Shadows Of The Stumps

Chapter - 86

The faint glow of dawn seeped through the blinds, painting the room in muted shades of amber. Meera stirred, her body aching from the toll of the previous day. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she lay still, her breaths shallow and uneven. Every inch of her felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, grief, and the dull throb of her injuries.

As her gaze adjusted to the light, it fell on the framed photograph on her nightstand. It was a picture of her and Ayan, laughing in the midst of some long-forgotten, carefree moment. The sight of his bright, mischievous smile twisted her heart in ways she couldn’t put into words. A fresh wave of turmoil rose within her, but she clenched her fists, refusing to let the cracks in her resolve deepen.

Not now, she thought fiercely. Not yet.

Determined to shake the haze of grief threatening to consume her, Meera slowly pushed herself up. Pain shot through her ankle, and she winced, biting her lip to suppress a groan. Her eyes shifted to the couch where Harry lay sprawled, his frame awkwardly curled to fit the limited space. His face was peaceful, devoid of the worry that had creased his features the night before. She sighed, her expression softening for a moment.

Silently, she got out of bed, careful not to wake him. Limping slightly, she made her way to the windows, closing the blinds to shield him from the morning light. Spotting a blanket on the armchair, she unfolded it and draped it over him. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his breathing even.

Meera turned her attention to the crisp uniforms resting on the sofa. Ayan’s and Arya’s clothes, perfectly folded, untouched. They seemed to taunt her with their stillness, as if waiting for the impossible—to be worn again. Her fingers hovered over them for a moment before she resolutely picked them up and carried them to the wardrobe. Opening the door quietly, she placed the uniforms on the shelf, her movements deliberate, almost ritualistic. When she shut the wardrobe, it felt like a part of her had been locked away too.

Grabbing a fresh set of clothes from the drawer, Meera slipped into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the silence, muffling her shallow, uneven breaths. She leaned against the tiled wall, her head bowed as the hot water cascaded over her. The physical pain of her injuries dulled under the heat, but the ache in her chest remained, raw and unrelenting.

When Meera walked out of the washroom, the steam billowed around her like a shroud, dissipating as she stepped into the cooler air of the room. Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention briefly—her short hair fell unruly, her damp strands sticking to her cheeks. She ran a hand through the uneven lengths, her fingers trembling slightly. Her bloodshot eyes stood out starkly against her pale skin.

Her gaze drifted downward, landing on the watch Ayan had gifted her. It rested on the bedside table, gleaming softly in the dim light. Slowly, she picked it up, her fingers tracing the engraving on the back: For every second we spend together. She swallowed hard, clasping the cool metal around her wrist. It felt heavier than usual, like the weight of her grief had somehow seeped into it.

Her breaths began to quicken, and a familiar tightness crept into her chest. She pressed a hand against her ribs as though that would steady the storm brewing inside. Not now, not yet,, she repeated to herself, the mantra shaky but insistent.

Behind her, Harry stirred slightly on the couch but didn’t wake. She didn’t want to disturb him. Forcing her movements to stay quiet, she walked over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Inside, a small vial of pills rattled softly as she picked it up. Popping the cap, she shook one out and swallowed it dry, her actions mechanical, habitual. The pill hit her stomach like a stone, and for a moment, the taste lingered bitterly on her tongue. She wiped her mouth and shut the drawer, a sense of hollow relief washing over her.