Promise

January 16, 2010, she died of cancer. She was just 22. We were friends from school, right from childhood. On that rainy night, I still remember, she told me she was sick, my face a mask of confusion. She said that she was sick of being sick and she hated God for doing this to her for no reason, and that was when I realized what she meant by that “I am sick…” And then she asked me, “Would you write?” a peculiar expression on her face, “Would you write about me… after I’m gone?” her last few words were barely audible, but I ran away without replying, because not a single word came out of my mouth, just a few sobs, and then I was quiet. I came back home and didn’t talk to her for 3 days. She cheated, I said, we were supposed to be friends forever, but she’s leaving, she’s going… she’s breaking her promise.

At last she came to my home, came upstairs to my room, said nothing but just looked at me with pleading eyes, and all I could say was, ‘you’re dying!’, and we hugged each other and cried silent tears, cried for the precious little time we had… cried for her, for me, for us, our friendship… and we cried our hearts out, and then I told her between sobs, “yes, I’ll do it…”.

Days passed on. We rarely talked about her sickness. On Saturdays she would disappear for treatments and would be back by Monday, and during weekdays neither of us mentioned the weekend. It was like an unwritten but mutually understood rule that we won’t talk about her disease and even if the topic came up, we would steer clear of that topic.

We talked a lot, in class, then on phone. We had so many things to talk about- boys, classes, career, life, music, latest trends, movies, anything and everything but cancer.

At rimes she would grow really quiet. I remember she was really upset and silent after our 10^th board exams, when we were all enthusiastic about selecting subjects for our career. I was worried about her, so I confronted her and this was the answer I got, “Even if I study really hard, it’s not like I’ll be able to do something with this life, slipping slowly out of my hands. It’s like someone is slowly sucking breath out of me…” I stayed quiet. What possibly could I have said to console her aching heart?

Later our ways parted, we both moved to different colleges. But we still kept in touch through phone, mails, letters, chats, texts etc. Now, the time we spent with each other was much lesser, but the bonding grew stronger with each passing day.

Gradually, she stopped calling, texting and we drifted apart. I got busy with my life, new friends, more funny friends who could have more fun instead of sitting quietly fearing exertion.  I got way too busy to notice that she was cutting me off from her life. I took her presence for granted, because for me she was like the constant sun, I would keep moving travelling farther and farther but when I would turn and look, she would be there, smiling, shining, my guiding light, my best friend. But one day, when I turned my sun was gone, it was all dark and I didn’t even notice because I grew so used to dark. I realized that all the new friends were unreal, fake. With masks of friendliness, and with mean a core inside.

Then one day, years later, I got a call from her father. She was sick, terribly sick and in hospital. She wanted to see me.

“I’m sorry…” I started to say as I entered the sterile hospital room. She was lying in bed, her head bald, and her long black hair gone.

“I didn’t keep in touch, I forgot you…” I tried again, but she interrupted me with, “No, I’m sorry. I was the one who drove you away. I never wanted to hurt you; I wanted you to get as unattached as u could get… I’m sorry…” Her voice sounded exhausted, strangled.

“…but I couldn’t help missing you so I asked papa to call you.”

And then she looked into my eyes and said, “I’m dying… but I don’t want to die…” and a tear slipped down the edge of her eye, “I want to live… I’m scared, I think I won’t be able to see tomorrow’s sun, but it’s cool… I don’t mind. I’ve lived enough to make new friends, to have fun, be happy, laugh, and differ between wrong and right. Even if he’s taking my life, he gave me you and my family who all love me…” and then she turned her face the other way.

“Done with your filmy dialogues?” I asked with a fake teasing smile, “Now sleep…”

And soon she drifted off to sleep thanks to the heavy sedatives she was being given; I fled the room and never went to see her again until her funeral. Call me a coward, but I didn’t have the strength to see her dying.

January 16, 2010. She died of cancer. She was just 22, yet she was old enough to understand the deep bond of friendship, old enough to accept the fact that she was dying gracefully. I never saw her whining or complaining or pointing out mistakes in anyone. She was always happy with things as they were. And today I’m keeping my promise. The promise I made to her on that rainy night when we were kids. And although she’s gone, she lives, in every story I write, every book I publish and she smiles at me and tells me that she’s proud of me.