A Web of Love and Deceit

The Last Goodbye

Warning: Suicide

Hope is the invisible thread that binds humanity to life itself—the force that pushes us forward even in the darkest of times. It can arrive like a whispered promise from a loved one, the sudden joy of an unexpected reunion, the miracle of recovery after a cruel twist of fate, or the sheer anticipation of someone we have spent a lifetime waiting for. Hope is what gives us the strength to endure, the fire to fight, the courage to defy the odds.

But what happens when that hope is ripped away? When the one thing that kept us breathing, that gave meaning to our existence, is never coming back?

Denial takes hold first, wrapping its cold fingers around the heart, refusing to let the truth sink in. And then, like a slow, merciless descent, despair creeps in. The light in their eyes dims, swallowed by an abyss of sorrow. The world turns gray, meaningless, empty. And when the weight of that loss becomes unbearable, when the realization finally sinks in that hope was nothing but a cruel illusion, love itself becomes a lie—something they will never believe in again.

Ram waited, his heart stubbornly clinging to the hope that Shiva would come. Even as exhaustion gnawed at him, even as his body protested against the strain—against the defiance of the doctor's strict orders—he stayed awake. Minutes stretched into hours, and with every passing second, the flicker of expectation dimmed.

When the clock struck eleven, the truth settled heavily in his chest. Shiva wasn't coming.

A hollow ache spread through him, deeper than physical pain, deeper than anything he could describe. With a slow, defeated breath, he lay back against the pillows, his fingers clutching the blanket as if it could anchor him. He closed his eyes, but the emptiness remained.

A single tear escaped, sliding down his cheek, disappearing into the silence of the night.

The morning of Ram's discharge arrived, but there was no relief, no joy—only a dull, gnawing emptiness that had settled in his chest over the past two weeks. Two weeks. Fourteen endless days of waiting, of hoping, of convincing himself that Shiva would walk through that door. But he never did. Not once.

Even Aadhi's visits had become infrequent, his presence weighed down by an unspoken guilt that lingered in his eyes. Ram didn't ask—he didn't need to. He already knew. The truth had been unraveling before him, thread by painful thread.

And then, as if the wound wasn't deep enough, his father's words came like a blade twisting inside him. "Shiva isn't visiting because he's disgusted by you, Ram. Because you're gay."

Ram didn't flinch. He didn't react. He had no energy left to fight, no strength left to deny or defend. The pain was no longer sharp—it was a slow, suffocating numbness, wrapping around him like a vice.

He had waited. He had hoped. But in the end, hope had betrayed him. Just like Shiva.

The journey home felt like an eternity. Every second stretched unbearably, weighed down by exhaustion and the emptiness that had settled deep in my chest. As soon as I stepped inside, I silently made my way upstairs, closing my bedroom door behind me with a quiet click.

I exhaled heavily, leaning against the door, trying to gather myself—until a sudden knock shattered the silence.

"Amma, not now..." I muttered, rubbing my temples.

"Idiot, it's me," came the sharp reply.

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips despite everything. With a shake of my head, I turned the knob and opened the door.