaos from just days before. The fire, the screams, the desperate calls echoing in the air.
"Ma! Baba!"
The words fell from his lips like an incantation, desperate for a miracle that wouldn't come.
Kaushal sat in the stillness, the grief swirling around him like a tempest. The memories came flooding back—the sound of his mother's laughter, the warmth of his father's embrace. They were gone, and he was left with a gaping hole where his family had been.
He pressed his palms against his face, feeling the heat of tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, as if they could hear him. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."
The door creaked open again, and another nurse entered, this one with a clipboard. She glanced up and offered a brief smile, but Kaushal didn't have the energy to return it.
"Good morning, Kaushal," she said cheerfully. "How are you feeling today?"
He shrugged, the weight of his sorrow pulling him down. "Like I'm in a nightmare I can't wake up from."
The nurse's smile faltered. "I can only imagine. You've been through a lot. But we're here to help you. Is there anything you need?"
"Just… just leave me alone," he muttered, burying his face in his hands.
"Alright, but remember, you're not alone in this," she said softly, retreating.
For a long moment, he stared at the sterile walls, his thoughts spiraling deeper into despair. Would he ever feel whole again?
A soft knock drew his attention, and he looked up to see a doctor standing in the doorway. "Kaushal? Can I come in?"
"Sure." The word slipped out, heavy and reluctant.
The doctor stepped inside, his expression serious but compassionate. "I'm Dr. Joshi. We're monitoring your health closely, but I wanted to check on you."
"Why? I'm just a statistic now," Kaushal said bitterly, feeling the walls close in around him.
"That's not true," Dr. Joshi replied firmly. "You're a survivor. Many people are rooting for you to heal, both physically and emotionally."
Kaushal scoffed, shaking his head. "What do they know about me? They don't know what I've lost."
"Losing loved ones is incredibly painful," the doctor acknowledged. "But you have the chance to keep their memories alive. You can find a way to honor them."
"Honor them?" he echoed, the bitterness lacing his words. "How? By living with this weight of guilt? This emptiness?"
"By sharing their stories. Talking about what they meant to you. It may feel impossible right now, but it can help you find a way forward."
Kaushal felt anger rise within him, fuelled by grief. "You don't understand! You can't just—"
"I do understand," Dr. Joshi interrupted, his voice steady. "I've seen many people go through this. It's not easy, but you're not alone. You have support here."
"What kind of support?" he shot back, his voice rising. "What good is it if I'm alone in this world?"
"Support in the form of professionals. Therapists, counselors… people who can help you process this loss."
Kaushal's heart raced. "I don't need a therapist. I need my parents back!"
"I know. But since you can't have them back, you owe it to yourself to find a way to cope with their absence."
The doctor's words hung heavy in the air, and Kaushal felt a flicker of something—maybe hope. Or maybe just the idea that someone cared enough to try.
"I'll think about it," Kaushal said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
Dr. Joshi nodded, a small smile breaking through his serious demeanor. "That's all I can ask for. Just take your time. Healing isn't a race."
The doctor left, and Kaushal was left alone once more. He stared at the ceiling, feeling the tears spill over. This was his reality now—a reality tinged with loss and heartache.
He longed for the warmth of his mother's embrace and the steady presence of his father.
"Kaushal!"
He could almost hear their voices, echoing in the silence.
"Hold on!"
But the echoes faded, leaving him in the dark.
He let out a shuddering breath, feeling the weight of grief press down on him.
"Why?" he whispered, the question lingering in the air, unanswered.
He buried his face in his hands, the tears flowing freely. "I'm so sorry," he murmured again, the words a hollow promise to the void.
The door opened once more, and this time it was a familiar face—a friend from school, Arjun. His eyes were wide with concern as he stepped inside, hesitating at the threshold.
"Kaushal… I came as soon as I heard," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I'm so sorry about your parents."
Kaushal looked up, his heart heavy. "They're gone, Arjun. Just like that."
"I know," Arjun replied softly, stepping further into the room. "I can't imagine what you're going through. But I'm here for you. You don't have to go through this alone."
"Everyone keeps saying that," Kaushal snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. "But how can you understand? How can anyone understand?"
"I may not understand completely," Arjun admitted, his voice calm. "But I want to help. I want to support you. If you need to talk, I'm here."
"What's the point?" Kaushal said, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "Talking won't bring them back."
"Maybe not," Arjun said, his voice steady, "but it can help you process what you're feeling. It can help you find a way to honor them."
"Honor them?" Kaushal echoed, the words tasting foreign.
"Yes. Talk about the good times. Share their stories. It's a way to keep their memory alive. You don't have to do this alone."
Kaushal felt the tears welling up again, the ache in his chest more pronounced. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but instead, he buried his face in his hands again.
"I don't know if I can," he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.
Arjun moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do it all at once. Just take it one day at a time."
The warmth of his friend's hand offered a glimmer of comfort, and Kaushal let out a shaky breath.
"Stay with me, okay?" he murmured, the vulnerability in his voice a small crack in his armor.
"Always," Arjun replied, his grip firm and reassuring.
In that moment, surrounded by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the beeping of machines, Kaushal felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. It was a small flame, easily extinguished, but it was there, fighting against the encroaching darkness.
And as he sat with his friend, the weight of grief still heavy on his heart, he realized he was not completely alone.