The world shrunk, constricting around me, leaving me gasping for air in the suffocating silence of my grief. I stared blankly at the message, the happy memories of our trip to Ooty, the stolen kisses, the quiet moments, all fading into a painful, agonizing memory. She had chosen a path of sacrifice, a path of faith, to protect me. She had given herself up to a life devoid of me, a life she didn’t want, so I could live mine.
A choked sob escaped my lips. The tears flowed uncontrollably, a relentless torrent of anguish and despair. My world was crumbling, reduced to ashes, and the only sound was my own raw, heartbroken cry. Anasooya, She heard my cries, knocking gently on the wall.
Finally, she emerged, her face etched with concern. She broke quarantine, the urgent need to comfort me overriding any personal risk of infection. She held me, her hug warm and comforting, patting my head until the storm of my grief subsided, leaving me spent and emotionally drained.
After what seemed like an eternity, the phone rang – my psychologist. Anasooya answered, relaying my story to the doctor. The doctor’s words were a beacon in the darkness: “It’s good that he has someone. Vishal will be okay.” Anasooya sanitized my hands, a small act of protectiveness, and returned to her room. Before disappearing, she paused, her eyes mirroring the depth of my sorrow. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I’m with you.”
Her words, simple yet profound, were a lifeline, a promise of hope amidst the ruins of my heart. Zarah’s sacrifice had left an unfillable void, but Anasooya’s presence, a quiet strength in the face of my despair, was a fragile, yet precious, beginning. The journey ahead was uncertain, but I was no longer alone.
DAY 4
The following morning, while I was busy making breakfast, Anasooya called out to me from her room. Anasooya: Vishu, don’t come in!
Me: Alright. What’s up? Anasooya: I’ve got a fever.
Me: Oh no! How high is it? Did you check? Anasooya: Yeah, it’s 100°F.
Me: I’ll get you some medicine. The doctor mentioned that fevers can come back as part of COVID, so don’t stress too much.
Anasooya: To make matters worse, I’m on my period and… Me: And what?
Anasooya: I’ve run out of pads.
Me: Oh, is that all? You could have just told me! Anasooya: Hm.
Me: Seriously, don’t hesitate to share. Anasooya: Okay.
Me: Here’s the plan: I’ll finish breakfast and leave the medicine for you. In the meantime, I’ll get what you need.
Anasooya: Sounds good.
I recalled a conversation with Zarah about menstrual cups, which are reusable and even promoted by some governments over pads. I decided to order both pads and a menstrual cup, and they arrived within half an hour.
I knocked on her door.
Me: Anu…
She: Hey, how did you know my nickname?
Me: If your formal name starts with an A in Malayalam, it’s usually Anu or Achu. She: Haha, that’s true!
Me: It’s not rocket science. She: (laughs)
Me: I’ve brought you pads and a menstrual cup. She: A menstrual cup?
Me: Yeah, I’ve heard it’s more comfortable than pads. She: I’ve heard that too.
Me: That’s why I got it for you. She: Thanks, Vishu.
Me: Just remember to take a couple of days off and rest completely. She: But what about work…