saturday. 9:14 am. day 26 since diagnosis.
sunlight cruel and bright through window. birds singing outside like they didn't know someone was dying inside.
she sat at his desk. laptop open. google calendar on screen. mischief in her tired eyes.
he was supposed to be making breakfast. instead stood frozen in doorway watching her type something.
"what are you doing."
"hacking." she didn't look up.
"that's MY calendar—"
"which is why it needs fixing." she clicked something. saved. turned with fragile smile. "there. done."
he approached warily. looked at screen.
recurring event: chocolate sunday every sunday, forever note: eat chocolate. doctor's orders (from the ghost)
"reshma—"
"wait. there's more." she scrolled. pointed.
one-time event: december 15 (her birthday) note: don't be sad. eat cake. preferably the good kind from chandni chowk.
and another.
recurring annual: our anniversary note: registry day. remember the aunty who witnessed. say thank thank you to her ghost if possible.
and one more. further out. eight months away.
one-time event: june 12 note: if you're reading this, i'm probably gone. but you should know—this was the day i first noticed YOU at office. third floor coffee machine. you saw me waiting, panicked, and said "aap pehle le lo." like i was some VIP and not just marketing intern. you didn't even make eye contact. i thought "what a weirdo." still think that. love it anyway.
he scrolled back through them. chocolate sundays. her birthday. their anniversary. june 12—the coffee machine.
she'd mapped his future. survival timeline coded in Google Calendar like debugging a crash. each reminder a patch against grief. each notification a breadcrumb back to living.
his vision blurred.
"reshma. what is this."
"breadcrumbs." she turned to face him properly. bald head catching light. beautiful and terrible. "for after. so you don't forget to live."
"i told you i don't want to—"
"and i told you this isn't about what you WANT." her voice soft but firm. "it's about what you NEED. reminders. to eat. to celebrate. to remember things that matter. to not become a frozen shrine."
he couldn't speak.
"also—" she grabbed envelope from desk. thick. sealed. his name written on front in her handwriting. "—this. for after."
"what is it."
"letter. don't read it until... you know. until." she pressed it into his hands. "promise me."
"i don't want—"
"promise me shubham. i need this. need to know you'll hear from me. one more time. even when i can't—" voice cracking. "—even when i'm not here to say it."
he took envelope. heavy. heavier than paper should be.
"i promise."
"good." she exhaled. weight leaving her. "now. breakfast. you promised dosa and you've been standing there staring at me for ten minutes."
(Speaker: some people leave photo albums. she's leaving calendar reminders. very 2020s grief prep.)
11:47 am. breakfast done.
priya joined. all three eating together. normal except nothing was normal.
reshma's phone buzzed. doctor's office. she answered.
short conversation. humming. nodding. "okay. yes. we'll come monday. thank you."
hung up.
"what was that?" shubham asked immediately.
"scan results ready. they want us to come in. monday."
silence. tension immediate.
"is that... good or bad?" priya asked. voice small.
"they didn't say." reshma's face carefully neutral. "could be routine update. could be..." she didn't finish.
could be cancer progressing. could be tumors spreading. could be timeline shortening.
could be everything changing again.
"we'll go monday," shubham said. trying for steady. failing. "together. whatever it is."
"yeah." reshma nodded. "whatever it is."
she picked up fork. resumed eating. pretending conversation hadn't just dropped bomb on the table.
priya and shubham exchanged look. both knowing. both pretending not to.
six months. that was the original estimate. they were maybe three weeks in. already felt like years.
2:34 pm.
priya went to market. "bhabhi needs fresh fruits. i'm on it." transparent excuse to give them privacy.
them alone now. rare. precious.
he sat beside her on bed. she was looking at her reflection in small mirror. running hand over bald head.
"still weird."
"still beautiful."
"liar." but she smiled.
quiet moment. comfortable. the kind married couples supposedly have after decades, not weeks.
"shubham."
"hm."
"yesterday. when i asked what happens after." she turned to face him. serious. "you said you'd visit patna. finish house repairs."
"yeah."
"what else."
"reshma—"
"no. keep going. i want to know." she grabbed his hands. held tight. "i want to imagine your life. continuing. after me."
he breathed. hard. impossible request. but she needed it.
"i'll... i'll go back to office. eventually. maybe different company. somewhere that doesn't have megha gossip brigade."
small laugh from her. "good. what else."
"i'll take care of priya. make sure she graduates. gets into good college."
"she's stubborn. like you. she'll be fine."
"yeah." pause. harder now. "and i'll... i've been thinking. maybe therapy. eventually. learning to talk about—" he gestured vaguely. "—all this. to someone who isn't dying."
she flinched slightly at 'dying.' but nodded.
"good. that's good." she squeezed his hands. "what about... love? eventually?"
he went still.
"don't—"
"shubham. realistically. you're young. you're—" she smiled sadly. "—annoying but lovable. some woman will eventually want—"
"no."
"you don't know—"
"i know i don't want to talk about this." sharp now. scared. "ask me anything else. patna. therapy. career. anything. but not—" voice cracking. "—not replacing you. not yet. not ever yet."
she studied his face. saw the rawness there. the terror.
"okay." soft. accepting. "not yet. just... eventually. remember that i want you happy. not frozen."
"i know."
"and that i love you enough to want you to love again. someday."
"i know." barely audible.
"okay."
they sat in heavy silence. impossible conversation hovering finished but not resolved.
finally she leaned against him. exhausted. always exhausted now.
"tell me about patna," she said. "the house. what needs fixing."
distraction. he understood. took it.
"roof first. leaks every monsoon. ma puts out buckets like ritual. seven buckets, exactly positioned."
"seven buckets is specific."
"twenty years of data. she knows which spots leak first." he smiled despite everything. "then walls. repainting. everything is that sad government green that nobody chose, it just happened."
"what color would you choose?"
"i don't know. yellow maybe. ma likes yellow."
"yellow is good." she closed her eyes. listening. drifting. "what else."
"kitchen floor. tiles cracked. priya tripped once when she was twelve. needed three stitches." his voice softening. memories mixing with present. "and the courtyard wall. papa started building it before... before he couldn't. never finished. i always meant to."
"you should finish it."
"yeah."
"that can be me. my thing. finish the wall papa started." she opened eyes. looked at him. "can that be what you do? in memory of dead girl? finish a wall?"
he couldn't speak. just nodded.
"good." she closed eyes again. "that's a good thing. a wall."
5:23 pm.
priya returned. fruits and vegetables. also suspiciously, one chocolate bar tucked in bag.
"bhabhi look. 'accidentally' bought dairy milk. whoops."
"bless you child."
"chocolate sundays start early apparently," shubham muttered.
"it's saturday," priya pointed out.
"close enough." reshma grabbed chocolate. broke piece. handed half to him. "eat. doctor's orders. from the ghost."
he ate. tasted like permission. like love. like letting go and holding on simultaneously.
4:17 pm. hospital corridor.
shubham stepped out for chai. reshma getting routine blood work. forty-five minute wait minimum.
"shubham."
he turned. megha. standing there. awkward. guilty. hands twisting together.
"i'm sorry. for the photo. the caption. all of it." fast. rehearsed. "i didn't know she was... i mean rohan told me and i—" she stopped. started again. "i'm sorry. genuinely."
he studied her. megha who gossiped for sport. now looking genuinely wrecked.
"you humiliated her. publicly. when she was already dealing with—" he gestured vaguely toward blood work room. "—everything."
"i know. i fucked up. i just—" megha's voice cracked. "—i didn't think. and that's not excuse. just... truth. i saw photo opportunity and took it without considering—" she breathed. hard. "—without considering she's a PERSON. not content."
silence.
"why are you here." not accusation. genuine question.
"because rohan said you come for checkups thursdays. and i needed—" she looked at floor. "—i needed to say sorry to your face. not hide behind texts. actual sorry. with actual consequences if you tell me to fuck off."
he almost laughed. despite everything.
"reshma doesn't have energy for grudges. so i won't carry them for her." he looked at megha directly. "but next time someone gets quietly married? maybe don't weaponize it for likes."
"noted. seriously noted. i deleted the post. all my posts about it."
"the damage is done. office knows. neighbors know."
"i know. can't undo that. can only—" gesture helpless. "—try to do better going forward. stop treating people's private business like my personal entertainment."
pause.
then: "okay."
"okay?"
"okay i hear you. okay i accept you're trying. but megha?" he grabbed hospital chai. bitter. necessary. "forgiveness takes time. for now—just. don't make it worse."
"understood. i won't." she nodded. left. actual remorse in shoulders.
he returned to waiting room.
reshma looked up from magazine. "who was that?"
"megha. apologizing."
"and?"
"and i'm letting it go. not forgiving yet. just... releasing. life too short for carrying everything."
she smiled. tired. proud. "wisest thing you've said in days."
"don't get used to it."
8:47 pm.
evening quiet. priya doing homework at kitchen table. actually studying for once. board exams next year. life continuing even when other lives weren't.
them in bedroom. she was tired. always tired now. but fighting sleep.
"shubham."
"yeah."
"monday. doctor. whatever news—"
"we'll handle it."
"—let me finish." she sat up. facing him. "whatever news. i want to know. everything. no protecting me from my own disease."
"i wasn't going to—"
"you were. you're already planning faces to make. reassuring words to prepare. i can see it."
caught. he looked away.
"i want truth. always. even if it's—" she stopped. breathed. "—even if it's worse. i'd rather know than guess."
"okay."
"promise me."
"i promise. honest. always."
she nodded. satisfied.
"also—" her voice lightened slightly. "—if boss texts again tonight, ignore it. you're not going tomorrow. sunday is ours. one good day."
"we just had one good day—"
"multiple good days is allowed. i'm dying. i get to make the rules."
dark humor. their weapon. their survival.
"fine. no work. what do you want to do?"
she thought. smiled. tired but real.
"nothing. absolutely nothing. watch terrible TV. eat priya's cooking experiments. lie in bed. just... exist."
"that's a plan?"
"that's the best plan."
so they did.
sunday became nothing spectacular. bigg boss reruns. priya's burnt paratha experiments. card games with rules that kept changing because nobody remembered properly. small stolen normalcy.
he watched her laugh at something stupid on TV and memorized it. the way her eyes crinkled. the sound—lighter now, like she'd given up on pretending things were fine and accepted they were terrible and also somehow still beautiful.
this, he thought. remember this.
sunday night. 11:34 pm.
priya asleep. them in bed. quiet.
"tomorrow," she said.
"yeah."
"whatever they say."
"together."
"always."
he pulled her close. she fit against him like she was designed to. like puzzle pieces finally correctly assembled.
"shubham."
"hm."
"thank you. for calendar hacks. for reading them instead of deleting immediately."
"i haven't deleted them."
"good. don't."
"i won't."
silence. comfortable. heavy. real.
"shubham."
"yeah."
"go to sleep. monday comes whether we're ready or not."
"i know."
but neither of them slept. just lay there. holding. breathing.
waiting.
(Speaker: calendar alarms for chocolate. sealed letters for the after. walls that need finishing. this is love when time comes with expiration date. raw. organized. weirdly domestic. cliffhanger: monday. doctor. results. the usual terrifying stuff. but tonight? tonight they just breathe. sometimes that's the whole battle.)
monday. 6:13 am.
alarm. day of truth.
reshma already awake. dressed. scarf on. ready to face whatever waited.
shubham's phone buzzed. boss.
"meeting at 10am. mandatory. no excuses. this is final warning kumar."
he stared at message. looked at her.
"hospital appointment is at 10:30," she said quietly. having read his face already.
same time. work or wife. career or care.
he typed: "sir, medical emergency. wife's doctor appointment. cannot reschedule."
sent. watched delivery confirmation.
boss: "then don't bother coming back."
typed again: "understood."
put phone down.
"shubham." her voice distressed. "you can't just—"
"i can." simple. sure. terrifying. "and i am."
"they'll fire you—"
"maybe. probably." he paused. something flickering in his eyes. something darker. "let them."
she noticed. "what."
"nothing."
"shubham. what."
he laughed. not his usual laugh. sharper. "i'm thinking about rohan telling me HRMS module is due next week. the one only i know properly. the one boss refused to document because 'shubham will handle it.'"
she stared. "and?"
"and nothing. just..." he smiled. thin. satisfied. "would be interesting na? watching them scramble. watching manager call rohan asking 'where's the documentation.' watching boss realize his best developer walked out because he couldn't give ONE day for wife's appointment."
"shubham—"
"i want to see them beg." the words came out before he could stop them. raw. ugly. honest. "i want to see boss on phone trying to explain to client why deadline is missed. i want manager to text me 'bhai please come back' and i want to ignore it. like they ignored everything."
silence.
she watched him. this wasn't the shubham she knew. the polite one. the one who apologized to cups.
this was something underneath. something human and petty and thoroughly deserved.
"you're supposed to be the nice one," she said finally.
"i am nice." he looked at her. "but nice doesn't mean stupid. nice doesn't mean... doormat." he breathed. letting something go. "they treated me like i was replaceable. now they'll find out."
pause.
then she grinned. actual grin.
"my mosshead has a spine."
"always had. just didn't use it."
"i'm impressed."
"don't be. i'm still terrified."
"that's what spines feel like." she grabbed his hand. "Tough looks good on you."
he laughed. real this time. tension breaking.
"okay. enough dark satisfaction." he looked at her. back to normal. mostly. "let's go. doctor's waiting."
she stared. eyes wet.
"that's... tough. and petty. and..."
"and?"
"and i love it."
she laughed. shaky. not crying. done crying for today.
"okay," she whispered. "let's go get bad news together."
"or good news."
"optimist."
"realist. covering all possibilities."
they got ready. priya joining. all three facing monday together.
whatever waited.
at least they'd face it as team.
(Speaker: career: yeeted. boss: about to learn what happens when you mistreat the only guy who knows the HRMS module. mosshead revealed his petty side and honestly? deserved. sometimes being good means being strategic about when to stop. cliffhanger: doctor time. but first—let them scramble.)
Cliffhanger → Calendar hacked with chocolate sundays and anniversary reminders. Letter sealed and promised. Job texted away—boss's "don't come back" accepted without argument. And now? Monday morning. Doctor waiting with scan results. Whatever timeline remains is about to become clearer. Better or worse, they face it together. Always together. That's the promise. That's the only one that matters.