The alarm shrieked at 6 a.m., cutting through the silence of my room like a knife. I rolled over, groggy, and silenced it before my roommate could wake up and hurl one of his legendary curses my way. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up. Something about today felt different like the calm after a raging storm. Outside, the rain fell in sheets, drumming softly against the window. The morning air was cool and sharp, almost cleansing. I rested my chin on my hand and took in the view, letting the rain and wind wash over the chaos in my mind. Slowly, tears welled up and rolled down my cheeks. Today was supposed to be my last day alive.
Six months ago, Dr. Sameer Khan gave me the news: I had a rare intestinal infection that was slowly crippling my digestive system. Blood tests confirmed it. He’d given me six months. It’s true what they say the moment you know when you’ll die, you stop living. Every day since had been a quiet hell, filled with dread. The devil seemed to haunt my dreams, counting down my days with wicked delight. I wiped my tears. My life, once brimming with ambition and dreams, now felt like a story cut short before its climax. My parents , Maa and Baba would be crushed. I had cried myself to sleep every night, feeling cursed, robbed of time. And Anvika… she had no idea. She was planning to meet me today. I loved her more deeply than I had ever loved anyone. How could I possibly say goodbye?
My phone rang. I washed my face quickly and grabbed it. It was her.
“Sweetheart, let’s meet today,” Anvika said.
“Of course,” I replied, trying to sound normal. “You okay? You sound off.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. We agreed to meet at Central Mall at 3 PM. As the hours passed, my heart grew heavier. I dressed carefully, hoping to look my best one last time. Staring at my reflection, my eyes blurred with tears. How would she react to the truth? Would she cry? Stay strong? I didn’t know.
My phone buzzed again Dr. Sameer.
“Rahul, I need to see you immediately. I have news.” And then he hung up. I stood frozen for a moment, then glanced at my roommate, snoring blissfully.
“Thank you for everything, brother,” I whispered and stepped out.
My fingers trembled as I dialed Baba’s number. My voice cracked.
“Hello Baba…” “Rahul, kasha aahes re tu bala ?” he teased.
“I’m… fine, Baba,” I replied, struggling to hold myself together.
Then Maa took the phone. “When are you coming to Amravati, beta?”
“Soon, Maa. Very soon,” I said and broke down. I spoke briefly to Swati, my younger sister.
“Take care of Maa and Baba for me, okay?”
“I will, dada… but why are you saying all this?”
“Just promise me, okay? And do well in life,” I said before ending the call.
Tears streamed freely now. I hailed a cab to Bandra, taking in every inch of the city I loved. Mumbai had shaped me. It was my second home, a city of chaos and dreams.
Dr. Sameer called again. “You’re coming, right?”
“Yes, doctor. Almost there,” I said.
As I approached Bandra’s Holy Angel Hospital, I yelled, “I love you, Mumbai!”
Passersby chuckled, but I didn’t care. This might be my last moment of madness. Inside, Dr. Sameer greeted me warmly, his calm demeanor unchanged.
“How can you ask if I’m doing well?” I said bitterly.
“You know exactly how I’m doing.”
“I do,” he said gently.
“But I have something to show you.” He gestured toward a group of people nearby.
“Meet the scientists from Madrid studying the psychology of death in Indian patients.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re not dying, Rahul. That diagnosis was part of a research case study,” Dr. Sameer said.
I stared, stunned. “You… what?”
“This study will help countless people cope with mortality,” said one of the researchers, Dr. Lisa Suarez. They thanked me and left. I turned back to Dr. Sameer, fury surging through me.
“You made me believe I was dying. You ruined my life.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” he said.
“But we learned so much from your resilience.”
Before I could respond, I heard a familiar voice. “Aye hero, stop being so dramatic.” It was Anvika.
“You?” I gasped.
“Dr. Sameer is my professor. I helped him with the study. Remember your indigestion problem? That’s what led you here in the first place,” she said, laughing with the doctor.
I glared. “You’re both unbelievable.”
“Let it go. You’re not dying,” she said and hugged me. Her warmth melted the storm inside me. Hope flickered again and then roared to life. We walked out together.
“I’m not dying!” I shouted with joy.
“Nope. And you look hot today,” she said with a wink.
“Hot? Give me the car keys. I’m driving!” I said.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I looked at her, smiling wider than I had in months. “I’m going to live, Anvi. I’ll get to love you more.”
“You better,” she said.
As we cruised down AB Junction Road, I turned to her.
“This is not the last day of my life.” She smiled.
“And thank God for that.” Her beauty was mesmerizing, even more radiant today. Her straight hair danced in the wind. Her eyes held something divine.
“I love you, Anvika.”
“I love you too,” she whispered.
Suddenly, she screamed, “Brake!”
Everything went black as our car slammed into a truck.
FLASH NEWS – Couple killed in fatal crash at Worli Sea Link. Witnesses report the driver had just screamed, “This is not the last day of my life!” moments before the collision
