Mithun was the one who broke the news to me. “Shinu,” he said, his voice heavy with grief, “Chippi’s dad passed away.” The news of her father's passing was a shock that I never saw coming. He had heart problems, sure, but I never expected that. He was a good man, a great father, and someone I deeply respected. When I heard the news, it was like the ground had been pulled from beneath my feet. I couldn’t believe it.
I rushed to her house, and it was already packed with people. It's always the same—crowds come after death, but during life, they hardly have time to visit. These days, everyone is running behind the clock, too busy to meet, too occupied to connect. I kept myself busy, helping to arrange the sheets, trying to do something, anything, to distract from the suffocating sadness. We had to wait for the body to come from the hospital, and in the meantime, Chippi had gone there. I couldn’t bring myself to follow her. The thought of seeing her in that situation was too much.
I needed air, space to think, so I left the house and walked down to the riverside. The water was calm, but inside me, there was a storm brewing. I sat there, feeling the weight of something heavy on my chest, an ache that wouldn’t go away. I kept thinking about how she would react when it fully hit her. How could she bear it? The thought alone made me feel even more helpless.
As if to match my mood, it started to rain, a slow, steady drizzle that soaked through my clothes. I didn’t care. The rain felt almost comforting, numbing the pain, if only for a moment. Eventually, I walked back home, but sleep wouldn’t come that night. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts endlessly circling around her. After what felt like an eternity, I learned from Mithun that Chippi had decided to go ahead with her exams. I couldn’t believe it. How could she even think about exams at a time like this? But that was Chippi—stronger than anyone gave her credit for.
The day of her first exam, I went to her college. I watched her arrive with someone—her cousin, maybe. She looked different. The light in her eyes was gone, replaced by a dullness that made my heart ache. She wasn’t really there; she was just going through the motions.
I stood in the canteen, waiting for her. Time crawled by, each second a weight on my chest. I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t focus. I kept thinking about what I would say to her, how I could help, but nothing seemed right. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and left the canteen. I wandered the campus until I found a tree to sit under, and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
I woke up to the sound of someone calling my name. I blinked, disoriented, and then I saw her.
“Shinu… when did you get here?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve been here,” I replied, trying to shake off the sleep. “I just… I didn’t want to disturb you.”
She looked at me, her eyes tired and red from sleepless nights. “Did you come by bus?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Are you okay now?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“No, I’m not,” she said, her voice cracking as she spoke. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she started to cry. It was the first time I’d seen her break down since everything happened. I moved closer and took her hand, trying to offer some small comfort.
“I don’t think your dad would want to see you like this,” I said softly. “He’s watching over you, Chippi. He’s still with you, just… differently.”
She looked at me, searching my face for something, anything that could make this better. “I feel like I don’t have anyone anymore, Shinu,” she whispered.
Her words cut through me like a knife. I didn’t know what to say. Sometimes, there are no words.
“Let me walk you to your hostel,” I said, trying to keep things normal. “You need to rest, and you have another exam to prepare for.”
She just walked beside me, silent and distant. When we reached the hostel, she turned to go inside without a word. I watched her go, my heart heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. I sent her a message later that night, telling her to take care of herself, knowing it wasn’t enough. I knew she felt alone, and it killed me that there was nothing I could do to change that.
The next few days passed in a blur. I stayed near her college, keeping an eye on her from a distance. I didn’t want to crowd her, but I couldn’t leave her alone either. Every time I saw her, she looked a little more like herself, but the pain in her eyes never went away.
On the last day of her exams, I waited for her under the same tree where I had fallen asleep. She found me there and sat down beside me without a word.
“Shall we go to the canteen?” she asked after a long silence, her voice almost back to normal.
We walked together, the rain starting to drizzle as we entered the canteen. The coffee was served, but she kept staring out the window, lost in thought.
“Chippi,” I said gently, trying to bring her back to the moment.
“Yeah?” she turned to look at me, and for the first time in days, she smiled—a small, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“I don’t want to go back there,” she admitted, her voice trembling.
I didn’t need to ask where. I knew she was talking about home, about facing life without her father. We finished our coffee in silence, and I walked her to the bus stop.
On the bus, she leaned her head on my shoulder, finally letting herself relax. As we rode in silence, I knew that this was just the beginning of her journey through grief. But at least, for now, she didn’t have to go through it alone.
When we reached her stop, she looked at me one last time before stepping off the bus. “Thanks, Shinu,” she said quietly, and then she was gone.
I watched her walk away, knowing that there were no easy answers, no simple solutions.
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