BLOOD
ADITHYA MENON
She coughed again today—
Not once, but again and again, as if it refused to stop.
Her hand pressed tightly against her chest as a small groan escaped her lips, her body slightly bent forward like she was trying to hold herself together.
I paused, the mop still in my hand.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
She just sat there on the bed, her breathing heavy and uneven, each breath louder than the silence around us.
She coughed again, the sound echoing through the house as she shut her eyes tightly, her hand still pressed against her chest like she was trying to hold the pain in place.
I didn’t say anything this time.
I just walked to the kitchen and put water to warm, my movements quicker than usual, my thoughts already uneasy.
From the morning itself she is not normal
I could feel it.
She followed me slowly, her steps unsteady, her breathing still heavy.
“I feel like vomiting,” she said, her voice weak, her eyes slightly glossy.
I turned to look at her.
“Don’t control it,” I said.
She nodded faintly and walked to the bathroom.
I stood there for a second—
Something twisting in my chest.
Then I turned off the stove and followed her.
She was already bent over the sink, her body trembling as she started vomiting.
I moved closer immediately, my hand instinctively going to her hair, holding it back so it wouldn’t fall forward, my other hand patting her back gently.
“It’s okay… just let it out,” I said, my voice lower now.
But then I froze.
It wasn’t just vomiting.
It was blood.
My hand stilled for a second before tightening slightly in her hair, my breath catching in my throat.
My chest clenched hard at the sight.
“Viyana…”
She emptied her stomach, her body trembling with the effort as I quickly turned on the tap, scooping water into my hand and lifting it carefully to her lips.
She could barely hold herself upright.
She sipped slowly from my hand, her breaths uneven, her chest rising and falling in a way that made my own breathing feel tight.
I cupped more water and gently wiped her mouth, my movements careful, controlled—because if I stopped to think, I knew I would panic.
Her hands shook.
Tears slipped down her face without sound.
I didn’t ask anything.
I couldn’t.
The words just… wouldn’t come.
She held onto the sink, panting softly, like even standing there was too much for her body to handle.
I slid my arm around her slowly, supporting her weight as I guided her back to the room, each step cautious, afraid she would collapse if I moved too fast.
I made her sit on the bed.
She coughed again, her eyes shutting tightly as her hand flew back to her chest.
I didn’t waste another second.
I rushed to the kitchen, poured a glass of warm water, and came back almost immediately.
“Drink,” I said softly.
Her hands trembled too much to hold it.
So I held it for her.
Carefully lifting it to her lips as she sipped slowly, weakly.
I set the glass aside and sat beside her on the bed, my eyes fixed on her face, my heart pounding louder than anything else in the room.
“What happened, Viyana?” I asked, my voice low, unsteady despite my effort to keep it calm.
She didn’t answer.
For a second, I thought she wouldn’t answer but then suddenly she moved closer and wrapped her arms around me.
My breath hitched sharply as I sat there, completely unmoving, my body stiff as if even the smallest movement might break something fragile in that moment, and then slowly, painfully, I felt it—the warmth spreading through my shirt, soaking into the fabric where her face rested against my chest.
Tears.
Her tears.
“Don’t cry…” I muttered, but my voice cracked midway, betraying the storm I was trying so hard to contain inside me.
My hand, hesitant at first, slowly came up and rested on her back, uncertain, almost afraid, yet unable to stay away.
Something was terribly wrong.
Not just a passing illness, not just a weak body, not just something that would go away with rest and medicine—
This was deeper.
This was something that had been living inside her, growing silently, hidden behind her careless laughter, her stubborn smiles, her endless teasing, her reckless words about death that I had always dismissed as jokes…
So she was not joking?
Her words from that day echoed in my mind, louder than anything else—
Maybe five or six years…
My chest tightened painfully, as if something invisible was pressing down on it, making it harder for me to even breathe properly.
Was she serious?
Was she actually telling the truth all along while I stood there laughing, arguing, brushing it off like it meant nothing?
My fingers curled slightly against her back as I swallowed hard, my throat dry, my thoughts chaotic, my heart refusing to accept what my mind was slowly beginning to understand.
What exactly was happening to her?
I pulled away from her slowly, the warmth of her skin still lingering against mine, crawling under it in a way I couldn’t explain, in a way that made it harder to stay composed.
She looked up at me.
Her face—
Pale.
Tired.
And still wet with tears that hadn’t fully stopped.
For a second, I just sat there.
Then I turned away.
I took out my phone, my fingers moving quickly, almost mechanically, as I scrolled through contacts and schedules, searching, selecting, fixing an appointment with a specialist without even thinking twice about anything else—because this… this was not something I was going to ignore anymore.
Not after what I just saw.
Not after the blood.
Not after the way she couldn’t even stand properly.
What the hell was happening inside her?
The question kept echoing, louder with every passing second.
I placed the phone down slowly and stood up from the bed, my movements controlled, my expression steady—but inside, nothing was calm.
I turned to look at her.
My voice, when I spoke, was firm.
“Get ready.”
She slowly raised her gaze to me, her eyes dull with exhaustion, her face still drained of all color.
“I am fine,” she muttered weakly.
For a second, I just stared at her.
“The audacity you have to say that, Viyana…” I said, my voice low but sharp, anger breaking through despite everything I was trying to hold back.
“You were just throwing up blood,” I continued, taking a step closer, my jaw tightening. “You couldn’t even stand properly, you can barely breathe—and you’re sitting here telling me you’re fine?”
She looked away, like she didn’t want to deal with it.
My hands clenched at my sides.
“I’m not asking you,” I added, my tone leaving no room for argument this time. “You’re coming with me.”
The last time we went to the hospital, I had discovered something I never expected—
PTSD.
And today…
I didn’t know what I was about to hear.
That uncertainty sat heavy in my chest as I picked up her medical reports and slipped them into my bag, my fingers tightening around the edges for a moment longer than necessary.
I walked to the kitchen, poured hot water into a bottle, and closed it tightly before heading back to the room.
And then I saw her.
Standing there.
Trying to comb her hair.
Trying—
Because her hands wouldn’t cooperate.
They trembled.
Her breathing was still uneven, her chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow, like even this simple act was taking more strength than she had.
For a second, I just stood there, watching.
Then I walked forward without a word and took the comb from her hand.
“Sit,” I said.
She didn’t argue this time.
She just sat down on the bed quietly.
I stood behind her, my fingers brushing through her hair carefully before I started combing it—slowly, gently, making sure not to pull, not to hurt.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
And in that silence—
My mind kept running.
What was I going to hear today?
What else was she hiding?
My hands moved slowly, carefully, as I gathered her hair and began braiding it, each strand slipping through my fingers with a gentleness I didn’t even know I was capable of.
When I was done, she quietly stood up.
No complaints.
No teasing.
No words.
That silence alone told me more than anything else.
We walked out of the house together, and I started the bike, the usual sound of the engine filling the quiet space between us.
She sat behind me without a word and rested her head lightly against my shoulder.
My grip on the handle tightened slightly.
I adjusted the rear-view mirror just a little enough to see her.
Her eyes were closed.
Her face pale.
Her breathing still not steady.
For a moment I forgot about the road ahead.
All I could see was her.
I drove through the streets, the engine humming beneath me, but my mind was anything but steady.
Thoughts crashing into each other, refusing to slow down, refusing to let me breathe in peace.
Vomiting blood…
That was not normal.
My grip on the handle tightened unconsciously.
Is she really going to die?
I swallowed hard, my jaw clenching.
Will I be able to bear that?
Can I…
Can I really watch her disappear like that?
The girl who filled the house with noise.
With arguments.
With endless, annoying conversations.
The one who never let silence settle.
Who never let me feel alone even when I wanted to be.
My chest felt heavier with every passing second.
This wasn’t supposed to matter this much.
She wasn’t supposed to matter this much.
And yet, the idea of losing her…
It didn’t feel distant.
It felt terrifyingly.
We got down from the bike, and I parked it inside the hospital.
Before I could even step forward, I felt her fingers lightly gripping the sleeve of my shirt.
I didn’t say anything.
I just walked ahead slowly, making sure my steps matched hers as we entered the hospital and sat in the waiting area.
The place was filled with quiet noises—people talking softly, footsteps, distant calls—but none of it really reached me.
All I could focus on was her.
I took out the water bottle from my bag just as she coughed again, her body slightly bending forward with the force of it.
I quickly opened the cap and lifted it toward her lips.
“Drink.”
She shook her head weakly.
“I’ll vomit this too,” she said.
“Drink some water,” I said, my voice coming out faster than I intended, edged with something close to concern. “You stomach is already empty”
She looked at me for a moment—
Then slowly leaned forward and took a few small sips from the bottle.
I pulled the bottle away gently and closed it, my fingers tightening around it for a brief second.
Just then, her name was called.
We both stood up and walked inside.
The room felt colder than outside.
We sat in front of the doctor, and I started explaining everything—her coughing, her breathing, the vomiting… the blood.
My voice stayed steady, but inside, nothing was.
The doctor listened and began examining her, asking questions, checking her pulse, her breathing—while she answered in short, tired responses.
I sat there.
Useless.
Watching.
Waiting.
Slowly, I closed my eyes for a few seconds, folding my hands tightly under the table, my fingers pressing against each other like I was holding onto something invisible.
God… please… not anything serious.