wednesday. 7:23 am. day 23 since diagnosis.
phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
shubham stared at screen. twenty-three messages in office group chat. twelve private texts from rohan. three missed calls from boss's secretary.
megha had done her job well. photo attached to group chat—him and reshma, arms linked, walking through their gali. caption: "guess who got secretly married?? 👀👀"
three hundred likes already. comments scrolling.
"shubham kumar? the quiet one?" "wait she was getting married to someone else right? what happened there?" "she looks different. is she okay?" "lol imagine hiding your whole marriage. office HR gonna have a field day"
he closed the app. hands not steady.
in bathroom reshma was throwing up again. second time since midnight. he should be there. instead he was doom-scrolling while his life became content.
"bhai." priya's voice from couch. she'd seen screen over his shoulder. "that's... bad."
"yeah."
"what are you going to do?"
he didn't know. genuinely didn't know. his brain—usually good at debugging problems, finding solutions, patching issues—completely crashed.
(Speaker: error 404: coping mechanism not found. mosshead.exe has stopped responding. would you like to send an error report? no one will read it anyway.)
8:45 am.
reshma emerged. pale. wiped out. but noticed his face immediately.
"what happened."
he showed her phone.
she read. expression going blank. that professional mask she wore when world was cruel and she refused to let it win.
"megha moves fast."
"reshma i'm sorry. if we hadn't gone out—"
"stop." firm. tired. "we agreed. one good day. we got one. now we deal with consequences." she sat down heavy on bed. "what's work saying?"
"boss wants me in. rohan says everyone's talking. HR apparently has questions about undisclosed marriage status."
"so go."
"what?"
"go to work. handle it. i'll be fine here."
"i can't just leave—"
"shubham." she looked at him straight. "you leaving me for a few hours won't kill me. you losing your job WILL kill us financially. we have six months of bills to pay. possibly more. GO."
logic he couldn't argue with. hated that she was right. hated that cancer forced them to be practical even when emotions screamed otherwise.
priya stood up. "i'll stay bhabhi. we can watch that terrible reality show you like."
"bigg boss is NOT terrible—"
"it's SO bad bhabhi. literal trash. you're obsessed with trash."
reshma almost laughed. shubham watched them bicker and felt something loosen slightly.
"okay," he said. "okay. i'll go. handle whatever needs handling. be back by lunch."
"take your time. don't rush back." reshma straightened his collar. habit now. "and shubham? head up. you didn't do anything wrong."
"i know."
"do you?"
he kissed her forehead. "i'll figure it out."
azure consultancy. 10:12 am.
whispers everywhere.
he could feel eyes on him as he walked to his desk. conversations stopping mid-sentence. phones being quickly hidden.
rohan met him halfway. pulled him into empty meeting room.
"bro. what the HELL."
"i know—"
"you're married?? to reshma from marketing?? since WHEN??"
"since. recently."
"and she's—" rohan hesitated. "people are saying she's sick. like really sick. is that—"
"cancer." shubham cut off. clean. honesty the only weapon left. "blood cancer. she has six months. maybe less."
rohan's face went white. "shubham..."
"i know. i know what it looks like. married dying girl. everyone will say i'm either saint or fool. don't care which. she's my wife. that' what matters."
silence. rohan processing.
then: "boss wants to see you. like. now. HR too."
"yeah. figured."
"i'll cover your work." rohan grabbed his shoulder. solid. brotherly. "whatever you need bro. i'm here."
first friendly face all morning. shubham nodded. couldn't speak.
boss's cabin. 10:47 am.
"so." boss leaned back in fancy chair. "you got married."
"yes sir."
"to a colleague. without informing HR."
"it happened fast. registry only. family emergency." all true. technically.
boss studied him. that calculated look shubham had learned to fear.
"people are talking," boss said finally. "about your wife's... condition. it's creating distraction. affecting team morale."
her dying is affecting team morale. shubham's jaw tightened.
"my wife's health isn't workplace discussion material sir."
"everything becomes workplace material when it affects productivity." boss leaned forward. "you've been distracted. late. leaving early. your output has dropped significantly."
shubham breathed. counted to five. reminder: you need this job. you need this salary. medical bills. rent. priya's education expenses.
don't explode. don't.
"is there something specific you need from me sir?"
boss slid paper across desk. "sign this. acknowledgment that any further performance issues will result in termination."
warning notice. official. documented.
shubham stared at it.
sign it. swallow pride. keep job.
he signed.
"good." boss smiled. thin. triumphant. "and kumar? congratulations on the marriage. hope she gets better."
empty words. formality. nothing behind them.
12:34 pm. back at desk.
rohan appeared. saw his face.
"he gave you warning notice didn't he."
shubham showed him the paper. rohan's face darkened.
"that's bullshit. your wife has CANCER—"
"doesn't matter. productivity matters." shubham's voice flat. "it's just six months. maybe less. i can be robot for six months."
"this isn't right."
"nothing about this is right." small smile. first one all day. "but thanks for having my back bro."
rohan grabbed his shoulder. "anything you need. i mean it. money. food. someone to yell at. whatever."
"i'll keep yelling option in mind."
then focused on work. pushed everything else away. became the robot boss wanted. lines of documentation. error logs. technical writing. mind-numbing but necessary.
phone buzzed. priya.
"bhabhi craving chocolates. i'm going to market. don't worry everything fine here 💜"
small relief. at least they were okay.
he typed: "don't let her eat too much. doctor said no processed sugar."
priya: "OK DAD 🙄"
hours passed. he didn't call home. kept head down. survived.
3:47 pm. their flat.
he opened door to find chaos.
chocolate wrappers everywhere. dairy milk. 5 star. kit kat. ferrero rocher box half empty.
priya on couch looking guilty. reshma in kitchen doorway. chocolate smeared on her lip. caught mid-bite.
"what—" shubham started.
"i can explain—" reshma started.
"bhai it's not—" priya started.
all three talking at once. stopped. silence.
shubham looked at chocolate evidence. looked at her. looked at priya.
"doctor said no processed sugar."
"i KNOW—"
"chemotherapy strains the liver. sugar makes it worse. he specifically said—"
"i KNOW what he said." reshma's voice hardened. "i was THERE. i'm the one with CANCER."
her hands shaking now. chocolate wrapper crinkling between fingers.
"i'm the one choking down sahjan that tastes like tree bark. i'm the one whose hair is falling out in CLUMPS." voice rising. cracking. "i'm the one whose liver is already failing so what difference does ONE chocolate make when i'll be DEAD in six months ANYWAY—"
she stopped. breath catching. hand pressed to chest.
silence crashed down.
shubham's anger deflated. just. gone.
because she was right and he hated it.
"one chocolate," she whispered. not angry now. just tired. broken. "i just wanted one thing that tasted good before i can't taste anything anymore. one moment where i'm not patient or dying girl or tragedy. just—" voice cracking properly. "—just person who likes chocolate."
priya had vanished. sixteen-year-old survival instinct to disappear during adult meltdowns.
"i'm sorry," he said finally. throat tight. "you're right. eat the whole box if you want."
"i don't WANT the box. i wanted—" tears now. actual tears. "—i wanted to not need PERMISSION to be happy for five minutes. wanted to not see you calculating liver damage every time i smile. wanted ONE thing that's mine. not cancer's. not doctor's. MINE."
she sat heavily. chocolate still in hand. shaking.
(Speaker: caught in crossfire. poor kid. this is why therapists exist.)
shubham opened mouth. closed it.
mid-sentence, his phone rang.
ma. video call. worst timing imaginable.
both froze.
"don't answer—" reshma started.
but he'd already hit accept. reflex. son's programming too deep to override.
ma's face appeared on screen. warm. concerned. innocent of the war she'd just interrupted.
"beta! saw your missed calls earlier. everything okay? how's bahu?"
hell. pure hell.
reshma appeared behind him. chocolate wiped hastily from lip. smile plastered on. professional mode activated.
"ma! so nice to see you!"
"bahu you look—" ma hesitated. concerned. "thin. are you eating properly?"
"yes ma. shubham is feeding me too much actually. sahjan and vegetables and—" forced laugh. "—he's become very strict."
shubham stood frozen. acting on autopilot.
"that's good beta. nutrition is important. when are you both coming home? diwali is in two months. you'll come na?"
two months. she might not be alive in two months.
"definitely ma," reshma said. lying smoothly. "we're planning."
ma beamed. "good good. and priya beta? taking care of bhabhi?"
priya appeared on screen. also fake-smiling. this family was getting too good at pretending.
"yes ma. bhabhi and i are bonding very well."
"wonderful. okay beta, just checking in. shubham you look tired. eat properly. don't work too hard."
"yes ma."
"okay. love you all. bye bye!"
screen went dark.
shubham exhaled. long. shaky. hands dropping to his sides.
silence.
three people. one small room. aftermath of dual crisis.
reshma sat heavily on bed. body folding like paper. the fight had cost her—she was shaking. pale. lips dry again. hand pressing against stomach.
mask crumbling. tears threatening.
"i hate this."
"what."
"lying to her. pretending. making promises we can't keep." she looked at her hands. "she's going to find out eventually. and she'll feel betrayed."
"ma loves you—"
"ma loves a healthy daughter-in-law who will give her grandchildren and grow old with her son. not—" voice breaking. "—not a dying girl who's stealing her beta's future."
shubham sat beside her. angry energy from fight draining. leaving only exhaustion.
"you're not stealing anything."
"i'm stealing everything." she looked at him. "you should be building career. saving money. planning life. instead you're fighting with boss, lying to ma, watching me eat chocolate while cancer eats me."
"reshma—"
"let me finish." she grabbed his hands. "i know you love me. i know you chose this. but sometimes i think—" her voice cracked. "—sometimes i think i should have jumped. saved everyone the trouble."
he went cold.
"don't."
"i'm just saying—"
"DON'T." fierce now. scared. that image—her on bridge, lehenga billowing, ready to fall—crashed back full force. "don't EVER say that. you hear me?"
she stared. surprised by his intensity.
"i pulled you back for a reason."
"because you're stupid and noble—"
"because i LOVED you." raw. exposed. different from before—desperation love, not comfort love. origin story love. "and then suddenly you were on a bridge trying to end everything and i COULDN'T—" his voice broke. "—i couldn't let you disappear. not from the world. not from my life."
tears now. both of them.
"so yes. i signed warning notice today. yes, ma will be hurt. yes, chocolate will probably damage your chemo response slightly. i don't CARE. because you're here. breathing. fighting. mine. and that's all that matters."
she didn't collapse. didn't cry. just leaned into him. exhausted. body finally giving out from the fighting.
her hands were cold. he held them. warmed them.
priya quietly picked up chocolate wrappers. giving them space. sixteen and wise enough to disappear.
later. much later.
they lay in bed. talked out. emotionally decimated. not crying. just. empty.
"i still shouldn't have eaten so much chocolate," she admitted.
"probably not."
"you still shouldn't yell at me about it."
"definitely not. i'm sorry."
"and i shouldn't have said that thing about the bridge."
"please don't. ever again."
"deal."
pause. comfortable now. storm passed.
"shubham."
"hm."
she rolled to face him. eyes swollen. nose red. still beautiful.
"i want you to shave my head."
he blinked. "what?"
"my hair." she touched her thinning strands. coming out in clumps now. pillow covered every morning. drain clogged every shower. "it's falling anyway. slowly. humiliatingly. i'd rather choose."
"reshma..."
"i don't want to watch it disappear piece by piece. i want to decide. one cut. one moment. done." she looked at him. vulnerable. brave. terrified. "will you do it? i don't want anyone else."
his heart twisted.
"are you sure? we can wait—"
"waiting just means watching myself become less. i'm tired of watching." she grabbed his hand. "please. before i lose courage. friday. after next chemo session. let's just... do it."
he brought her hand to his lips. kissed it. rough and tender and breaking.
"okay."
"okay?"
"friday. i'll shave your head." his voice cracked. "and you'll still be you. still beautiful. still my ghost."
she smiled. wet. grateful. scared.
"okay."
they held each other. rain started outside. delhi monsoon doing its thing.
somewhere in the building, neighbors were living normal lives. watching tv. fighting about bills. yelling at kids. mundane problems they took for granted.
here two people lay in the dark, planning how to face her becoming bald. planning how to handle the world's whispers. planning how to steal whatever time remained.
(Speaker: chocolate wars: concluded. casualties: one warning notice, one bridge mention that made everyone uncomfortable, approximately zero productive conversations. status: they're still together. still trying. that counts for something right? right? ...crickets cliffhanger: friday approaches. razor time. buckle up.)
Friday approaches. Razor waiting. Some choices are made before you're ready.