As Arjun approached his apartment, the familiar facade of the building looked foreign under the dim streetlights. The usual warmth of neighbors chatting and children's laughter had been replaced by a heavy, unnatural silence. His steps faltered as an unsettling chill crept down his spine.
He adjusted the strap of his bag, the keys in his hand clinking softly, and caught the faint murmur of voices near the entrance.
"An accident," someone whispered, the words cutting through the stillness like the sharp edge of a knife.
Arjun froze. An accident?
He wasn't one to meddle in neighborhood gossip, but tonight, something urged him forward. The shadows of a small group loomed near the gate, illuminated by the weak glow of the streetlight.
"Arjun," a voice called, drawing his attention. It was Mr. Sharma, one of the old residents. His face was pale, his eyes darting nervously.
"What happened?" Arjun asked, his voice tighter than he'd intended.
There was a pause. A hesitation that made the silence stretch unbearably long. Then, Sharma spoke, his words deliberate, as though each one weighed a ton.
"Arha," he said, and the name alone struck Arjun like a thunderclap. "She met with an accident."
The world tilted. Arjun's grip on his keys tightened, the sharp edges digging into his palm. His heart, moments ago steady, now pounded like a war drum.
"What… what do you mean? When? Where is she? Is she okay?" His voice cracked under the weight of his fears.
"This evening," Sharma said, his tone somber. "On her way back from school. A bike hit her. They've taken her to the hospital."
The words hung in the air, suffocating him. He barely registered the address they gave him before his feet took off, carrying him toward the bus stand as though propelled by instinct alone.
The cold night air whipped against his face, but his mind burned with questions. How bad was it? Is she hurt badly? Why didn't anyone call me earlier?
The hospital loomed ahead, its stark white walls illuminated by fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly in the quiet night. Inside, the chaos of patients, nurses, and the beeping of machines blurred around him as Arjun approached the reception desk, his voice trembling.
"Arha," he said, giving her name.
The nurse glanced at her clipboard. "She's been moved to a room," she said, pointing down the hall.
Arjun didn't wait for more. His legs carried him down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the tiles. He turned a corner and stopped abruptly.
Meena was sitting outside the room, her shoulders hunched, her face buried in her hands. She looked up as he approached, her eyes red and swollen.
"Meena," Arjun said, his voice breaking. "Is she… is Arha okay?"
For a moment, Meena didn't respond, as though the question had been too much for her to process. Finally, she nodded, her lips trembling. "She's stable," she whispered.
Meena's husband stepped forward, his face lined with exhaustion. "The doctors said she's out of danger," he said, his voice steady but laced with relief.
Arjun leaned against the wall, his knees threatening to buckle. "Thank God," he murmured, closing his eyes and asked what happened.
"She was crossing the road when a bike hit her," Meena's husband explained. "Fortunately, the rider wasn't speeding. She has some fractures, but nothing life-threatening."
Arjun exhaled shakily, the words washing over him like a balm. He turned to Meena, who looked ready to collapse.
"Have you eaten anything?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, her husband doing the same.
"You need to eat," Arjun insisted. "I'll stay here with her. Go to the canteen and get something."
Meena hesitated, but her husband gently guided her away, leaving Arjun alone outside the room.
The hours dragged on. When Meena and her husband returned, their faces weary but calmer, Arjun decided to leave. He glanced at the door one last time, his heart heavy.
Stepping outside, the cool night air hit him like a splash of water. He wandered down the street, searching for something to eat. A lone street vendor was packing up his stall.
"Anything left?" Arjun asked, his voice hopeful.
The vendor shook his head. "Sorry, sir. We're closed."
Arjun sighed, a hollow ache in his chest. "Thanks," he muttered, walking away.
The bus ride home was a blur. The rhythmic hum of the vehicle did little to soothe the turmoil within. By the time he reached his room, exhaustion weighed on him like a lead blanket.
He dropped his bag by the door and headed to the kitchen, grabbing a packet of Maggi. The act of cooking—boiling water, stirring the noodles—felt almost meditative, a small escape from the whirlwind of the evening.
Sitting down with the bowl, he let out a shaky breath. His thoughts drifted to Arha, to her peaceful face in the hospital bed. She was safe. That was all that mattered.
Reaching for his phone, he opened the chat about tomorrow's gathering. His eyes lingered on the address: The grand arcade. The name exuded luxury and costly.
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, the word both a promise and a question.
As the clock ticked past midnight, he crawled into bed, his body weary but his mind restless. The day had been a tempest of emotions, but one thing anchored him: Arha was alive, and tomorrow was a new day.