Chapter 5

Half an hour later, I was home, the place where I spent my entire childhood, and where I have been dwelling for over five years now after college.

This place was left to me by my parents just a couple of months before their accident.

I have been maintaining whatever they left behind for me.

I have a lot of memories in this place, my entire childhood, my adult life, the time I got to spend with my parents, and memories with my brother who now puts up in Westchester, New York.

He is the one who deliberately wanted my parents to leave this place to me. He had told our parents, "She would take care of this place like she takes care of her art pieces. She would never let it degrade. I, on the other hand, might not even get to see the place more than once a year."

I looked around and remembered the time when I renovated this house. My mom loved lilac so much. To keep her memories closer to me, I had painted this apartment in shades of lilac and white, furniture in shades of pale white and dusty pink.

Off white was my papa's favorite along with his favorite rocking chair on the patio where he would lounge upon on Sunday mornings.

I remember how they used to quarrel over the colors whenever they repainted their house.

Mom used to win, of course. Dad was always so gentle around her, probably because of the fragile heart condition or probably because he loved her way too much.

I remember the night of the accident. I was not here. I was in London. He had called me that day. I remember how tensed and worried and berserk he sounded, "It is your mother. She has been getting worse. I am going to take her to the clinic."

"Don't worry, papa. She would be alright. It is going to be okay." I consoled him.

"Just do not want to lose her, you know. She is the reason I live," he spoke, distorted.

"Papa! Vansh'B and I are also here for you. And you would never lose Mumma. You would always be together. She would be fine," I tried to reassure him.

The same night, while he was driving mum to the clinic when he found her unconscious in the washroom, they met with a terrible accident just off the highway.

Neither of them made it through and in a second, I became an orphan.

With the shattering news of my parents' death, what started as just an unprocessed idea in my head, became an only ambition. I needed to come back here, to my city, and make something of myself here so I could be close to my parents, so they could be proud of me.

My brother, Vansh Rathore, is married and settled in New York. He came back for the final rituals and left a few days later. He could not even look at my parent's photographs let alone stay here at this house for even a moment longer where every corner of the place screamed of their memories.

He did try to coax me into relocating with him. He still does. But this is my home. This was the only way for me to honor their memories, keep what they left behind safe and protected.

And it started to pan out well for me until I was diagnosed with the same heart condition my mom suffered from.

And I was wrecked forever. Since then, my life has been a series of struggles in a triangle; Hospital, Gallery, and Home.

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