I returned home to my mother giddily smiling, ready to hear all about my farewell and the after party. I just told her about Karan's message.

"Aditya passed away."

It sounded so wrong, passed away. This phrase was used for already suffering patients who succumb to their disease. It was used for elderly people dying a natural death. Heck, it was even used for people dying in road accidents.

But it could not be used for suicide.

I knew that. God I knew that. But I couldn't bring myself to say he's...dead, or worse.

That he killed himself.

My mother wrapped me in a bear hug after hearing that, keeping quiet even though there were probably thousands of questions she wanted to ask.

Allowing her scent to fill my nostrils, I let go.

Completely.

{[]}

A day before new year's eve, we visited the Malhotra residence.

He used to live in a joint family. My father said that was kind of a given, only two to three families together could afford an independent bunglow in Noida.

Their house was so incredibly modern. As we were led to the drawing room, I took in the polished wooden furniture, a mix of chocolate brown and white. The eight seater red sofa set was placed around a glass centre table, the kind in which a huge slab of glass is supported by smooth wooden legs. Matching red satin curtains were pulled back, allowing the soft winter sun rays coming from the transparent glass sliding-door to hit the television. Huge, framed canvases hung on the off-white walls, the contents of which were strange to my eyes. They snapped to the oil-painting of a smiling Aditya, with a garland of orange and yellow marigolds around it. I quickly averted my eyes, not able to look at it for more than five seconds.

The only thing in that room which was not modern was the overwhelming smell of burning incense sticks. The heavy smell of sandalwood reminding me why I was here.

Squeezed between my parents with Aarna on my lap, I was too aware of the feminine sobs coming from the nearest bedroom, belonging to Adi's mother in all probability. She was the only member of her family who wasn't present in the drawing room, apart from her elder son, but he was never coming back.

A now-familiar wave of grief hit me at that thought.

Every seat in the spacious room was occupied by his family members and other relatives. Uncles were grim-faced and aunts were consoling an elderly-looking lady, his grandmother most likely, as silent tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks. Two stern-faced men were sitting quietly across from me. While the older one, who I assumed was Adi's grandfather, had tired eyes filled with anguish, his son next to him sported an impassive expression, and if my judgement was not faulty, it seemed as if his features indicated annoyance.

I turned my head to the right and was surprised to find Anshuman's gaze fixed at me. His fingers were covered with faded dark colours, possibly from his unsuccessful attempts to scrub it away. An image of a white formal shirt popped into my mind, always stained with a new colour.

"My little devil of a brother loves using me as his paint-mixing dish...what's it called again?"

I glanced at Aditya's oil painting again and then regarded Anshuman. He was still surveying me, his young face a clear landscape of his misery, and nodded sadly when he saw me watching him, after which he swiftly looked away.

Finding my surroundings to be too stifiling, I stood up abruptly, shifting Aarna to papa's lap. Mumbling a quick apology to anyone who bothered to listen, I walked out of the front door and into the small lawn.

There was an old-fashioned, cushioned swing on one corner and I settled on it, bent over until my nose touched my knees. My heels were digging in the ground as I fisted my hands inside the pockets of my sweatshirt, partially to protect them from the December chill and partially to hide their trembling as I willed myself to push back the tears.

I told myself I can't cry, I shouldn't cry. There's no point of crying. It won't change anything. He's gone forever.

My friend is gone forever.

I was so lost in my inner conflict that I didn't notice someone sitting down beside me until the swing jerked forward from his weight.

I straightened up quickly to find his grandfather next to me, staring ahead with a stoical expression. "This was his favourite spot in the entire house. He used to sit here for hours, thinking about...I don't even know what..."

Having no clue how to reply, I chose to remain silent, figuring that the person beside me was not the type of man who'd appreciate meaningless words of comfort. It must've been the right thing to do, for he continued speaking.

"One day I saw him sleeping here, on this very swing. He told me he had fallen asleep the night before, listening to those English songs you youngsters love. I shouldn't have ignored my instinct when it told me that something was surely bothering him. If I'd just talked to him, he wouldn't have...wouldn't have taken his own life." His voice started shaking by the time he finished.

"Why are you telling me this?" I murmered.

"I'm assuming that he told you what was bothering him. Am I right?"

I looked at him to see that his gaze was fixed at the ground, drops of tears making small, wet patches on his kurta. He was wearing white like the rest of us.

The colour of mourning.

I looked away, not before mumbling a small, "yes".

He nodded in response and stood up. About to walk away, he stopped when I asked, "don't you want to know what it was?"

He returned my questioning stare with a hard one of his own, swirls of anger brimming inside his senescent eyes. I had a feeling that the anger wasn't directed at me, but rather at himself.

"I was the first person to hold his tiny, warm body when he was born. Never could I have imagined that I'd also be the first person to hold the torch which would light the pyre, burning his cold, lifeless body to dust. I should have been the first person he came to with his problems, yet he didn't. I failed to help him. I failed as a grandfather. I don't deserve to know." Having delivered those painfully self-loathing words with an almost robotic ease, he turned and went back inside.

What he didn't say was that I failed to help him too.

I failed as a friend too.

{[]}

The rest of the winter vacation passed agonizingly slowly. Since my final board examinations and medical enterance test were a little over two months away, I had no option but to study.

Glad that I had something to take my mind off its despairing state, I buried myself in books to a point where it became unhealthy since I usually forgot to even feel hunger and thirst. No one disturbed me, not unless I was too far gone and my parents had to bring me back to feed and water me.

We were required to attend the first two weeks of school once it reopened on the second week of January, after which we could start taking preparatory leaves again. To say that I was terrified of facing my friends after that nightmarish day would be an understatement...

Stomachs grumbling, feet aching and cheeks hurting, we all stunbled into the cab, having decided to go for a cosy, friendly dinner in an economical food joint.

Due to lack of space, Vivaan, Radhika, Kian and I had to...adjust in the back seat. Aryan travelled shotgun, having determinantly stated, "you guys enjoy, my girls's not here."

I hadn't really understood the meaning of his words until about three minutes later, when I found myself practically over Kian's lap.

Lack of space made people close. Sometimes too close.

It wasn't exactly as romantic as it sounds. I ended up elbowing him more times than his gentlemanly nature allowed him to admit, as I attempted to adjust my saree every five seconds. The heels of my stilettoes poked his toes twice when I tried to cross my legs, because the alternative was to sit with one thigh strewn over his legs. No matter how huge a crush I had on him, I would've never allowed myself to sit like that.

In the end, I managed to move an acceptable distance away from Kian, but that only happened when Radhika moved to plop herself on Vivaan's lap sideways, giving me an exhasperated look.

Ignoring her, I opened my silver clutch to take out my phone, at the same time marvelling at how ridiculously tiny it was.

Cheap shoulder bags over expensive clutches anyday.

I furrowed my brows when I saw four messages from Karan, wondering why he wasn't studying for his practicals.

Opening my WhatsApp chatbox with Karan, I scanned its contents.

Only to scream a second later.

Kian immediately grabbed my arm in concern, while simultaneously asking the driver to pull over on the side. Five pairs of eyes were piercing right through me as tears of disbelief and dread started pouring down my cheeks. Everyone else stared in silence as Kian tried to hush me, with one hand rubbing my back soothingly.

Handing my phone to Radhika as I hid my face in my hands, trying to press back my tears.

Precisely at that point Rads said, her voice shaking with effort to suppress her tears, "Adi...Adi's dead. He committed suicide this morning."

There was pin drop silence.

My sobs slowly subsided after hearing those words. It was as if saying them out loud offered a sense of finality. Once I was normal again, I lifted my face from my hands.

"Change of plans, we need to go here," I said, scribbling Karan's address on a chit from a mini note pad I always carried and handed it to the driver, who then entered it into his GPS.

Wanting to block out their stares, I closed my eyes and leaned into Kian, grateful for his warm arm around me and the comforting embrace as he pulled me closer. I tried to ignore the soft cries of Radhika and the silent sorrow of the boys as I racked my brain to think of how I would console Karan, knowing that he must be alone, being a single child of parents with very demanding jobs.

I was proven right when he opened his front door ten minutes later.

Karan was a mess.

His hair was dishevelled, half of it sticking up and the other half lying flat. His swollen eyes squinted at us in confusion as he trembled due to cold, since he was wearing a thin half-sleeved t-shirt over his striped cotton pyjamas in the middle of December.

After a moment of staring silently, Kian pulled him in a hug, joined by Aryan and Radhika as well. I nudged Vivaan and whispered, "would you fetch him a jacket please? He's freezing." Viv nodded and went inside Karan's room as I closed the door behind me.

Rads, Karan, Aryan and Kian had settled on his dining table by the time Vivaan arrived with a jacket. Wordlessly, Karan wore it over his shoulders and addressed us, eyes fixed on me standing in a corner.

"Why are you all here?"

When nobody answered for almost two minutes Vivaan sighed and said,"to check on you. You're clearly not okay."

"I'm fine. It's not me who's dead is it?" There was a collective gasp when he said that, as if we'd all forgotton for a second.

"How did this..." Radhika began, sounding on the verge of tears. "How did happen? Why did this happen?"

Karan turned to her with a hollow expression and let out a tired breath. "I got a call at around ten this morning, from the sub-inspector of the local police station. He asked me whether I knew someone by the name of Aditya Malhotra. Adi had phoned me yesterday, cancelling our study session. So naturally I became shit-scared. And the officer confirmed my worst fear, saying that Adi was found..." He faltered, unable to go on.

I uncrossed my arms and pulled a chair beside Aryan, sitting down while facing Karan. "It's okay, you don't have to continue."

He shook his head. "No I'm fine. Anyway, after that the officer told me what...what had happened. He also told me Adi had sent us e-mails. Ash and I. Maybe to tell us why he did what he did." Karan finished, answering Radhika's second question.

I still hadn't gathered enough courage to open my e-mail.

{[]}

The first day back to school after the winter break was unsurprisingly gloomy. The news about Aditya had spread like a forest fire on social media. As a result, people had nothing else to talk about other than the "hot, rich boy who killed himself".

I hated them all.

Enduring the morning assembly was the worst. Our principal announced the news of his "passing" and a token two minutes of silence was observed, students standing quietly with their heads bowed. It was broken with a single beat of the drum and everyone went about their way, dismissing Adi as just another case of student suicide.

For the rest of the day, I stayed glued to the desk of my classroom's back-left corner and immersed myself in chemistry numericals, blocking my surroundings out.

The lovebirds had attached themselves to Karan like the way Kian refused to leave my side the entire day, thinking I needed some sort of constant support or just a shoulder to cry on. He thought I didn't know what he was upto but I did, and I appreciated his concern.

Yet I ignored him anyway.

{[]}

When I had made the choice of chasing my insanely boring, conventional dream of being a doctor, I had resolved to stay away from any and every kind of distraction. Giving up debating, dancing, blogging and the prospect of an immature relationship with my cute crush was difficult, but not something I regret, for it was all for a good future.

Never had I even considered the possibility of gut-wrenching grief being a distraction. However, it turned out to be the biggest of them all. Thankfully, it was also the easiest to disregard.

I welcomed the exam season, relieved that there was something to distract myself from the most painful distraction. My practical and theoretical final board examinations were spread over two months, ending in the second week of April. Having descended into a sedulous state of intense revision, I lived by just one mantra.

Eat.

Sleep.

Study.

Repeat.

I was able to write all my papers with ease and the days went by in a blur, leaving me satisfied enough but not happy. For obvious reasons.

It wasn't long before the date of the big day approached and I had to sit for NEET. Everything I've worked for in the past two years came down to this very moment.

When the examiner announced that we could open our question booklets, I quickly ripped the seal and flipped to the biology section like my teachers at the coaching centre had instructed me to do.

For the next three hours, I became lost in diligently marking my answers in the OMR sheet, trying and being successful in not thinking about how the result would determine the next phase of my life.

{[]}

Hey,

I'm sorry I guess...

So this was difficult, not to mention draining to write. Idek how it was. M expecting pretty harsh criticism.

Either way, if you like the way I write (as I'm sure nobody liked this chapter) then please,

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