Chapter 38
KAVYA
Saurav had walked out a week ago, leaving behind a silence so thick it felt like a physical weight in the house.
We had spent those final days moving like ghosts through the rooms, avoiding each other’s eyes, behaving like strangers sharing a lease rather than a life.
I hadn’t asked him about that night, and he hadn’t offered an explanation.
It was as if he had decided I no longer existed.
To him, I wasn’t a wife or even a person, just a distraction from his precious duty.
He took two weeks of emergency leave and vanished.
It had been three weeks since Mr. Chauhan passed away, yet the house still smelled of his cologne and old books.
I felt him everywhere. Sometimes, I’d set a plate for him at breakfast, my heart breaking all over again when I realized I was sitting alone.
He was the only one who had truly seen me, and now, I was drowning in the void he left behind.
Then, the phone rang.
A heart donor. Kirti had a donor. For a second, the world felt bright again. I rushed to the hospital, the corridors feeling like an endless, sterile tunnel.
I slipped into my sister’s room first. She looked so small, a fragile bird lost in a sea of white linens.
Her face was the color of ash, her breathing so shallow it barely moved the thin hospital gown.
If not for the rhythmic, haunting beep of the monitor, I would have thought she was already gone.
I hadn’t seen her in a month, first the competition, then the funeral, and the guilt clawed at my throat.
I ran my hand through her hair, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
“You’re going to be okay, Kirti. I’m here. You’ll be home soon.”
But the hope was short-lived. In the administrator's office, the air turned to ice.
“Twenty-five lakhs, Kavya,” the manager said, peering at me over his spectacles with a clinical coldness. “The donor heart is here, but the theater remains closed until the full payment is cleared. It’s a private transplant; we have strict legal protocols.”
“I have twenty lakhs,” I whispered, my voice trembling so hard I could barely speak. “Please, she’s only a child. Just start the prep. I’m getting the rest, I promise. She doesn't have time!”
“I am sorry,” he said, returning to his ledger. “I understand your situation but we can’t proceed without full clearance.”
Something inside me dropped. I didn't argue again as I bolted from the office, my heart hammering against my ribs like a gong.
I called everyone. I emptied my meager savings.
I called Avni, who gave me every cent she had.
By noon, I had scraped together two more lakhs.
Three lakhs left. Just three lakhs between my sister and her life.
Then I remembered the golden card Saurav had left to me months ago after our first night. I still had his card. I ran to the billing counter, my fingers shaking as I handed it over.
“Transaction declined,” the clerk said flatly. “The card is not working.”
A cold shiver raced down my spine. “Try again. Please. It’s a premium account.”
The clerk tapped the keys. “It says the service is disconnected, ma'am.”
The world tilted. He had cut me off. He hadn't just left the house; he had erased me. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number, praying he would pick up the call.
The subscriber you are trying to reach is busy.
I called again. And again. I sent a flurry of texts, my vision blurred by tears. Saurav, please pick up. It’s an emergency. I need three lakhs. Please, I’m begging you.
The blue ticks never appeared. He was ignoring me. He thought this was another “drama.”
In a panic, I tried Abhiraj, but his phone was dead. He was in Africa, worlds away, unaware that my life was collapsing.
“Ma'am, we’re losing the window,” a nurse said, rushing past with a tray of instruments. “If the payment isn't cleared in ten minutes, the donor heart goes to the next person on the list. We can't wait any longer.”
“No!” The word broke out of me. I dialed Saurav one last time, screaming at the silent sky for him to answer.
On the sixth ring, he picked up.
“What is it, Kavya?” his voice was like a lash. “I told you I’m on duty. Stop disturbing me with your endless dramas.”
“Saurav, please!” I sobbed, collapsing against the cold tile wall. “I need three lakhs. It's Kirti... my sister... she's in the hospital. She needs the transplant right now or she’ll die. They’re going to give the heart to someone else!”
There was a long, agonizing pause. I could hear the wind on his end.
“Kirti? You never mentioned a sister? Why am I just hearing about her now? Is this your new way to squeeze money out of me?”
“No! No, I’ll explain everything, I swear! Just send it! Please, if you ever cared about me, save her!”
“Fine,” he snapped, the disgust evident in his tone. “I'm transferring it. Now leave me alone.”
The line went dead.
Five minutes later, my phone pinged. The money was there. I sprinted to the counter, nearly falling, and pushed the confirmation toward the clerk.
“It’s done! It’s cleared! Tell the doctors! Go!”
The nurse gave me a stiff, pitying smile and walked toward the swinging doors.
I sat on the waiting chair, my chest aching. Every second felt like an hour. Thirty minutes passed. Then forty. Finally, the surgeon emerged. My heart leaped, I stood up, a smile already forming.
But the doctor didn't smile. She stopped, looked at the clock, and then looked at me with a hollow, haunting sadness.
“I'm so sorry,” she whispered.
“What?” The word was a puff of air.
“We began preparing her as soon as the payment was cleared,” she continued, her voice breaking slightly. “But her heart couldn’t hold any longer. She went into cardiac arrest before we could begin the procedure.”
“No… that’s not possible,” I said, stepping forward. “The money is there. You can still do it. Please… ”
“It's too late,” the doctor said softly, her voice cracking. “I'm so sorry.”
“Please...” I fell to my knees, clutching at her hem, begging the nurses, the walls, the God who had let me down. “Please, not her. Take me instead. Please!”
But the hospital stayed silent. The world went gray. The beeping of the machines, the footsteps, the distant sirens, it all faded into a dull, underwater roar.
I forced myself to stand. I walked toward Kirti’s room, my legs feeling like lead. Through the glass, I watched as a nurse reached down and pulled a stark white sheet over her face. My little sister. My shadow. My only piece of home.
My phone buzzed in my hand. A text from Saurav.
Money sent. Don't expect anything from me now.
I didn't scream. I didn't cry yet. I just stared at the screen. The money was there, all of it. It sat in my account, useless. Saurav had finally listened, but the price of his silence had been my sister’s life.
I covered my mouth, the first sob breaking through my chest like a physical wound, as I realized I was now truly, utterly alone.
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