The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the Ganga Tath, where the river flowed with a gentle murmur, its waters glistening like scattered diamonds. Kaushal stood on the bank, clutching a small urn, the ashes of his family swirling in his mind like the eddies of the river. He felt Aryan beside him, a quiet presence, providing a steady anchor in the storm of grief that threatened to drag him under.

“Are you ready?” Aryan’s voice was low, almost swallowed by the sound of the water lapping against the stones.

Kaushal’s throat tightened. He blinked, trying to clear the haze that clung to his vision. “Ready? How can anyone be ready for this?” His voice cracked, the weight of his sorrow crashing over him like a tidal wave.

“Just take your time,” Aryan said softly, his gaze fixed on the river. “They deserve this, Kaushal. You deserve this.”

With trembling hands, Kaushal opened the urn, the faint scent of sandalwood wafting up to meet him. He hesitated, the memories flooding back—his mother’s laughter, his father’s warm embrace, the life they had built together now reduced to a pile of ashes.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward, the river beckoning him closer. He could feel Aryan’s presence behind him, steadying him. “I wish I could have saved them,” he whispered, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer.

“None of this is your fault,” Aryan replied, his voice firm but gentle. “You did everything you could.”

But Kaushal shook his head, feeling the tears spill over onto his cheeks. “I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to protect them.”

“Sometimes, things happen that are beyond our control,” Aryan said, placing a hand on Kaushal’s shoulder. “Let this be a moment of release.”

Kaushal’s heart raced as he looked into the river, the swirling currents reflecting the chaos in his mind. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Just let go,” Aryan encouraged. “Honor their memory.”

With a deep breath, Kaushal tilted the urn, the ashes spilling out into the river like whispers carried away by the breeze. He watched as they drifted, his heart aching with every grain that slipped away. “Goodbye, Ma. Baba,” he murmured, the names catching in his throat.

Tears flowed freely now, mingling with the water as he felt Aryan’s hand squeeze his shoulder in silent support. “You did well,” Aryan said. “They’re at peace now.”

“I just… I wish I could have one more moment with them,” Kaushal said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I would give anything to hear my mother’s laughter one last time.”

“They’ll always be with you,” Aryan assured him, his voice steady. “In your heart, in your memories. You carry them with you.”

Kaushal nodded slowly, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. Once the last of the ashes had dissolved into the river, he felt a strange sense of finality wash over him. The ritual was over, but the weight of grief still pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

As they turned to leave, Kaushal’s chest tightened. “Now what?” he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and despair. “What do I do without them?”

“Now, you go home,” Aryan replied, “and you take it one step at a time. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Home. The word echoed in Kaushal’s mind, but it felt like a hollow shell. The house he had shared with his parents now loomed like a ghost, a monument to his loss.

The ride back was silent, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Aryan glanced over at Kaushal, concern etched on his face. “You’re not alone in this, Kaushal. I’m here.”

Kaushal managed a faint smile, though it felt foreign on his lips. “Thank you, Aryan. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As they arrived at his house, Kaushal hesitated. The familiar sight of the front porch, the garden his mother had tended to so lovingly, now felt like a cruel reminder of everything he had lost. Aryan parked the car and turned to him, his expression earnest.

“Want me to come in with you?”

Kaushal shook his head, the thought of facing the empty rooms alone filling him with dread. “I need to do this by myself.”

“Okay,” Aryan said, his voice softening. “But I’ll be just a call away if you need anything.”

“Yeah, I know.” Kaushal stepped out of the car, the weight of Aryan’s words lingering in the air. He watched as Aryan drove away, the taillights fading into the distance.

The front door creaked as he pushed it open, the familiar scent of home swirling around him. But instead of warmth, it felt cold and sterile, like a museum of memories he could no longer bear to visit.

Kaushal stepped inside, the silence enveloping him like a shroud. He wandered through the living room, the furniture untouched, the photographs lining the walls reminding him of happier times. His heart ached as he brushed his fingers over the frames, lingering on a picture of his family at a picnic, laughter frozen in time.

“Why did you leave me?” he whispered to the empty room, the question hanging in the air like a ghost.

He stumbled into the kitchen, the starkness of the space hitting him like a wave. This was where his mother had cooked, the smell of spices mingling with laughter. Now it was just a void, a reminder of the warmth that had been snuffed out.

Kaushal felt a surge of anger and despair. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, frustration bubbling up inside him. “I can’t live here without you.”

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, the glass cool against his fingers. He poured a generous amount into a glass, the amber liquid swirling like the turmoil in his mind. With each sip, the weight of his grief felt a little lighter, the edges of his pain dulling just enough to breathe.

After a few glasses, the world around him began to blur, the memories mixing with the alcohol as he sank into the couch. Laughter echoed in his mind, fleeting and ethereal, but it was there, a reminder of what had been.

“Ma, Baba,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I miss you so much.”

The tears returned, flowing freely as he surrendered to the darkness. “Why did you leave me?” The question became a mantra, each repetition pushing him deeper into despair.

Hours slipped away as he lost himself in the haze of the alcohol, the room spinning gently around him. He could hear the sounds of the world outside, but inside, it felt like he was in an entirely different realm—a realm where laughter lingered just out of reach, where warmth was a distant memory.

At some point, he fell asleep, the weight of the whiskey and grief pulling him into a restless slumber.

When he awoke, the sun had dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the living room. The remnants of his drinking binge were scattered around him, the empty bottles a stark reminder of his attempt to drown the pain.

Kaushal rubbed his eyes, the light piercing through the haze of sleep. He felt heavy, both physically and emotionally, the reality crashing back in like a tidal wave.

He stumbled to his feet, the world still swaying slightly. The silence in the house was suffocating, and he found himself wandering back to the kitchen, the need for something stronger pulling him.

“Just one more,” he muttered, pouring another drink, the liquid sloshing in the glass. The burn felt good, a familiar comfort in the chaos.