I stared at him.
My mind struggling to catch up.
“No,” I said immediately. “I would know.”
“You didn’t,” he replied gently.
Because she didn’t want you to.
The words hit harder than anything else.
“She told me not to tell you,” Raju continued quietly. “She said you already have enough stress with work… and she didn’t want to worry you.”
I felt something twist painfully inside my chest.
“She made me promise.”
I leaned back slowly, my hands going cold.
All this time…
All these small signs I had ignored.
Her tiredness.
Her quiet moments.
Her “I’m fine” answers.
And instead of seeing the truth…
I had created something else entirely.
Something ugly.
“Yesterday,” Raju continued, “she fainted near the sink. When I found her, she had already hit her arm. That’s where the cut came from.”
His voice softened.
“I helped her up… turned on the water… just trying to wake her properly.”
Everything suddenly made sense.
Every detail.
Every second.
And with that understanding came something unbearable.
Guilt.
Not the kind that passes.
The kind that stays.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” I whispered.
Raju gave a small, sad smile.
“You know bhabhi, bhaiya.”
Yes.
I did.
She always carried pain quietly.
Always smiled first.
Always put others before herself.
Even me.
Especially me.
That evening, I returned home with a heaviness I couldn’t shake.
Anushka was sitting on the bed, awake now, a book resting in her lap.
She looked up as I entered.
“You took long,” she said softly.
I nodded.
Then walked toward her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like I was approaching something fragile.
“Anushka,” I said.
My voice was different.
She noticed.
I could see it in her eyes.
“What happened?” she asked.
I sat down in front of her.
And for a moment…
I didn’t know where to begin.
Then I asked the only thing that mattered.
continue to the next page.
