The Collision
The car was filled with a sudden, carefree energy as Jay, Aneesh, and Aryan finally escaped the suffocating atmosphere of the hospital. Aneesh was behind the wheel of Sonal's friend's borrowed car, weaving through the late-night Mumbai traffic, the conversation light and loud.
Midway through a joke, a blinding pair of headlights swelled in the rearview mirror. Aneesh barely had time to register the metallic scream of an engine before he saw the truck, controls lost, swerving wildly toward their lane.
"Hold on!" Aneesh screamed, instinctively yanking the steering wheel hard to the right.
The move saved them from the direct impact of the first vehicle, but it angled their car perfectly for the second blow. A heavy goods truck in the adjacent lane, unable to stop, slammed violently into their passenger side.
The world dissolved into a cacophony of screeching metal, shattering glass, and twisted rubber.
Aneesh and Jay, protected by their seatbelts and the deploying airbags, were battered but alive. They were dragged out of the wreckage by bystanders, dazed and severely injured, collapsing unconscious onto the asphalt.
Aryan, however, had borne the worst of it. The force of the impact had propelled him through the shattered side window glass. He flew, a human projectile, only to be struck again, viciously, by the second truck. His body was flung against the curb, his head hitting the pavement with a sickening, final thud.
The Doctors' Verdict
The next morning, Sonal, finally conscious, demanded to know about Aryan and his friends. His parents and friends, faces pale and drawn, could only confirm the unthinkable: they were all admitted to the same hospital, fighting for their lives in different wings.
Sonal's friend, tasked with gathering information, finally cornered the doctor treating the trio.
"Jay is responding well, stable," the doctor said wearily. "Aneesh is slowly improving. But Aryan…" The doctor paused, his expression grim. "Nothing can be said about Aryan. He is severely injured."
The doctor, noticing the young man's distress, continued with the cold facts of the emergency room: "Aneesh and Jay remained inside the car, relatively protected by the safety measures. Aryan was thrown out and struck a second time by the opposing vehicle. His head trauma is critical. We are doing everything possible, but we need a response from him. Please take his belongings. You need to inform his family immediately."
Tears blurred Sonal's friend's vision as he looked at Aryan, lying still, encased in tubes and bandages. He relayed the devastating news to Sonal and his parents.
The Compassionate Lie
Sonal's parents, knowing the paralyzing fear of seeing your child near death, decided they couldn't deliver this news to Aryan's parents. They chose a lie of compassion: they blocked calls, only responding occasionally with a fabricated story.
"They've been assigned to an urgent, high-profile project," they explained, trying to sound convincing. "They're extremely busy and have to keep their phones off or away. They asked us to relay the message."
This managed the fear of the parents, but it devastated Ayra, who was eagerly awaiting Aryan's call—the call where she had planned to finally confess her true feelings, pushed by Jay's advice. Each declined call, each ignored message, deepened her anger and disappointment.
The Thirteenth Day
After days of agonizing wait, Jay and Aneesh recovered enough to be discharged to bed rest. Sonal's parents immediately explained the ongoing cover-up. Jay, still weak, continued the façade, calling Aryan's parents to assure them Aryan was "managing the project" and too busy to talk.
Then, Jay remembered Ayra. He tried calling her, but she rejected his call. He tried Aryan's number, but she wouldn't answer. Fed up and overwhelmed by the sight of Aryan's still, unresponsive body on the thirteenth day after the crash, Jay and Aneesh broke down, their sobs echoing in the silence of the sterile room.
Ayra, her anger boiling, finally sent Aryan a message detailing her immense tension and disappointment. Seconds later, Jay's phone rang—it was Ayra.
"How could you?" she shouted into the phone, her voice raw with fury. "All of you! I have been sick with worry, disappointed by this cruel silence! How dare you treat me like this, Aryan!"
Jay simply ended the call. Her anger, now reaching Mount Everest, was too much to face directly. They were trapped: she needed to know the truth, or she would shun them forever.
"We have to tell her," Aneesh urged, his face tear-streaked. "But not directly. We tell her mother."
The Truth Unveiled
They called Ayra's mother, relaying the horrific incident and Aryan's desperate condition. Ayra's mother gasped, her heart fluttering with immediate, crushing dread.
She found Ayra in her room and gently pulled her into a comforting embrace. "Aryan..." she began softly.
Ayra violently pulled away. "Don't say his name! I decided I won't talk to him until my anger cools down. I'm fed up with his acting!" she spat, her disappointment clear.
Ayra's mother looked her daughter straight in the eye, her voice sharp with a devastating urgency.
"Ayra, listen to me. If you miss seeing him soon, you may not see him ever."
The words were a physical blow. Ayra instantly froze, confusion washing away her anger. "What? I don't understand. Tell me everything."
Ayra's mother, tears welling, explained the whole tragedy: the accident, the 13 days of unconsciousness, the state of near-death.
Ayra was instantly engulfed in shock and then fainted.
When she woke hours later, her shock transformed into hysterical, agonizing sobs. "I don't want to lose that idiot!" she cried out, gasping for air against her mother's shoulder.
She poured out seven years of bottled-up emotion: his dreams, his relentless pursuit, his persistent proposals, and her own concealed, profound love. Her mother listened, her heart softening with pride for the deep connection her daughter and Aryan shared.
Jay called to offer clumsy comfort. Ayra immediately demanded, "Put the phone by his ear. Now, Jay."
Jay complied, holding the phone close to Aryan's still, silent form.
Ayra choked out a memory, recalling a silly, reckless conversation from their past: she had once told him she wanted to experience what it felt like to fall into a deep depression and then pull herself out.
Her voice, broken by sobs, filled the sterile room. "No, Aryan, please! I can't experience this pain. Hey, stupid, why did you take my words seriously? Why are you punishing me with this? I can't! You promised you would take care of me whenever I felt worried. Now you're bursting my heart. Please, get up, Aryan. Please talk to me!"
Her voice, raw with anguish and love, was the only sound in the terrifying silence of the intensive care unit.