Silent Whispers

Chapter 15: Unforeseen

"MADAMJII?!"

The Gupta household was filled with panic on what was otherwise, a lazy Sunday morning. Khushi had just finished her shower, when she heard the maid, Jaya, frightfully beckoning her.

Alarmed, Khushi ran to the living room. The sight that followed was worthy of being a nightmare. In fact, it was her nightmare:

Garima was lying unconscious on the floor, a small pool of blood staining her clothes.

Khushi felt the hairs rise at the back of her head. She stood transfixed as a rush of memories flooded her mind, taking her back to that fateful day when she watched her mother commit suicide.

"She was just watching TV," Jaya was saying hurriedly. "When she stared coughing up blood... By the time I got to her, she was already unconscious!"

But Khushi wasn't listening.

She stared, hypnotized, at her unconscious mother, her chest squeezing painfully and her lungs gasping for air. She was trapped in a flood of memories, helplessness creeping along every inch of her body.

Her mother was abandoning her all over again, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Maaji?! Wake up!!" Jaya pleaded to a limp Garima. "MAAJI!"

Khushi tried to turn away, but she was frozen in place. It appeared that no matter how hard she ran or how well she hid, her fears always found a way to get to her.

"Madamji? Madamji?!" Jaya called, panicked.

Her screams seemed to have done the trick, for Khushi suddenly snapped out of her trance and looked at the terrified maid.

"Maaji is not waking up," Jaya said, tears brimming in her eyes. "She is not d-dyin-"

Khushi cut in. "Get it together Jaya!" she reprimanded, her voice surprisingly calm. "Call Bhaiyya and tell him what happened. I'm calling the ambulance."

Jaya nodded, relief colouring her face to see her Madamji bark orders in normalcy. As she hurried to the phone, Khushi felt some air returning to her lungs. She almost felt stupid for allowing her nightmares to get the better of her. She had grown up fighting them; today was no different.

So, when the ambulance arrived, Khushi determinedly accompanied an unconscious Garima to the hospital, reminding herself over and over again that her mother wasn't a lifeless doll and was going to be alright very soon.

By the time Shyam arrived, panting, to Lilavati Hospital, Khushi was waiting to consult a doctor on the situation.

"She is fine," she told her brother, in the same calm voice she used with Jaya. "For now anyway... they are doing tests on her."

Shyam nodded, his shoulders falling in defeat. "Are you alright?"

Before she could answer, they were beckoned to the doctor's office – a middle aged woman named Divya Awasti.

"Have a seat," Dr. Awasti said, a disappointed expression covering her face.

Khushi felt her stomach drop upon hearing the doctor's tone and glanced worriedly at her brother. She was surprised to meet his stony gaze. For some reason, her anxiety wasn't etched on his face.  Dismissing this strange observation, she turned to the person who had answers.

"Well, what's wrong with her?"

The doctor surveyed her closely, before saying, "Stage four pancreatic ductal adenocarcinoma... in other words, cancer that has spread so much that there is barely an organ in her abdomen that is not infected with cancerous cells."