Dually Devoted ✓

Chapter 31

Siddharth swam through the length of his roof-top pool, the calm of his mind surprising him. He couldn't believe he had reached such a peaceful point in his life.

He remembered the day he had woken up in the hospital like it was yesterday. In an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, and an unfamiliar self. Feeling like a new-born. Yet. Knowing otherwise.

He recalled the doctor informing him that he'd survived life-threatening injuries, that it was God's grace, but he remembered nothing.

'It's normal at this stage of concussion, it'll go away gradually,' the doctor had told them.

But it terrified him. Everything had seemed foreign, and he remembered nothing. Not his name, not his relatives, nor the person he had been. He couldn't really put in a deep-thought either. Not when his neck was stiff, his knees still tingled and his head felt as heavy as a rock. Not when his whole body ached and he even feared touching his own face. He kept feeling as if he was being scammed. Frustration, confusion and strange unsettling emotions filled his being. He was alone. All alone. With no one to trust, and no one recognizable.

Then, his father- to his eyes, a stranger- had entered his room; shock, worry, and a few unreadable emotions floating in those eyes. Recalling the doctor telling him about the plastic surgery he'd been through, he observed the man, noticing everything and mutely envying the calm that was present in every person around him, except in him. The calm that came with the knowledge of knowing where you are, who you are.

Fed up of all the blankness in him, his shoulders had slumped, waves of mild pain caused by the movement making him lock his jaw. Finally, gaining the strength to ask, he had found out that the name he had had was Siddharth. Siddharth, he had repeated in his head. But the name had brought back nothing. No familiar emotions, no sense of belonging. Just. Nothing.

Days had passed and things had only gone south. One second, he'd be quietly sitting on his couch, and the next, he'd be holding his head, biting down a scream of agony. Triggered, by a pounding headache. When that would pass, he'd be left to feel empty. Alone, confused, angry, defeated.

Depressed.

Therapy was necessary, and he knew that. But he couldn't quite understand why. Why was he feeling whatever it was he was feeling.

He wanted to ask a mountain of questions every second, a panic, an anxiety becoming a huge part of him. But he hadn't voiced them much. Strangely, he had resorted to observing, yearning to be as calm as every person around him was.

He yearned for a normal day. A normal moment in his life. But at the same time, he doubted if he would ever experience normalcy again. He just wished to have enough strength to tolerate this hell, until, at least, his physical pain would reduce to bearable levels.

They had shifted to a new house, his dad had informed him. New room, new furniture, new things. And new memories; Sid wanted to laugh. As luck would have it, all his old things, their recent family pictures, everything had been burnt, lost. Along with their old home.

Sid had nothing here, that he could call his- something that he could cling to- except for a ring. A ring he had been wearing on his right hand ring finger when he'd woken up. A ring with an inscribed A. His dad had told him it stood for his mother's name- Amala. And that had almost had him in tears. Not because he recognized it. Not because it awakened emotions in him. But because of the fact that it didn't. The name made him feel nothing. What had he become, he had pondered. Not even able to remember his mother, though he had learnt her name. Though he had seen her pictures. Nevertheless, what else could he expect? He hadn't even recognized his own self in them. His face had taken more damage than any other part of his body, after all.