A restless night plagued my sleep, and the next morning, an unsettling tension gripped me. I mechanically filled the kettle to brew some coffee, though my intentions were far from consumption. My gaze, unfocused and troubled, repeatedly wandered. I flicked the television on, only to promptly switch it off a mere minute later, finding no solace in its offerings.

"Jai, what's troubling you today?" inquired my dad, clad in his sacklike dhoti.

"I just need a breather, Dad. The syllabus is getting overwhelming," I admitted, instantly regretting the words that hinted at a lie masking a deeper issue.

"Alright, take the break you need," he responded, offering a reassuring smile.

"Do you mind if I go out for a bit?"

"Of course not, it's good to get some fresh air. Your bike keys are in the drawer."

"Thanks Dad, I'll be taking my leave then."

"See you later!" he said, flashing a smile.

With an appreciative nod, I grabbed the bike keys and my leather purse. As I stepped outside, the fresh air felt invigorating. Quickly mounting my bike, I started my journey to the hospital. The streets were relatively quiet, adding to the peacefulness of the moment. Soon, the destined hospital loomed into view, and I parked my bike before heading inside.

After a brief pause, I entered the TRUST hospital, its walls, once adorned with paint, now betrayed by peeling cream flakes that exposed the stark concrete beneath. The floor bore the scars of relentless footsteps and wheel marks, rendering it uneven and darker than a mausoleum. The air hung motionless, descending into a stagnant pit.

In my search for help, a young female doctor appeared on the scene. Her complexion was almost anemic, with beads of cold sweat shimmering on her forehead and cheeks. Dark hair framed her face, contrasting sharply with her very pale skin, giving her a ghost-like appearance that heightened the tension in the air. I approached her, to explain my situation.

"Hi there, I'm friends with Ritisha, the daughter of one of your old patients here."

"Oh, hello! Yes, I remember Ritisha and her family." She glanced up from the medical files in her hands. "How is she doing?"

"She's doing well, thank you. She always speaks highly of the care you provide."

"It's nice to know that our patients and their families appreciate the work we do here. How can I assist you today?"

"I wanna know how Ritu's father is reacting to the medical procedure."

She paused, setting the files aside to meet my gaze. "Cirrhosis! He requires a liver replacement as soon as possible."

"Liver replacement..." I gasped, locking eyes with her emotionless gaze. "Have you managed to find any suitable donors?"

"We identified a few potential donors, but unfortunately, they all failed the screening tests," she expressed, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

I felt a sinking sensation in my chest. "What does that mean for his chances?"

"It means that the donors we found were not a suitable match for Narayan's condition. We'll continue the search, but time is of the essence. His condition is deteriorating rapidly," she explained, a sense of urgency underlying her words.

I learned the name of Ritu's father, Narayan. This newfound knowledge led me to make a quick decision that could alter the trajectory of my life. In the heat of the moment, I failed to contemplate the implications of my actions and how they might impact not only myself but also those closest to me, particularly my parents.

"I'll do anything to help. Is there a way I can be tested to see if I'm a match?" My heart palpitated as my palms sweated.

Her eyes softened, "I appreciate your willingness, but the compatibility tests are intricate. We've got a dedicated team working on it, and we'll notify you if you meet the criteria. In the meantime, let's proceed with your initial tests."

"Alright, Doctor. Thank you!"

"The hospital regulations require you to fill out these forms." Her tone stiffened, and she motioned towards the receptionist, who seemed more artificial than the purified water dispenser nearby.

In a few minutes, I completed the written work and handed it over to the receptionist. The lady doctor instructed me to follow her, and we entered the elevator with silver buttons and plain silver doors. The lift took us to a different floor where the air felt cold and sterile. I stared at the commercial prints on the wall, so lacking in vibrancy that they appeared sun-bleached.

"Don't worry, you won't encounter any problems in the future. The liver is the only organ that regenerates and grows back. By donating a portion of your liver, that person can live for another twenty years."

"Okay, thank you," a sense of relief brought a smile back to my lips.

"Are you sure about your decision?"

"I'm sure! If there's a small chance to make a difference, I want to take it."

She cleared her throat and smiled. "My name is Divya! Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, I'm Jaikar." I shook hands with her and quickly left the room, preparing for the tasks to accomplish.

The remainder of the day was filled with paperwork, meetings with the donor coordinator, and undergoing various tests including an Electrocardiogram and CT scan. Divya's help was invaluable as she expedited the process of screening tests. As a result, I was considered a potential donor, and at my request, they scheduled the surgery for the following day.

Based on their advice, I decided to stay in the hospital, where they arranged a private small room for me. To explain my absence to my parents, I fabricated a story during a phone call, telling them that I would be spending the night at a friend's house.

The next morning, I woke up to find myself on a different floor. The walls were painted in a soft magnolia shade and decorated with old black and white photographs of hospital staff. The hallway stretched ahead, curving out of sight about thirty meters away. Passing by doors, each equipped with a hand sanitizer dispenser, I noticed signs leading to oncology, geriatrics, and maternity. However, my destination remained the operation theater.

Upon reaching the theater, the surgeon introduced himself, presumably to put me at ease before the impending surgery. I couldn't help but wonder what it looked like from his perspective as he prepared to cut me open. I questioned myself if he would harbor regret if I didn't make it through the operation, for him, such outcomes were likely just a matter of time. With his reassuring smile, he inquired if I had any questions. I remained silent and found myself under the surgeon's skilled hands for a period of two to three hours.

As I stirred from sleep, a sudden wave of pain surged through my abdomen, feeling like a silent hand grenade had detonated inside me. The continuous injections, each delivered with clinical precision, only added to the misery I was experiencing. The sterile atmosphere of my room felt like a battlefield, with my body fighting against the invading pain. The air seemed to thicken with the burden of discomfort.

A few minutes later, Divya approached me, her smile bearing the calculated warmth of a professional's demeanor. Another nurse stood a couple of feet behind her, holding a tray. I felt confined, tethered by the tubes connecting me to the medical apparatus.

"Jaikar, the patient is asking for you," Divya stated. My gaze met hers with a vague acknowledgment, moments before the nurse positioned me comfortably in a wheelchair. Slowly, I was wheeled into a hallway, filled with people seated, quietly lamenting about their cherished ones.

"Is he by himself? I don't want Ritu to discover me in this state," I pleaded.

"Don't worry, he's by himself. In fact, he wanted to see you before getting his family involved," her expression softened into a rare smile. "He's generously taking care of all your medical expenses." A wave of relief swept over me, and I let out a soft sigh.

With a gentle push, the door of the designated room opened to reveal the patient, Narayan. His skin bore the marks of time, stained and weathered. He projected the aura of a man who, in his later years, understood that life had ceased to give and only sought to take. As I gazed at him, his eyes held a striking resemblance to that of Ritu. Though the impulse surged within me to express my admiration for his daughter, I restrained the words from escaping my lips.

"Who are you, young man?" His voice resonated within the small room.

"Namaste, sir!" I pressed my hands together at the heart, briefly closing my eyes. "I'm a student."

My words left him pleasantly surprised, prompting him to inquire, "Is there anything I can assist you with?"

"No, thank you. I wish you a swift recovery." I offered him a warm smile.

"Thank you, and I don't even know your name..." His words faltered as tears welled up in his eyes. "I am forever indebted to you. May God bless you!"

"Your kind words mean a lot. May the blessings be with you as well."

"Please stay here for a little while. My family is on their way, they all want to express their gratitude to you." Narayan's words caught me off guard.

"I'll be resting in my room then-"

Suddenly, my phone rang in my trouser pocket, likely my mother, concerned about my absence. Without answering the call, I remained still and quiet for a moment, sinking further back into the chair, wiping the sweat from my brow with a trembling hand. I gestured farewell to him and the nurse wheeled me back into the hallway. My thoughts were stuck in an imaginary quagmire like a strand of wheat, stuck in the vastness of the prairies.

"Please, discharge me right now." I pleaded as I felt the weight of my own agony. "I'd like to keep my name a secret."

Divya's stern gaze intensified, accentuated by her dark eyebrows. "Of course, confidentiality is important. Your name will be kept confidential, throughout the donation process. I'll sign your discharge papers now. Take care of yourself!" I nodded with a smile and accepted the neatly prepared set of documents.

"Avoid fried foods. Skip long walks. Keep the stitches dry for at least three days. Gently massage your abdomen with a cotton cloth soaked in medicinal oil." She then gave me her visiting card. "Here's my number, feel free to reach out anytime."

With a heartfelt "Thank you," I wheeled myself towards the exit, the hallway beckoning as a bridge between the confines of the medical room and the freedom outside. As I ventured forward, the weight of her instructions settled on my shoulders, reminding me the path to recovery.

Do you support what Jaikar did? Will he be able to go home now? Tell me about it!