The Diwali festival was observed at Yugh's family home, the lights and rituals performed with a quiet, dutiful charm. For everyone present, the celebrations were haunted by Zahra's ghost; her laughter, her meticulous decoration, her presence that had filled these rituals for fourteen years. Ten months had not been enough to erase the imprint of a life so fully lived within those walls. Her memories clung to the house, refusing to vanish simply because she had. đ
Across the city, Anisa maintained her own grim routine. As the environment turned crisper, the fireplace in her living room was lit each night. The domestic charade with her in-laws continued, a tense performance where, occasionally, a sisterly barb would slip out, only to be swiftly chastised by their mother in a pantomime of solidarity that Anisa watched with detached, cold clarity.
A sliver of professional hope emerged as the Christmas season approached. Her studio received two commissions for custom artwork intended as gifts ,a small but vital sign of life. The business was still not profitable, but Anisa, determined to honour the loyalty of her staff who had stayed through the lean months, planned a modest year-end bonus. Their faithfulness was a debt she felt compelled to acknowledge. đš
Meanwhile, Yugh was preparing for a return to the scaffolding of normalcy. His six-month suspension was ending, and he was due to report back to the hospital next week. Before that, he had to undergo a final psychiatric evaluation for the disciplinary committee, a humbling requirement. The stern warning about never mixing substance use with patient care had been etched into his mind. His path forward was clear: resume his duties as a surgeon, bury his turmoil under a mountain of work, and through professional discipline, perhaps find a way to rebuild the life and reputation that had fractured. The hospital, with its clear rules and demands, offered a stark, structured escape from the messy ambiguity of his grief and Anisa's accusations. đ