Chapter Eleven
Eleven
Priya’s phone started buzzing with calls from her parents the very next morning. She balanced it on her shoulder as she watered the plants inside the funeral home.
“The jasmine needs a good drenching,” Mumma said. “And don’t forget to sweep away the wilted blooms.”
Puppa’s voice came through the speaker, adding his own instructions. “Make sure you turn off all the lights. Except the ones in the reception area, and the two outside.”
“I know, Puppa,” Priya said. “You left me three copies of instructions.”
“What’s happening with Ravi?” Mumma asked. “Has he called? Have you called him?”
“Nothing is happening with Ravi,” Priya replied with a weary sigh as she tipped water into a potted fern. “No calls. No messages. Nothing. I swear.”
“And Mr. Ethan?” Puppa said. “You’re looking after him, right?”
Priya’s stomach did a little flip. “He’s fine. Everything’s under control. Enjoy your time with Dee and don’t worry.”
“Is the sprinkler system turning on at the right time? I set it for—”
“Sorry, Puppa, I have another call coming through.” Priya hung up before he could add to her growing list of tasks. Setting her phone down, she took a deep breath. Sometimes, you just had to fake being busy to stay sane.
Putting the empty jug back in its place, Priya strolled through the funeral home, making sure everything was in order. With no background music playing, silence pressed into every corner. As she passed the casket showroom, Priya noticed the light glowing under the door.
Strange, she thought, certain she’d turned off all the lights last night.
Pushing the door open, she was struck by the solemn atmosphere.
Windowless and hushed, the room displayed rows of caskets, arranged not only by their materials and designs but also by price points and cultural traditions.
Shelves showcased rows of urns from simple clay vessels to elaborately designed options.
As Priya moved toward the switch, the lights flickered erratically, throwing shadows across the room. Priya shivered despite herself. The electrical glitches made Moksha feel even creepier. She flipped the switch, throwing the room into darkness with only a faint glow spilling from the hallway.
“Ah, that’s much better,” a voice cut through the silence.
Priya’s head snapped toward the sound, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. There in the middle of the room was Ethan, stretched out in a satin-lined casket, hands folded across his chest. Priya had seen countless bodies in caskets but seeing a very alive Ethan Knight in one hit differently.
“Would you mind shutting the lid before you leave?” he asked.
“Seriously?” Priya stared, rattled by his request.
“It’s called research, and it’s why I’m here.” He cracked an eye open. “Now come on, give me a hand.”
Priya stepped closer until she was right above him.
Ethan shut his eyes, his lashes resting like dark crescents on his face.
She placed her hands on the lid, slowly starting to lower it.
As Ethan slipped out of view, a tightness gripped her chest. Watching him fade into the shadows hit her harder than she expected.
The idea of a world without him was almost too much to bear.
She had convinced herself that he was a part of her past, but the truth welled up in her, as timeless and sacred as the Ganges.
She loved him—more deeply than she had ever allowed herself to believe.
“That’s enough,” Priya said, yanking the lid back open.
Ethan’s eyes fluttered open. “That was strangely…therapeutic,” he said. “Peaceful. But it also makes you wonder…If there’s nothing after this, what does it all matter?”
“Is that what you think? That there’s nothing on the other side?”
Ethan sat up and considered her question.
“When I was a kid, I bought into everything my mother told me. She used to say living a good Christian life guaranteed a spot in heaven. I still respect that. And when the time comes, I’ll be buried in the family plot, just like her.
But I’m more skeptical about some of the other stuff.
I’d like to think there’s peace and happiness waiting for us on the other side. ”
“No lakes of fire? No punishment for the wicked?”
“Lakes of fire?” Ethan laughed. “That’s quite a take on the afterlife, hotshot.”
Priya shrugged. “I grew up in a funeral home.” Though her tone was casual, her mind was racing.
If there was ever a time to spook Ethan, this was it.
She couldn’t be distracted by feelings of love.
“You see things, hear things. Not all souls go to heaven, you know. Some get stuck. Here. Or in hellfire.”
Ethan’s brow lifted. “Do tell.”
“Are you sure you want to have this conversation while you’re lying in a casket?”
“Why not? It’s the perfect setting, don’t you think? You should try it.”
Priya hesitated, glancing at the casket beside him.
It felt a bit morbid, but anything to get Ethan to leave was fair game.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped off her shoes and climbed in.
The satin was unexpectedly cool, sending a shiver down her back.
Viewing the world from inside the confined space was unsettling, but oddly fascinating too.
“Comfortable?” Ethan teased, settling back in his casket.
“Yeah, but this isn’t entirely relevant to me,” she replied, closing her eyes and arranging herself as she had seen her father arrange countless bodies in their final repose. “I’m going to be cremated, not buried.”
“So, fire for you, earth for me,” Ethan said.
Priya let out a soft laugh. Their worlds were already so different, and even in death, their paths diverged.
“Opposites, even in the afterlife,” she joked.
“Maybe we should try out the cremation chamber next, just to make sure you’re all set.”
“Why stop there? Let’s get embalmed too. Go big or go home, right?”
Ethan’s laughter filled the room. “Honestly? I’ve always loved the idea of a Viking send-off. A burning ship sailing out to the horizon? Majestic as hell.”
“You would totally rock the Viking warlord look. All fur and brooding stares.”
“Brooding, huh?” Ethan replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “So, tell me—of all the people your family’s encountered over the years, who do you think has it right?”
Priya paused, considering the question. “Everyone. And at the same time, no one. Because the moment you say your way is the only way, you’re limiting something boundless—God, a higher power, call it what you will—to a box that only fits your perspective.
It’s like saying you own the sun. It shines on everyone.
That’s what divinity is to me, a light that’s inside all of us. ”
As she spoke, Priya realized that the conversation had slipped out of her hands. Somehow, they’d gone from ghost stories to something deeper.
“Interesting,” Ethan said. “So, if God—or this universal light—resides within all of us, then a murderer is just as divine as a saint?”
“Wow. Going straight to the deep end, huh?”
Ethan laughed, but when he spoke again, his tone had shifted. “I’ve missed this, Pri. Talking to you. Hanging out together. I didn’t realize how much until just now.”
Priya’s breath caught. There was no teasing in his voice, no playful edge. Just honesty. She wanted to brush it off, make a joke, anything to deflect the way it tugged at her. But she couldn’t. She’d missed him too.
“I’m sorry for taking Zoe Clompson to our spot,” he said.
“Chloe Thompson,” Priya reminded yet again. “She had you in her sights forever. All the girls did. You had this presence, like you were already heading for something bigger. You didn’t just leave, Ethan. You took a leap. I wish I had that kind of courage. To change the template like you did.”
“What template?”
“The template we’re born into. Like the landing page of a website. It’s the layout we start off with—family, religion, ethnicity, circumstances, birthplace. All the bits and pieces that make up the default design of our life.”
“Only you would compare life to a website.” Ethan chuckled softly. “Go on.”
“Well,” Priya continued, “you didn’t just change your landing page when you left.
You rewrote the entire code. Most of us stick to the default settings.
If we want something to change, we submit a ticket: ‘Dear Webmaster, please activate the “more money” option on my page.’ Or ‘Dear Webmaster, please clear my cache so I can start over.’ We keep submitting request after request, hoping they’ll get approved.
Sometimes we even try to bargain. ‘I’ll quit drinking if you enable this feature,’ or ‘I’ll do one good deed a day if you approve my request faster.
’ But here’s the thing—every webmaster is connected to the same universal server. ”
“So, you’re saying religions and beliefs are like different webmasters, but they all plug into the same source?”
“Exactly.” Priya couldn’t help but smile. She could dive into the geekiest corners of her mind with Ethan, say things she wouldn’t dream of sharing with anyone else, and still feel completely understood. No judgments. No sneering. Even after all this time.
“And the template we’re born into is sort of a predestined path, but we have the free will to change it if we are brave enough to change the code,” Ethan continued.
“Right, except there’s one thing that’s hard coded into all our pages. And that’s death,” Priya said. “I don’t know how your character is going to outsmart that one, Ethan.”
“Neither do I,” Ethan said with a quiet laugh. “I can’t wait to get my hands on the final script.”
“Well, my final script is already written, and guess what?” Priya said. “I turn to ashes.”
“And I turn to dust,” Ethan said.
“Please,” Priya groaned. “More like stardust, Mr. Hollywood.”
“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”
“Landing pages and ending pages,” Priya quipped.
Ethan let out a slow breath, his voice softening. “I couldn’t have picked a better place for character research than right here with you, Pri.”
The ghost stories on the tip of Priya’s tongue evaporated, replaced by an ache she didn’t expect. The need to flee rose fast, so she climbed out of the casket.
“Well,” she said, “I’ll let you get back to your role.”
“Leaving me so soon, Ashes?” Ethan propped himself up with a smile.
Priya stopped in the doorway and cast a parting glance over her shoulder. The light from the corridor traced the angles of Ethan’s face, giving him a glow that was both haunting and beautiful.
“Enjoy your solitude, Stardust,” Priya replied, before slipping out.