...How do I tell a well-structured story, when life is in an absolute mess? This is the story of how I died. Don't worry, though! I came back alive. It all started at the end.
It was a normal day, as long as you ignored the fact that it wasn't. After coming home from school, I just felt the urge to unalive myself by taking sleeping pills. Twenty pills. It seems like a round enough number to end a life that felt so jagged. I lay down and waited for the warmth to leak out of me.
Well, the sleeping pills started to kick in within a few minutes. I just stared at the white ceiling above me and to be honest there were no thoughts on my mind. I looked at the clock and it was 4 O'clock in the afternoon. My eyes started to feel heavy and I didn't try to force them open. I could feel my breath becoming shallower as time went by. And I love this thrilling feeling when death consumes the heart, mind, breath and the soul. My body became numb and that's when I fell into a deep slumber.
'I died, didn't I? I felt like I died back then. What happened?' The first thought I had when I opened my eyes.
I looked around with disappointment. And guess what, I was right. I am in a freaking hospital and my mother is sleeping on the sofa. I looked at her sleeping face and wondered how she would have felt when they found me lying on the bed unconscious.
I sat up straight and oh god! my head was spinning like crazy. So, I just lie down again. That gave me some relief. But the disappointment that I did not die was eating me. If I had died, that would make everyone else around me happy, especially my father. It's okay though, where there is hope, there are trials. Next time I am going to go to a secluded place away from stupid empathetic humans and then die there. Yep! that would be the best. Why did I not think of this before? I am really stupid just like my father has labelled me.
*Slam* the door bursts open. I rolled my eyes, Speak of the devil.
My father.
The door didn't just open; it yielded to him. My father didn't look like a man who had almost lost his daughter. He looked like a man who had been interrupted during a very important meeting.
My mother woke up quickly because she was so surprised. Before she could comprehend what was going on, my father marched to the side of the bed and grabbed the collar of the hospital gown that I was wearing. He didn't look at my eyes; he looked at the IV line in my arms as if calculating the cost of the medicine dripping through it.
"Look at this," he said, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "Look at the spectacle you've made."
"Baba..." I started, my voice cracking.
"Be quiet." He snapped. He gripped the railing of the bed until his knuckles turned white. "Do you have any idea what people are asking me? My colleagues? My neighbors? They ask me why my daughter is jn the ICU. They look at me like I'm a failure because you couldn't handle the 'stress' of your own life."
"I didn't do it for them," I whispered.
"You didn't do it for anyone but yourself. You're selfish Shreya. You've always been selfish." He let out a sharp, jagged laugh, finally looking me in the eye. "And you couldn't even do this right. You never did things right. If you're going to throw away everything I've spent eighteen years providing for you, don't do it under my roof. DON'T DO IT WHERE I'VE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS."
His made sure to specify the last sentence. I just looked at him straight in the eyes. By this time my mother came up to him and was desperately trying to free me from his clutches.
My mother grabbed his arm, her voice a thin plea. "Please, he's just stressed, Shreya. He doesn't mean—"
"I mean every word I said," he interrupted. His gaze was cold, empty of the fire I had spent years trying to ignite with my own good grades and trophies. "You want to be a ghost? Fine. Be a ghost. But stop haunting this family. Next time, find a bridge. Find a highway. Just find somewhere that doesn't have my name on the lease."
He straightened his tie, the same way he did before leaving for work.
"I have to go back to the office, a very important client is coming today," he told my mother, not looking back at me. "Make sure the discharge papers don't cost me more than the insurance covers. She's already wasted enough of my time today."
The door clicked shut behind him. The silence he left was heavier than the words he'd spoken.
The silence my father left behind was different from the silence of the sleeping pills. That silence had been a soft, heavy blanket; this one was sharp, like broken glass.
My mother came up to me and straightened my shirt while mumbling, "Why would you take such a reckless step? Why? What have we done so wrong to you that made you do such thing?"
To be honest I do not even know why I did that. What made me kill myself? I wonder too.
"Ma, whatever I do, it's always my fault nonetheless. It's not your or baba's fault." I said to her softly.
"What are you saying? When have we blamed you for anything?" She asked with tears in her eyes.
"Ma, I'm sleepy." Saying this I lied down and pretended to be asleep.
She retreated to the small, stiff sofa in the corner, her back to me, her shoulders trembling in a way that made me feel more like a burden than his words ever could.
I was in the hospital for three whole days. The atmosphere at my house was so heavy that it felt somewhat suffocating. My father hated the sight of me. Well, when did he ever like me. Since my childhood he has just treated me like I am a big burden to him. And I tried desperately to make him like me and that made him hate me even more. I do not know why. I did all the things an ideal child does. Getting good marks in all of the subjects, good in sports, good at playing a musical instrument, good at painting and many more. What else does he need for me to do?
Later after my younger brother was born, I realised that his problem with me is that I was born a girl. This reason hit me like a bullet train. So, in conclusion whatever I do, it's always my fault nonetheless. Whether it is a good thing or a bad thing. To gain his favour I tried dressing up like a boy, but that did not help. He just simply does not like my existence.
Then here I am again desperately trying to find solutions for everything including my own emotions. Emotions like, 'I hate him, but then again I want him to acknowledge me.' This feeling will remain with me forever, I think...
"What do you think?" Shreya asked her best friend Preeti.
Preeti looked at her with tears in her eyes, hurt and pain were clearly visible in them. But the words that came out of her mouth were different, more like she was ready to scold Shreya. She grumbled, "Why do you like to make your characters suffer so much? What enjoyment do you get from this?"
Shreya just looked at the note in her mobile and pondered silently.
"Hm. Should I make her die alone?" She mumbled.
"NO...WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?" Preeti burst out at her. "Make a happy ending for her."
"Just kidding, just kidding. She will definitely have a happy ending, I promise. I would never disagree with you." And laughed at her best friend's antics.
"Now, now. Don't cry. I promised didn't I?"
"Mn."
Shreya consoled her crybaby best friend.
They were complete opposites of each other. Preeti is a bubbly girl, a ball of sunshine, carrying radiant happiness wherever she goes, making people feel comfortable and happy whenever she's with them, a total extrovert. And then there's this major introvert Shreya, trying hard to cope up with people. Still somehow Preeti managed to coax this introvert person to come under her umbrella of friendship and ended up becoming each other's support.
Shreya always liked to write stories as a way of expressing her feelings. Preeti knows it too well. So when she read that the character Shreya wrote suffers so much she becomes worried about her best friend's mental health. She tried to distract Shreya from whatever going on in her mind. Make her laugh with her badly delivered jokes.
Slowly the laughter dies down as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, orange shadows across the floor of the 25 storey apartment building rooftop. Preeti noticed Shreya tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, her thumb hovering over the "save" button on her phone. The screen's glow felt harsh against the gathering dusk.
"You promise?" Preeti wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice still thick. "No tragic accidents in the final chapter? No 'secluded places'?"
Shreya didn't answer immediately. She looked down at the text and thought of something.
"You're overthinking the dialogue again?" Preeti teased, leaning over Shreya's shoulders.
Shreya could feel the slight warmth of Preeti's breath on her cheek, or at least she thought she could. Down below, the city hummed with the sound of people going home to dinners and families, but up here, on the ledge of the apartment building, the air was thin and quiet. Both pair of legs swung back and forth over the long terrifying drop to the pavement.
"I have to get it right," Shreys muttered, deleting a sentence. "If I don't make the pain feel real, then the happy ending won't feel earned. Right?"
"The pain is already real, Shreya." Preeti said softly. She reached out and tucked a strand of hair blown by the breeze behind Shreya's ear. Her touch was feather-light, almost non-existent. Shreya felt a shiver—not the warmth of skin to skin, but the sudden, sharp prickle of a draft. It was a phantom touch, the kind you feel in a dream right before you wake up.
"You don't need to prove it to anyone. Especially not to him."
Preeti always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better. It was almost too perfect, like she was reading her mind—or like she was simply the echo of the voice Shreya wished she had for herself.
Shreya looked at her. Preeti looked perfect in the dim afternoon light—her eyes bright, her expression filled with a level of empathy that no human in Shreya's house had ever shown, except her grandmother. But she already passed away.
"It's getting late Preeti, you should head home. Your mom will be worried." Shreya said, her voice barely a whisper but the urging was visible.
Preeti chuckled, "And leave you here alone? Not a chance. Besides my house is boring. It's much more interesting here."
"I'm always alone, Preeti." Shreya said softly. "You've been her for the past two days straight. You need a real bed, not that stiff sofa in the living room."
"I don't mind," Preeti said, leaning her head and looked at Shreya with a hint of teasing in her eyes. "If you let me share your bed."
Shreya's breath hitched for a moment before returning to its original state. Before she could utter a word, Preeti broke in, "I'm not going anywhere until I know you're okay. You're my person, Shreya. Remember?"
Shreya felt a lump from in her throat. She said in a low voice, "I remember. But I'm okay n—"
Preeti shushed her by putting a her index finger over her lips.
"Good." Preeti turned around, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Uncle and aunty haven't come home for the past one week, right?" Preeti asked.
Shreya nodded, "Yep, they're quiet busy. My little brother is also traveling with them."
Preeti closed her eyes and let out a breath. "Jharna Masi called you downstairs ten minutes ago."
"I know." Shreaya whispered.
"Stay a little longer." Preeti said, her voice blending with the wind. "Stay here a little longer. Just us. Tell me what happens in the next chapter."
Shreya looked at the ledge. One small shift, and the story would end. But then she looked at Preeti whose eyes held a softness and a little smile. She thought, 'If I went, she went. And she deserves a happy ending, even if I didn't.'
"In the next chapter," Shreya whispered. Her fingers dancing along the screen,"The sun comes up. And for the first time, she doesn't wish it stayed dark."
She hit Save. Beside her Preeti chuckled lightly, a sound like silver bells muffled by the wind. It was the sound of a secret kept between two people who didn't quiet exist in the same world.
But then, her laughter died down. She tilted her head her eyes fixed on the empty doorway of the rooftop stairs, her gaze piercing the growing shadows where the light couldn't reach. Her expression shifted from playful to piercingly alert.
"Shreya," She whispered, her hand hovering near her lips. "Stop typing for a second. I think...I think someone is watching us."