I dashed out of the airport and jumped into the car waiting for us outside, giving out a silent apology to everyone I had elbowed on the way. Andrew was on tow.

"Hospital, now!" I roared at the driver and he sped away, not asking another question.

"I'm sure he'll be okay, Keighlah, calm down." Andrew placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, but it did nothing to squelch my distress.

"HOW?" I burst back. "Fucking how, Andrew?"

He remained silent.

I was a day late, wasting a whole twenty four hours sitting in the airplane. The thought made me jittery. We did not know how much time he had left.

Dad's car had been hit by a truck the day before yesterday when he was coming home from work. He has been in coma since then, scaredly unresponsive. The doctor had reported that the force of the collision should've killed him. He was lucky to be alive.

Immediately after getting the news, I had booked the first flight to India. Andrew had insisted to come, otherwise I was ready to come alone.

My leg bounced up and down as I screamed profanities at the traffic from time to time. Why, I thought to myself, does the traffic have to be so thick right when I'm hurrying for the hospital? After what felt like a decade, we reached our destination.

I sprang out of the car, getting ready to sprint across the parking lot to the main entrance, when I felt Andrew grab my arm.

"What?" I said.

"Little slower. Don't forget about your leg."

"Screw it." I turned around, but he didn't let go of my hand.

"Please."

I sighed. "Fine."

He let go and I walked fast towards the hospital. I found Sid standing at the entrance. He beckoned at me, and against my better judgement, I ran up the last few paces. My leg started to throb but I ignored it. I limped a little and finally reached him.

I grasped his biceps. "Sid, how–?"

He raised a hand. "Second floor, room 213. Go."

I nodded and rushed towards the lift, making my way through the throngs of people in front of me, but there was a long line. Tsking, I turned towards the stairs.

"Keighlah, no! Your leg!" Andrew's voice rang out behind me.

I shook my head. "It's too long! I'm taking the stairs."

I hobbled up the stairs, my leg starting to hurt, going from a dull throb to a short spike of pain. After reaching the second floor landing, I blindly started searching for room 213. "206, 207. . ." I mumbled as I watched the numbers on the doors. I took a turn and found my family and friends at the end of the hallway.

"Ma!" I called out and rushed towards her. She was sitting on a chair, her face blank. My aunt was sitting beside her, a hand on her shoulder, a look of desperation on my aunt's face.

"Ma! Ma," I skidded to a stop in front of her, but she barely glanced at me, as if I was invisible to her. I frowned and looked at my aunt. She shook her head at me, her eyes heavy with sympathy. My eyes bounced between them, and I turned around towards the hospital door.

"Visiting hour ends in a few minutes," a nurse piped up beside me and it took all of my strength to not scream at her.

"Yes. I'll take a few minutes." I said under my breath and walked into the room.

The sight of my father physically pained me. He looked so very frail in his hospital gown. Multiple IV-tubes were fitted into his hands. He had a massive bandage on his forehead. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow. He almost looked at peace, but heaven knows how much pain he was going through. Purple wounds travelled up and down his throat to his chest. His right eye was swollen shut.

I walked towards him and dropped down on my knees. Taking his hand into mine, I looked at his face. His hand was cool and rough.

I felt a presence, and Andrew dropped down on his knees beside me. "Talked to the doctor." He announced. I didn't respond, staring at my father. He continued, "Lacerated stomach, crack in the skull, broken ribs, ruptured left lung, fractured foot."

I barked out a hollow chuckle. "Is there anything left?"

Andrew remained quiet for sometime before saying in a low voice, "At least he's alive."

I gritted my teeth and held my father's hand tightly. The electronic beep of the machines which kept my father alive filled up the room as we became quiet. The sound was deafening.

A knock was heard on the door and the same nurse peeped in.

"Um, visiting hours are over," she said in a meek voice.

I almost yelled at her when Andrew dropped a hand on my shoulder, and turned towards the nurse.

"Yes, we know. We'll be out in a few," he said in a polite tone.

"You may leave." Andrew said after a while. The nurse hesitated at the door, before finally leaving us. I heaved a sigh of relief and focused back on my father.

"Will he—get better?" I choked out the words.

When Andrew didn't respond, I looked at him, raising my eyebrows.

"It's–still unsure." He finally sighed out, dropping his head low.

"Hm."

"I mean, at least he's in coma. The doctor said it's a miracle he's alive." Andrew added hastily.

"Well, that doesn't make things better," my jaw tightened as I stared at those ugly, purple wounds. A stray tear slipped out of eye, and I roughly brushed it away. "Let's go outside."

I finally took a good look at my mother since I walked into the hospital; she looked devastated. I couldn't blame her. How could I? I was having a whirlwind of emotions inside me—worried whether my father will live or not, troubled, because his wounds looked unbearably painful. Guilty, because I didn't try to patch things up with him, and now, when everything was just becoming alright, it suddenly seemed nothing ever was.

". . . from my son. Don't worry, Mâri." My aunt was saying to my mother.

I stood in front of them. "Don't worry about what?" I asked, digging my hands into my pockets.

My aunt jumped the slightest bit upon hearing my voice. She looked at me once before looking into her lap.

"About the hospital bill," she said. "It's um, it's a huge amount and your mother is worried how she'll pay it."

I made a face at them mentally.

"I'll pay the whole amount. He's my father. It's the least I can do," I said and paced down the corridor to a washroom.

Only when I had walked into a bathroom cubicle and locked the doors tightly did I let myself cry.

• • •

Next chapter - next Saturday at 10pm IST.