AASHIQUI : chain bhi..dard bhi

Chapter 34

I pace the floor of my dad's bedroom while he eats his sandwich. "He's insane."

"Not you, dear," Mrs. Piya reassures my dad before turning to me. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but muje q esa lg rha hai, he really feel for you. Not that it changes what he did."

"It doesn't." It comes out way more curt than I intended.

Nodding, she rises from the chair. "Do you mind mai ghar jakr thoda kaam krkr ati hu, 2-3 ghnte lge syd muje."

The woman never has to ask me for a favor again. I'm eternally indebted to her. "Of course, please jaiye vaise bhi aap mostly yha hoti hai"

I look around. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime?"

She shrugs. "Not really. There's a small load of laundry that needs to be put in the wash and another load in the dryer that has to be folded and brought upstairs."

"Samjo kaam ho gya."

She pats my hand. "I'm gonna run to the grocery store and grab some things tki tumhara fav dinner bna sku"

I should turn her down since she does more than enough for me, but my mouth salivates when I think of her awesome stuffed chicken and baked mac and cheese.

"Thanks," I tell her as she ambles toward the door.

Her steps come to a halt. "Mai jyada lekr aau? Incase Faisu hame dinner m---"

I bristle. "Absolutely not."

"All right, then. We'll let him starve." With that, she leaves.

My gaze falls on the mahogany piano on the other side of the room. Last year—with help from Mrs. Piya and her husband—I moved it from my dad's studio to his bedroom. This way he'd be able to play whenever he wants because I know how much he loves music. I also read once that it's supposed to help people who have dementia. However, he rarely listens or plays anymore. It's yet another thing this horrible disease took from him.

Plastering a smile on my face, I turn to my dad. "How are you?"

"Eh. Could be better, could be worse." He blinks up at me. "Who are you?"

That all too familiar ache pierces my chest. "I'm—"

"Just kidding," he says with a smile. "I know who you are." The ache eases. "You're my new nurse."

And it's back. He places his tray on the chair beside his bed. "Uff sandwich khate huye thak gya mai toh, mai thodi der aankhe bandh krkr rest kr rha hu, okay?"

"Okay."

Remembering the laundry I told Mrs. Piya I would handle, I grab the hamper out of his room and head to the basement. After starting the washing machine, I take the clothes out of the dryer and begin folding them. I woke up feeling stupidly optimistic that today would be a good day, and he'd remember who I was. But at least I get to see him.

Even though he's a mere shell of the person he used to be. And just like that, guilt overshadows my frustration. This isn't his fault. My dad never asked to have dementia and I have no doubt that if he had prior knowledge that this would happen to him, he'd be utterly heartbroken. Just like I am.

I don't have any memories of my mother. So, while losing her was hard in the sense that I never got to form a relationship with her...the things I grieve most are the experiences and memories I'll never get to have. But with my dad, it's the exact opposite. He wasn't just my only parent...he was my best friend. The man has been by my side since the moment I took my first breath and I have a lifetime full of memories with him. Memories he can no longer access.