DAY 12: Cake and Regret

Tuesday

I’ve been keeping myself busy. Not the "productive" kind of busy—more like the "pretend your life isn’t crumbling" kind.

I checked #3 off the list today. And today’s highlight? Breaking plates.

In the morning I bought a chocolate cake and ate the whole thing in one sitting. Thought it’d feel liberating. It didn’t. Now I just feel like a blob with existential dread.

I texted Riya afterward:

Me: "Do you ever feel like life’s one big joke?"

Riya: "Who hurt you this time?"

It’s not a bad question, really. Who hurt me? Life? Fate? Dr. Sen and his questionable medical degree?

Nevertheless, I had to continue living, continue making money. So, kept myself busy drowned in all the paperwork at the office.

At night, to distract myself, I decided to “help” Mom with dinner, which turned out to be a complete mistake.

Mom said we were having dal for dinner. I said I didn’t want dal. She gave me her signature you’re-impossible look and said, “It’s good for your health.” Oh, the irony.

A+ timing, Mom. Really.

I was setting the table, lost in my own head, when it happened. One minute I was holding a stack of plates, and the next, I wasn’t. My fingers went numb before I even realized I’d dropped the plates and they hit the floor in a glorious symphony of destruction.

“Oh,” I muttered, staring at the shattered pieces.

Mom appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed. “What’s wrong with you?”

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For a split second, I thought she’d ask if I was okay, maybe rush over and help me. Instead, she just sighed and started sweeping up the mess, muttering about how I’m as careless as Dad.

“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “At least I didn’t break myself this time.”

She didn’t laugh.

Dad walked in, glanced at the mess, and walked right out again like he’d accidentally wandered onto a battlefield and decided it wasn’t worth it. Typical.

That’s when it hit me—the dizziness. It wasn’t just lightheadedness.

It was sudden, like the floor was trying to flip me upside down. My hands trembled, my legs felt weak, my stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as I gripped the edge of the table.

“Are you even listening?” Mom’s voice was distant now, like it was coming from another room. The broom scratched against the floor, the sound grating in my ears.

I couldn’t focus on her words. I could barely stand.

“I’m going to my room,” I mumbled, gripping the table like a lifeline, my knuckles white.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at me as I stumbled out of the kitchen, each step feeling like it might be my last.

The climb up the stairs felt like scaling Mount Everest without oxygen.

My legs felt like lead, my vision blurred. I gripped the banister tightly, dragging myself upward, one step at a time. By the time I reached the top, my body was trembling, drenched in cold sweat.

I pushed open my bedroom door and locked it behind me, the sound of the bolt sliding into place oddly comforting. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the bed, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

The pain in my head was relentless now, sharp and searing, like a knife carving into my skull. My fingers fumbled for the pills on the bedside table, knocking over the glass of water in the process. I didn’t care. My hands shook as I finally managed to pry the bottle open.

Two pills. Maybe three—I wasn’t sure. I swallowed them dry, wincing as they scraped down my throat.

I lay back, staring at the ceiling, watching the fan blades slice through the air. They looked like they were going to fly off and decapitate me any second. Not the worst way to go, I thought bitterly, a tear slipping down the side of my face.

“Maybe Dr. Sen isn’t a quack after all,” I murmured.

The pounding in my head didn’t stop. My chest felt tight, like something heavy was pressing down on it. Each breath came shallow and shaky, the pain clawing at me from the inside. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to just drift away—to anywhere but here.

But the darkness didn’t come, and I was left alone with the pain.