Project Heart - Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Junak felt numb.
He sat huddled inside a large blanket, knees pulled to his chin, and stared mindlessly at the TV that was playing an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. The room was dark and the sharp light of the TV made his eyes burn.
Or maybe it was all the crying that had left his eyes dry. He wasn't sure.
You're leaving, Dikhou had said. You're leaving. You're leaving. You're leaving.
Here, standing in this very house, Sasha had told him the same thing not too many years back.
How can you leave? She had yelled when he told her he was going to Delhi for his studies. She was staying here. You are going to destroy what we have, if you go.
Junak had assured her they could manage long-distance.
They could not.
When Sasha broke up with him, she reminded him of that day: we'd still be together if you hadn't left. I loved you but you chose to leave.
Junak had spent all his life accusing his parents of leaving, but here he was, doing the same. Over and over again.
He was selfish. And stupid. And lived in some crazy fantasy that could never be real.
It made sense why no one ever loved him.
What are we doing? Dikhou had whispered. I'm not like you, Jun, I'm not playing.
Maybe Junak was, indeed, playing. Niribili was right, like she usually always was. He knew he was going to leave but he still got carried away. He was the one who sought Dikhou out, who flirted with him and led him along.
You will leave and move on. And I will be here, left with... this.
Yes. Junak was utterly selfish.
He wrapped his arms around himself in a vain attempt to fight off the cold.
After what could've been minutes, hours or years, sunlight filtered in through the curtains. Soon, he heard movement outside his door – Puhor was obnoxiously singing something as he rummaged through the house.
Pure rage coursed through Junak's veins. It was all because of Puhor! If he hadn't spooked Dikhou, none of this would've happened. Baby brother, Puhor called him, but he was never there in Junak's life. And now that he was here, he was simply ruining whatever happiness Junak had managed to salvage.
Junak was so angry he wanted to scream. And break something. Or throw something at Puhor.
He did not.
He was too tired. He curled into a foetal position and tried to sleep. Tears trickled down his cheek and drenched the pillow.
It was 10:21 in the morning that his phone rang. He scrambled for it – hoping against hope for it to be Dikhou, but no. It was Niribili.
He did not pick up.
It rang again. He cut the call.
Banhi called him next but he knew it would be Niribili on the other end so he let it ring.
There was a few minutes' worth of silence. Then the phone rang again. He almost cut the call, but then his eyes fell on the caller ID and his heart lurched like a wild creature about to fall off a cliff.
"Dikhou," he breathed, pressing the phone to his ear, cradling it in both hands. "I–"
"You should call Niribili." Dikhou's voice was deadpan, though a little broken at the edges.
Junak almost heard his heart break. "W-What?"
"Koka had a heart attack. He's in the hospital. You should call Niribili, she's trying to get to you."
"Wait–" The line went dead.
For a while, Junak was unable to register any of the words he had just heard. He couldn't. Dikhou had never spoken to him like that – cold, distant, formal.
And then it hit him: koka had a heart attack.
He was already on his feet, pulling on his shoes, as he called Niribili.
"I want to yell at you for not answering my calls while picking up Dikhou's, but I'll save it for later."
Tears pooled in his eyes. "H-He said that koka..."
"Yeah." Her voice softened, but he could still tell she was mad. "He had a heart attack. I'm at home with aita so I don't know the specifics but he's okay for now. Where... uh, where are you? You should come."
"Y-Yeah." Junak couldn't keep a sob from escaping his lips. "Yeah. I'm on my way."
He reached out to cut the call when Niribili said, "Jun." His hand froze midair. "Call a driver. I don't want you driving in this state."
"Okay."
"I mean it, Jun."
"Okay."
Fifteen minutes later, he sat behind the wheel, speeding through the highway.
Junak hated hospitals. He was sure no one was particularly fond of them, but he hated them to the point of repulsion.
As he walked into a small private hospital, with the words koka had a heart attack playing on a loop over and over in his head, he felt he was going to be sick. His blood curled, his throat was tight and his hands were shaking.
And he was constantly blinking back tears.
Koka had a heart attack.
That was all they told him. He tried calling Dikhou back but he never answered.
Koka had a heart attack.
Junak did not know what that meant, in exact terms, but it had to be bad. Heart attacks were bad. Right? And his grandfather was an old man –
No. He could not think like that.
For once in his life, he had found his family. He could not lose it. He could not lose his grandfather.
He was gasping as he reached the room they told his grandfather was in. It was a pale brown door, sad and... terrifying.
Junak lingered outside. He did not know what to expect. He had heard terrible things happening to people after a heart attack and he wasn't sure if he wanted to see his grandfather like that, suffering or lying frail on a sickbed.
He did not want to be reminded of his grandfather's mortality.
A nurse marched past him in brisk steps. She eyed him on her way and said, "You can go in."
Right. He needed to do this. He needed to do this before he completely lost his mind. It was already in shambles.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
A devastating sadness crawled onto his shoulders. It was a small room, devoid of windows or colours. The lights were unflinchingly harsh. There was a single bed with white sheets and an ugly green blanket. His grandfather was lying on it, eyes closed and unmoving. Several tubes were hooked into him.
He looked so small. And so pathetically weak.
Junak's breath hitched with a sob.
"Junak-da." On a chair beside the bed sat Jatin, his eyes wide and face a little pale. He rose to his feet. "You came."
The surprise in his voice felt like a physical blow; Junak almost flinched. "W-What – what's w-wrong with him? I-Is he – is he gonna be...?"
"He should be okay." Jatin's voice was too quiet. The machines in the room were too loud. "The doctor said his arteries were blocked."
That sounded bad. "W-What?"
"He just got out of surgery. It went fine but–"
The door swung open, interrupting Jatin. That the person froze at the threshold was enough of an indication as to who they were.
Junak thought he was going to get crushed under the sheer weight of his sorrows.
"What did the doctor say?" Jatin asked the person at the door.
Junak did not look back; he could barely breathe, let alone move.
"He's fine for now, but they'll be keeping him here for a few days. His blood pressure is really high."
Goosebumps erupted along Junak's skin on hearing Dikhou's voice. In front of him, the machines that were keeping his grandfather alive were incessantly humming.
He felt trapped. Something clenched around his heart, wringing it till the point his chest physically hurt.
"I'll go... get... something." Dikhou's voice was strained. "Stay here with koka, okay?" All his words were directed at Jatin, like he was the only one present in the room.
Jatin's eyes flittered between Junak and Dikhou. "Okay..."
The door closed behind Junak.
He waited a minute, to let Dikhou leave. Then he turned around and ran out of the room and across the corridor.
He did not know where he was going. Everything turned hazy. He saw people in wheelchairs and trolly beds, doctors and nurses and people who were hugging and crying. The whole place made him sick.
Sick and lost and bitter and angry and oh, so fucking sad.
He ran out of the hospital, gasping. The chill of the winter air failed to soothe his nerves.
He was standing in a small parking lot, bustling with people. He stumbled towards his car and collapsed to his knees near its front tire. He did not know he was crying until he felt hot tears falling onto his hands. The earth was hard and gravelly under his palms.
It was too much, all of it. Everything hurt and everything was terrible.
First Dikhou. And now his grandfather. He felt like he had lost both of them, in a way, though he desperately kept telling himself koka would be fine. He would be fine. He had to be. He would be up and about in no time, smiling at Junak. They would have tea together, as usual, koka making some remark on climate change. He would ask Junak to teach him how to save a phone number on his small flip phone. He would pat Junak's shoulder and call him son and Junak would not feel so alone anymore.
Except, he did not know that for certain. Blocked arteries? High ­blood pressure? And his grandfather was so old, so thin and so frail.
Junak was not ready to lose him. Not like this. Not after he had finally found him.
He was sobbing uncontrollably, there, crouched on the dirty ground. Nobody came for him, nobody spared him a glance.
He felt so alone, the isolation felt like a hook to his chest, pulling him down, down, down.
In films, this was the moment when someone came running to hold him. Wrap their arms around him, stroke his hair, whisper soft words in his ear.
No one came for Junak.
He wondered if he could die there and no one would care.
Maybe he should. If there was any God, he wished They would take him instead of his grandfather. It would be easier for everyone – koka had so many people depending on him, needing him, wanting him. Junak, on the other hand... no one would miss him.
He let out a strangled cry and dug his fingers into his shirt, right over his chest. Why did it hurt so much?
Before he knew what he was doing, he had his phone out. He couldn't see the screen through the tears but he still managed to find the contact he was looking for: Papa.
He pressed call and put the device to his ear.
It rang and rang and rang. His father did not pick up. The call went silent but he still kept holding the phone over his ear.
He felt empty. Hollow. But impossibly heavy all at the same time.
His phone rang. He answered without looking at the screen.
"Hello, Junak," came a formal voice he did not recognise. "This is Harshit, your father's assistant. Your father is in a meeting at the moment. Shall I take a message?"
He did not say anything. Tears continued to run down his cheeks.
"Junak? Are you there? Hello?"
Junak dropped the phone; it clattered against the ground in a dull thud. He shifted to rest his back against the tire of his car, then pulled his legs to his chest.
It was so stupid of him to even try.
Of course there was no one who cared about him. He had been alone ever since he could remember, and would always continue to be.
If only he could get used to it so it wouldn't hurt this much!
He closed his eyes and hugged himself, pretending those arms belonged to a certain man with a mischievous smile and gentle eyes...