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No one was home.
The maid mentioned everyone had gone to the cemetery.
I was left alone, with nothing but my thoughts swirling in the quiet. A part of me wanted to just stay put, wait for my grandparents, and avoid everything altogether. But there was something inside me, something that felt like melted butter sliding over a warm pancake. Feelings. The kind I wasn't exactly used to processing.
Grief always hit me like a brick to the face, and happiness never lasted long enough to do anything about it. Right now, it was a heavy mix of both. I couldn't just sit here. I wanted to be there, to help Rishi, even if it was just standing beside him.
So, I listened to my gut and left the house. My brain was just noodles, not worth consulting.
The front door was unlocked when I arrived, and as I stepped inside, the empty hallway greeted me. A few pairs of shoes were neatly lined up by the entrance.
"People," I mumbled to myself.
As I was making my way further into the house, Rishi appeared. His head was covered in a simple white cloth, the kind you wear when you're mourning. No black suit, just all white. The grieving uniform. His red, puffy eyes were a dead giveaway.
"Hey, you need something?" he asked, his voice polite but tired.
"Nah, I just came by to see if you needed help, you know, with the guests or... anything?"
"Don't worry about that," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I don't really like them, to be honest. No need for special treatment. I'm heading to the cemetery now, though. Want to come along? They might not let you get too close, but you can sit with nani."
He didn't have to ask twice. "Alright," I agreed, because even though it felt strange, it wasn't the worst idea.
The silent car ride, part two.
Rishi and I used to get along really well when we were kids. But that one crappy thing he pulled—whatever that was—ended it all. We hadn't spoken since, but I wasn't sure if the people I was about to see even knew that. They probably still thought we were best friends, and I wasn't in the mood to correct them. It wouldn't help anyway.
I hated him. Or, at least, I was supposed to. But this situation was spinning so far out of my control that getting along with him, even for a little while, seemed inevitable.
When we reached the cemetery, the weight of the moment hit me. I spotted my nana and nani first, greeting them with a quiet hug, then scanning the crowd for Bashir uncle. It was hard to make out faces—too many people, too many white clothes blending into the somber surroundings.
After a few moments, I finally saw him. His salt-and-pepper hair was unmistakable. I walked over and gently patted his shoulder. He turned around, and the sight of him—tears staining his face—was enough to break something inside me. Seeing anyone cry is hard, but seeing Bashir uncle like that was unbearable.
When our eyes met, a sudden rush of emotion washed over me, and before I knew it, tears were spilling down my own cheeks.
"Oh good god, Mira, how have you been?" he asked, his voice thick with grief, yet he managed a smile—a smile that only made my heart ache more.
"Probably not as bad as you," I replied, and without thinking, I wrapped him in a hug. In that moment, I forgot about everyone else, crying into his shoulder like I was a kid again. We both cried, his soft whispers of "it'll be alright" barely reaching me through my messy sobs. My shoulder felt damp from his silent tears, but it was the warmth behind them that hit me the hardest. He was there, breaking down just like me, yet somehow still holding on to hope, still trying to comfort me.
It felt like we were standing on the edge of something vast and dark, like an old man on a sinking ship, telling his crew to hold on, even when the waves were crashing down. Everyone else might want to give up, to avoid the pain of moments like these, questioning why life even matters when we all just end up here.
But he stood tall, and his strength, despite the tears, held me together in a way I didn't realize I needed.
I guess I really do have attachment issues, don't I?
A voice broke the moment. "Papa?" It was faint, but enough to snap me back into awareness of my surroundings. I blinked through the haze of tears, and Bashir uncle turned toward the voice, his hand gently rubbing my back.
"Ahh, dear, I have something important to do right now. I'll come right back to you once I figure it out, okay?" He gave me a soft smile before walking away, leaving me standing there, emotions still swirling.
Then I felt Rishi's eyes on me, his stare uncomfortably intense. I caught him looking, and before I could stop myself, I blurted, "What?"
"Ah, nothing," he shrugged, but his gaze didn't waver.
"If it's nothing, then why are you looking at me like that?" I pressed. He walked closer—too close. Towering over me, his presence was like a shadow I couldn't shake.
"Nothing," he said again, stepping even closer, and then—out of nowhere—he wrapped me in a hug. A real, full-on hug.
His voice, soft and teasing, reached my ear. "It'll be just fine, dude. And if you cry any more, my mum will hate you from the heavens."
I froze, speechless. He was hugging me. Rishi.
When he finally let go, he added with a grin, "No one wants haters from the heavens, right?"
Why was he smiling?
Was this pity?
Why did he always do this—act like nothing was wrong, like he could carry it all?
My mind raced as I stared at him, trying to figure out if I was just some puzzle he felt like solving.
Why was he like this?
Why was I so confused?
But one thing was certain: I wasn't ready for this.
Not from him.
Not like this.
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