Pratham

Everything around me is dark and silent, yet filled with echoes. Voices drift in and out, some clear, some muffled, like the distant hum of life just beyond my reach.

I've been in this void for what feels like forever, though I don't know how much time has actually passed since the chaos—the gunshot, the searing pain, and the weightlessness that came after.

Although I can't seem to wake up, I do hear all of them. The doctors, Naman bhaiyya, Yash, Dhriti, Shruti bhabhi, Daksh, the nurses. But mostly, I hear her. My Nitya.

Her voice is my anchor, cutting through the haze. She's talking with me again now, her words soft and hopeful, though I can hear the quiver beneath them. "It's been sixteen days, Prathamji," she whispers, her hand stroking my hair. "We've waited long enough. Our baby and I need you."

Our baby.

God, just thinking it makes my chest ache—not with pain, but with an overwhelming, bittersweet joy. I'm going to be a father. A father. Every time I hear her talk about our baby, my heart feels like it could burst. Ecstatic doesn't even begin to cover it.

"I've been looking at the patterns for the matching sweaters I'll knit for you and baby," Nitya says, her tone wistful. "But I won't choose the colors without you. We'll go to the market together, and pick the colors. I know you might want to choose black and brown colors, like the suits you usually wear, but I won't let you. In fact, I'm thinking yellow. It's cheerful, don't you think?"

I try to laugh at that, to tease her like I would if I could just open my eyes. "Yellow is fine," I want to say. "But not too bright. I don't want to look like a human sunflower."

But no matter how much I try to move, to speak, my body refuses to listen. It's like being trapped behind an invisible wall, screaming silently while the world goes on around me.

Nitya continues, undeterred by my silence. "I won't buy anything for the baby until you wake up," she tells me. "We'll get everything together. Crib, clothes, toys—all of it. I'm not doing this without you, Prathamji."

Her voice breaks a little on the last word, and I feel my chest tighten. I want to tell her that I'm trying, that I'll wake up soon. That I'll be there for her, for our baby, for every little moment. But the words stay locked inside me, unspoken.

The darkness starts to pull at me again, heavy and relentless. It's like drifting on a tide, slowly being carried away.

But before I go, I feel her hand again, warm and comforting, as she curls it over my chest. "Please, Prathamji," she whispers, her voice trembling. "Please wake up. We're waiting for you."

I feel a tear slip down inside me, invisible and silent. I don't want her to wait anymore. I don't want to make her cry.

"I'll wake up soon," I promise silently. "I'll be there for both of you."

The tide carries me deeper, but I hold on to Nitya's voice, her touch, her love. They are the stars in this endless night, guiding me back to where I belong.

*****

The world comes back to me in fragments—sounds first, then the faint edges of understanding.

This time, it's not Nitya's voice guiding me back. It's Naman bhaiyya and Shruti bhabhi.

"How long do you think it'll take for him to wake up?" Bhaiyya asks, his tone heavy with worry. I can picture him rubbing the back of his neck like he does when he's stressed.

"The doctors said he's recovering well," Bhabhi replies. "Pratham will wake up soon."

At her words, a sense of relief washes over me.

I'm recovering. The thought is a lifeline, something to hold on to in the midst of this endless darkness. I'll wake up soon. For Nitya. For our baby.

But then, Bhabhi's voice changes, slicing through the quiet with a sudden, sharp edge. "How could you keep something so important about Sandhya from me, Naman?"

Oh, no! Did Bhabhi find out about Sandhya's family?

"I didn't want to keep the truth from you." Bhaiyya's voice is hesitant. "But everything happened so suddenly that—"

"Seriously, Naman? That's your excuse? Everything happened suddenly?" Bhabhi whisper-shouts.

I understand her anger because Bhaiyya's excuse is just too lame. He had found out about me and Sandhya about two years back when I had just started going out with her. And he has also known about her family since then. So, yeah, it definitely is not sudden.

"I told Pratham to break it off with Sandhya the moment I found out," Bhaiyya tells her. "But then, soon after that, I got the news that she died. And since she was no longer a part of Pratham's life, I thought not to worry you by telling you about her."

"And what about after she apparently rose from the dead?" Bhabhi counters. "You told me all about her coma, her dramatic entry, but conveniently forgot to tell me she's my enemy's daughter?"

Oops. You fucked up, Bhaiyya.

For the first time since I found myself in this darkness, I'm actually glad that I can't wake up, because knowing how Bhabhi is, I definitely don't want to bear the brunt of her anger.

I love her as my sister. I do. But at times, I'm scared of her. Especially after that day when I saw her—

"Nitya needs rest, so I've sent her home. You stay with Pratham tonight," Bhabhi says, interrupting my thoughts. "I'll be leaving now because I want to be with the one who've never once betrayed me all these years."

"What the hell!!" It's Bhaiyya whisper-shouting now. "Who the fuck is that, Shruti?"

"Why do you want to know? Getting jealous?"

Umm, I think I don't want to hear this. I want to stop them, to say I can hear them, but my body remains a prison, silent and unyielding.

"Don't, Shruti. Just don't," Bhaiyya's voice is quiet, but with an icy edge. "I know how much you love to play with fire, but stroke my anger one more time and I'll make sure you limp for the rest of the week."

Stop. No. Stop. I definitely don't want to hear this. If I can't wake up now, at least let me drift back to being fully unconscious.

"Is that a threat or a promise, Naman?"

"Shruti, I'm not—"

"Oh, cool it. I'm going home to my knives. I bought a new set yesterday after you and Yash told me the full truth about Sandhya. Since I'm too angry to even look at you right now, I'll just go to them and plan my next move," Bhabhi says. "And Naman, you won't get to make me limp until I forgive you. So, find a way to earn it."

*****

Voices stir me back again to this half-world of awareness, where I am present yet powerless. But this time, irritation bubbles to the surface as I recognize the voice.

It's Yash.

"I'm telling you, Dhriti, he's faking it," he says, and I can hear the shrug in his voice. "The doctors said his reports are excellent. His stats are improving. So, why isn't he waking up? I'm sure he's lying there just to milk attention from us."

My annoyance rises. As if I need your attention.

"Stop it, Yash," Dhriti's voice cuts in, laced with tears. "It's been so many days and Bhaiyya still hasn't woken up. Don't you dare joke about it."

That's my sister. Tell him, Dhriti. Tell him. And don't cry, please. I'll wake up soon.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Yash says. "You looked sad and I wanted to cheer you up. But clearly, I should not have made that joke."

"Yes, you should not have." she sniffles. "You can be so insensitive at times."

"I'm sorry." He sighs. "But stop crying now. No more tears. It's my order."

"Your order?" She repeats, her voice rising with indignation. "Do you really think I'll obey?"

"Why not?" Yash counters. "You were perfectly obedient that night when—"

Dhriti gasp, interrupting him. "Don't talk about it here!"

Not again, I groan inwardly, wishing I could block out their conversation. First Naman bhaiyya and Shruti bhabhi, and now, these two. Why do I have to hear this? Why can't I either wake up or just drift back into sleep?

"You two can leave now. I've had my dinner. I'll stay here with Prathamji tonight."

It's Nitya. My Nitya. Her sweet voice is like a balm to my frayed nerves.

"If you need anything or if he wakes up, just call me, okay?" Yash says.

"When will he wake up? When?" Nitya's teary voice makes my heart pinch.

"The doctors are hopeful it can happen any moment. We need to be patient, Nitya," Yash replies in a soothing voice.

"Don't worry too much, Bhabhi," Dhriti adds. "Bhaiyya will wake up soon."

*****

Something warm touches my cheek, stirring me from the void I've been trapped in. For a fleeting moment, I think it's sunlight, breaking through the darkness to bring me back to life. But the sound of Nitya's soft, broken sobs shatters that hope.

Her tears fall silently, landing on my skin like a fiery brand, and the pain in my chest blossoms, cutting into my soul.

"It's been twenty-two days," she whispers, her words punctuated by quiet sobs. "Twenty-two days, and you're still sleeping. I can't... I can't take it anymore. The pregnancy, the morning sickness, hiding it from everyone because I want you to be the first one to know and I want you to tell them."

Her voice falters, and she lets out a shaky breath. "I don't want to do this alone. I need you, Prathamji. I want to tell you about every little thing—the weird cravings, my mood swings. But how can I, when I don't even know if you can hear me?"

Her words twist like a knife in my chest. I want to tell her I can hear her, but no matter how much I try, my body doesn't respond. The frustration is suffocating.

But then, she lets out a sharp cry, startling me out of my despair. The sound is raw, filled with pain.

Nitya! What's wrong? What happened? I scream internally, trying to move, to speak, to shout for help. But I remain locked in this prison of silence.

She takes a shaky breath, her voice soft but strained when she says, "I had this checked earlier. The doctor said it's because of stress. Our baby is fine but she told me I should not be taking so much stress."

Her words don't comfort me. Of course, she's stressed! How can she not be, with me lying here uselessly?

"Please, wake up," she pleads. "I can't stop stressing unless you're awake. I can't do this without you. Please, Prathamji, please."

Her desperation ignites something within me and I push against the invisible weight holding me down. My focus narrows, and for the first time, I feel something—a faint tingling in my fingers.

"Y-you moved!" Nitya gasps, her voice bursting with sudden hope. "You moved your finger! Oh, my God, you did it! Please, try again. Please!"

Her excitement fuels me, and I try again, harder this time. The weight of darkness lessens and light seeps into my vision as my eyelids flutter open, though the world is a blur of muted colors. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton, my throat dry and scratchy.

"Nitya..." I try to say her name, but it comes out as a whisper, barely audible. My jaw feels stiff, the effort to move it monumental, but I try again. "Nitya..."

She leans closer, and I notice her teary smile. Her smile that's brighter than any light. "You're awake," she says, crying and laughing all at once. "You're awake! I'll get the doctor!"

"Wait." My voice cracks as I raise a trembling hand to stop her.

She stops, her eyes locked on me.

"Parents," I manage, though the word feels like sandpaper on my tongue. "Father.... Happy..."

Her lips part, and then her face crumples with understanding. She leans down, wrapping her arms around me in a brief but fierce hug. "I'm happy too," she murmurs. "I can finally be fully happy about it because you've returned to me."

She pulls back, brushing her tears away. "I'll get the doctor now," she says, rushing out of the room, and my gaze follows her until she's out of sight.