Consciousness
The nurse burst into the waiting area, breathless, her earlier tension replaced by sheer relief. "Aryan... he opened his eyes! The operation was successful. His heartbeat is absolutely fine!"
A wave of overwhelming joy swept through the family and friends. Yet, beneath the celebration, a complicated fear simmered: How do we tell Aryan about Ayra? They knew her breakdown and her immediate departure were symptoms of a much deeper, unacknowledged love. Revealing her emotional involvement now could be catastrophic to his fragile recovery.
A few hours later, Aryan stirred, slowly surfacing from the deep anesthesia. He found the faces of his parents, his relatives, Jay, and Aneesh, all radiating cautious happiness, clustered around his bedside. But the face he desperately needed to see was missing.
His voice, raspy and thin, cut through the quiet relief. "Where is Ayra?"
His family immediately circled the question with deflection. "You need rest, son. You're recovering from major surgery. We can talk later."
But Aryan was relentless. The question was not casual; it was the bedrock of his existence. He forced the issue, his brow furrowed with growing panic.
Dr. Runa intervened, firm but gentle. "Aryan, my dear friend. See how far you've come. You are on the verge of complete recovery. You mustn't put any pressure on yourself now. We will discuss Ayra, but not until you rest."
Aryan reluctantly conceded, but the seed of worry had been planted.
The Fabricated Farewell
The following morning, Runa found him more persistent. After giving him his medication, he fixed his eyes on her. "Ayra. Tell me now. Is anything wrong? How is she?"
Runa placed her hand on his shoulder, her touch betraying the lie she was about to weave. "My dear friend, this information could hurt you badly. In your present condition, a serious emotional shock could be dangerous. It could still cost you your life."
She saw the raw impatience in his eyes—he would not rest until he knew. She took a deep breath, executing the agreed-upon plan.
"Ayra is absolutely fine, Aryan," Runa said, the words smooth and practiced. "She… she went abroad. She got a job offer there, a phenomenal opportunity she couldn't pass up."
Aryan's face fell, but Runa continued quickly. "She left a letter for you. I couldn't give it to you sooner. You need more rest, so I will give it to you this evening."
Runa escaped the room, leaving Aryan in a storm of confusion and disappointment. He immediately shouted for the nurse, ordering her to fetch Jay.
When Jay arrived, Aryan's voice was sharp. "Call Ayra! Now!"
Jay exchanged a look with Aneesh, then stammered out the second part of the lie. "We tried, Aryan. She changed her number—and her parents don't seem to have the new one either. The job must have been very sudden."
Deeply disappointed, Aryan sank back against the pillows, the only thing keeping his hope alive was the promised letter.
The Letter and the Hidden Fear
In the evening, Runa returned, holding a crisp, folded piece of paper. She sat by his bedside, her expression solemn.
"You must promise me, Aryan," she insisted, her eyes locking with his. "Whatever is written in this letter, you cannot let it depress you. You fought back from the edge of death for your life and your future. If you break this promise, I won't give you the letter."
Aryan agreed instantly, his hand shaking slightly as he reached for it.
Just as his fingers closed around the paper, his mother intervened, placing a gentle hand over his. "Aryan, wait. Please, wait until you are fully recovered. This isn't the right time."
He ignored her. The need to know overshadowed everything else. He tore open the envelope.
The letter was folded neatly, but before he could unfold the main sheet, a small, separate note slip fluttered out and landed on his blanket.
Written in elegant, unmistakable script, were two words that stabbed him with a profound, hidden fear:
"SORRY ARYAN"
With dread tightening his chest, Aryan opened the letter that held the final, fabricated truth of Ayra's abrupt departure.