Page 95 - Till the Last Breath . . .

‘Next time you need a smoke, call me. Don’t do the disappearing act

again,’ she said.
‘I will try not to,’ he answered and climbed up on the bed. ‘But the
smoking is good for me. It numbed the pain and I feel better now.’

‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure. You’re my doctor. That’s your job. I wonder if Dr Arman knows

what his job is!’
‘Why don’t you tell your parents about this?’

‘They don’t need to know.’
‘I think they do. In any emergency of a transplant, they will have to be

the first ones we’ll need to check for a match,’ she explained.
Zarah was never a good liar. Over the years, she had bonded with
whoever had a troubled relationship with their parents. Ever since she got to

know that Dushyant had been hiding his illness from his parents, she felt a
special connection. Two broken people make for a wholesome friendship.

Even though she had never been friends with any guy.
‘You couldn’t possibly understand what I have been through.’

‘I will. You can try me,’ she said.
‘I am tired. Can I sleep now? It’s starting to pain again, unless you want

me to run off for a smoke again.’
‘I will put you on some painkillers,’ she said and pushed a medicine into
his IV.

‘We can talk about this later? At night?’ he said.
‘Sure.’

‘And am I dying?’
‘Too soon to tell,’ Zarah said, not wanting to assure him falsely.

He closed his eyes. Zarah waited for him to drift off and then left his
room. Talk about it later? Why would she ever talk to a man? Hateful, vile

men who wanted their hands on her body and …

Zarah was fourteen. It was the year 1999.
She always felt out of place at the parties thrown by her father’s superiors

at the huge farmhouses they owned, bought with money they had made