The Parting Gift ( Part 4 )

She woke up feeling restless in her bed. Her legs were aching and her hands felt like lead. Her head hurt and she told to herself bitterly, “There you go! Again such a great start to my day”.
This was how her days started lately. She would wake up feeling miserable. Every day. Every single day since the past few months. However, she was a tough lassie. She was the kind who would not give a damn. The kind who would look at the upside of things.Though, this once, it was becoming difficult for her.

Chitra got down the bed and walked to the mirror to look at herself. She was apprehensive of looking at what met her eye. She was barely 20 and her skin had started losing its glow. She did not have those rosy cheeks she was once so proud of. But she still had her smile. She flashed it across her pretty face and her big Bengali eyes curled upwards very graciously. She let loose her hair and saw the locks of her hair slowly reach down. She took her hair from one side and tucked it behind her other shoulder and looked at her neck. She ran her hand down her neck and shoulder and wondered if she was pretty. She looked at herself and wondered if any guy would ever love her.

She had been with a guy once and that nitwit had ruthlessly broken her heart, stomped on it, and left her alone to gather the pieces of what was left of her. Not that she was a sad wreckage or debris, but her heart ached in the most loneliest of times. She cried for three days, and the fourth day she did not give a fuck. She was that girl. Not that she did not flinch when old memories came up, but then,”retrospection was for morons”, she told herself to keep going.

But today it was strange. She did not know what was going on in her body, why she kept growing so weak, why her skin didn’t glaze any longer… It was driving her crazy. So many tests, and medicines, then again some more tests and more medicines. She never really bothered to know what was up with her, but now she was getting restless.

However, these were the things she admitted feeling. What about all those things she felt but did not agree to feel? What about her parents? What about the divorce? What about the fact that she hadn’t spoken to her father in years, not even met him despite all the efforts he had made to make it up to her?

“You never get to make up a broken marriage Baba. I’ll never forgive you”. These were the last words she had told her father many years ago, when he had come to meet her.

But she had. She had forgiven him years ago. She just did not want to admit it. But why?
She did not know. Maybe because forgiving a father who walked out of years of marriage seemed like a very un-cool thing to do. Maybe because books and movies and friends had told her that she did the right thing by not forgiving.

But then why did she forgive him at all? Maybe because, she had realized what many people fail to. That forgiveness is easy. At least easier than hate. Forgiveness must be extended to a father who had loved her. To a father who had been trying so so hard to mend things with his baby girl. Maybe she did not want to do both the things, the forgiving, and the admitting. So she continued to be that grumpy girl who never ever talked to her father.

She brushed these thoughts away as she took a heavy breath and sat down at the edge of the bed. She felt tired from all the standing and she hated it. She was tired and angry at God. Very angry. Her wrists were tired from all the writing she had to do in her class. Her eyes were tired from all the drooping in the lectures. Her back hurt when she sat up for long. But what hurt the most was her soul, too tired from holding behind her tears that had been wanting an out. She was hoping for a miracle. Her miracle. That one miracle that would change her life.

Little did she know that the next few months would bring a change in everything. How she looked at her father. How her mother looked at him. But what none of them knew was that all this came at a cost none of them were willing to pay.