While the moon and stars remained unchanged, that night was unlike any other. Outside, the world moved as always—cars honked, stray dogs barked, and a distant train rumbled before fading into silence. Yet inside their home, time stood still. Uday and Ishita lay in bed, backs turned to each other, their silence heavier than words. Uday's mother was suffering. Pain had become her existence. Every breath, a battle. Her disease had defeated medicine's reach. The doctors had said nothing more could be done—except to keep her happy. Happy? She could see only black. Just blank! That evening, she had looked at them, her weary eyes filled with love and desperation. "Let me go," she had whispered. "Please."
Uday, a surgeon, understood what she was asking. A single injection. An end to her suffering. Ishita had gripped his hand, her fingers trembling. No words were exchanged, yet they knew what the other was thinking. Could they do this? Could they live with the weight of such a choice? Uday shut his eyes, clinging to memories. He was because of her. Part of her. "How can I?" She had read him the best books on philosophy and morals. What use were all those values! And now, she was asking him to break the oath he had sworn as a doctor. The clock ticked away the hours. The city began to wake up. The rhythmic footsteps of early morning joggers echoed. Vendors clattered their carts into position. But inside the house, there was an unsettling stillness.
Uday finally sat up. Had they made a decision—or had time made it for them? He rose and walked toward his mother's room. Ishita followed minutes later, tea in hand, her grip unsteady. Neither spoke. The air was thick with unspoken thoughts, fears, and the weight of an impossible choice.
As they reached the doorway, they froze. Mother lay peacefully, her face no longer twisted in pain. Serene. As if she had finally found her way across the rainbow. Uday's breath caught. Ishita's eyes stormed with emotion. They exchanged a long, searching look. Had he chosen after all? Had she? Or was this divine intervention? A silent answer to the question they couldn't bear to ask?
Uday stepped closer. The room smelled of faded medicines and something else—an untold secret of that night. Had she simply drifted away on her own terms? Uday swallowed hard, his mother's frail fingers still curled on the blanket. His favorite blue blanket with little stars on it. Was it serendipity?