Page 105 - Till the Last Breath . . .

irritating. Why couldn’t you just take another room and let me suffer in

peace?’
‘You’re not dying. I talked to Dr Zarah. She just said you have some
tumours. You will be okay,’ she assured Dushyant whose body shook in

little tremors. Was he crying?
‘I coughed blood. I even peed blood today. They are clueless about what

I have. Please let the real doctors do their jobs and don’t meddle,’ he
bellowed at her.

‘You will be okay. I am sorry if my smile bothers you so much,’ she said,
almost guilty. Like she always did, she rationalized his behaviour as an

outcome of his frustration and fear.
‘Just get your treatment and get the hell out of here,’ he growled.
‘Fine,’ she said and drew the curtains between them.

From the other side, she could hear Dushyant ring someone from his
phone and call his room-mate—an irritating girl named Pihu … a bitch.

Her eyes welled up. His tone was hurtful. She wanted to pull the curtain
away and shout at him. You’re not the one who’s dying, I am! All of sudden,

she choked up. She was no longer delighted by her thoughts of an
imaginary romance. She was going to die soon. He was going to live. Her

pain was going to be a lot more. She had been through it earlier and she was
doubtful she had the strength to do it again. She hated her body and wished
it had destroyed itself the first time. A dreadful time was staring right in her

face and he reminded her of it.

She couldn’t sleep. Her conversation with Dushyant had left her shattered.

It reminded her of now now-numbered days. She picked up the book—a
multimillion-copy bestseller and a guidebook for patients afflicted with
ALS; it had been recommended to her by the first doctor who had

diagnosed her—Tuesdays with Morrie. It was about a seventy-year-old man
named Morrie who had the same disease as her—ALS. It was about the life

lessons the old man shared with a student of his across a time frame of
thirteen Tuesdays. He eventually dies, slowly and in pain, but content and

victorious.