Sukoon-e-dil ✓ [Under Editing]

CH 1 | ACCIDENT

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Radhika
Age 28
A school teacher

Madhav
Age 31
An Ias officer

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Radhika

Morning light filters through the half-open window, casting soft golden lines on the faded walls of my room. Lucknow's winters mornings always carry a certain kind of stillness.

I sit up in bed, wrapping my shawl tightly around me. The chill of the marble floor seeps into my bones as my feet touch the ground. I glance at the small clock on the bedside table-----6:15.

From the kitchen, I can hear Bua humming an old Lata Mangeshkar song while making tea.

After taking bath, now I was braiding my long hair in front of the mirror, I can't help but stare at my own reflection ---plain, simple, ordinary. A soft sigh escapes my lips before I stop myself. No use thinking like that.

I step out of my room just as Bua calls out to me.

"Radhika, beta, nasta kar le pehle. Gram parathe banaye hain."

I forced a smile, walking towards the kitchen.

"Nahi Bua, der ho rhi hai. School ka time ho gya hai."

She turns around, a frown lining her forehead. "Roz ki tarah bina kuch haye jaogi? Tabiyat kharab ho jaayegi."

I pick up my bag from the chair, adjusting the dupatta over my kurti.

"Waapas aake khaungi,Bua. Promise."

She shakes her head but doesn't argue. I know she warries about me----worries that I don't eat properly, don't smile enough, don't live enough. But how do I explain to her that living isn't as easy as breathing?

As I step out, Fufa ji is sitting on the verandah, reading his newspaper, glasses perched at the tip of his nose.

"Beta akele jaa rhi ho? Ruko chhod deta hoon."

I smile, shaking my head."Nhi Fufa jii, chal kar chali jaungi. School paas hi toh hai."

I need the walk, I think to myself. It gives me a moment to gather my thoughts before facing the children----the only part of my life that truly makes sense.

Pulling my shawl tighter, I walk through the narrow lanes of old lucknow, Greeting the familiar shopkeepers who are just sitting up for the day. The scent of freashly made jalebis wafts through the air, mixing with the sharp smell of chai and winter fog.

As I was near the school, something catches my eyes-----a sudden screech of tires, a loud thud, and then-----

A boy's sharp cry pierces the air.

My heart stops.

A small boy, no older than seven or eight, lies on the road, bleeding from a gash on his forehead. his tiny chest rising and falling so fast.

For a second, my feet would't move----and then suddenly I was running toward him, falling to my knees by his side.

"Beta? aankhein kholo, please aankhein kholo, tumara naam kya h "

His eyes fluttered, glazed with tears.

"A.......Aman...." he whisperd, and I could barely hear him.

I looked up, my hands shaking. People were standing around------watching. Just watching.