Chapter 6
I deleted the friend request.
Blocked Lakshmi and Priya on every social media platform.
Changed Maya’s phone number.
Told the building security not to let them in.
“They’re not getting near you,” I told Maya.
“Not after everything they did. Not now, when you’re finally getting better.”
She nodded.
But I saw the worry in her eyes.
A week later, we drove to Vienna to meet the donor.
Her name was Ananya.
22, a med student, bright-eyed, with a smile that lit up the whole café.
When she saw Maya, she stood up and hugged her like they were old friends.
“I’m so glad I found you,” she said.
“My dad was your dad’s cousin. I never knew you existed until I saw the post. My mom always talked about your dad—said he was the best man she ever knew. I had to help.”
Maya cried.
Ananya cried.
I bought them both coffee.
Listened as they talked about family neither of them knew they had.
For the first time, Maya talked about her dad without crying.
Smiled when she told stories about him teaching her to ride a bike, bringing her chocolates when she was sad.
The transplant was scheduled for two weeks later.
Ananya would stay in the hospital for two days.
Maya would stay for a month.
High-dose chemo to kill the rest of her cancer, then the transplant.
The two weeks before the transplant were the scariest.
Maya was tired.
Scared.
The high-dose chemo hit harder than anything before.
She couldn’t eat.
Couldn’t get out of bed most days.
One night, I found her in the bathroom.
On her knees, throwing up into the toilet.
Body shaking so hard she could barely sit up.
I knelt beside her.
Held her hair back—what little was left of it.
Rubbed her back.
When she was done, I lifted her into my arms.
Carried her to the bed.
Wiped her face with a warm cloth.
She grabbed my wrist.
Fingers weak.
“Let me die, Arjun,” she whispered.
“Please. I can’t do this anymore. It hurts too much.”
My heart shattered.
I sat on the bed.
Pulled her into my lap.
Held her as tight as I could without hurting her.
“No,” I said.
My voice broke.
“No, baby, don’t say that. Please. I know it hurts. I know it’s hard. But you’re so close. Ananya is here. She’s ready. You just have to fight a little longer. For me. For us. For the future we’re gonna have.”
Tears dripped down my face onto her head.
“I can’t do this without you, Maya. I can’t. I love you so much. More than anything in the world. Please. Just keep fighting.”
She cried into my chest.
For a long time.
Then she looked up at me.
Eyes red, but determined.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Okay. I’ll fight. For you.”
I kissed her.
Soft, gentle, like she was made of glass.
The first real kiss since the divorce.
It tasted like salt and tears and home.
“I love you,” I said again.
“I love you so much.”
The next day was the transplant.
Ananya came into Maya’s room before it started.
Held her hand.
“See you on the other side,” she said, grinning.
“Then we’re getting ice cream. My treat.”
Maya laughed.
A real, loud laugh.
I stood by the bed as the nurses wheeled her into the OR.
She squeezed my hand.
“Wait for me?”
“Always,” I said.
The doors closed.
I sat in the waiting room.
Rohit showed up with Ananya, who was already eating a chocolate bar, complaining that the nurses wouldn’t let her have coffee.
Three hours later, the doctor came out.
Smiling.
“It went perfectly. The cells are in. Now we wait. If all goes well, she’ll be out of isolation in two weeks.”
I collapsed into a chair.
Relief so strong it made me dizzy.
Ananya whooped.
Rohit clapped me on the back so hard I almost fell off the chair.
Two weeks of isolation.
I talked to Maya through a glass window.
Read to her over the phone.
Held up signs that said I LOVE YOU and YOU’RE DOING GREAT.
She held up signs back.
I LOVE YOU TOO and HURRY UP AND LET ME OUT.
The day they moved her to a regular room, I was the first one in.
She was sitting up in bed.
Color back in her cheeks.
Smiling.
I ran to her.
Hugged her so tight she laughed.
“Easy,” she said.
“I’m still fragile.”
I kissed her.
Again and again.
“You did it,” I said.
“You actually did it.”
She nodded.
“We did it.”
But the peace didn’t last long.
Three days later, a nurse knocked on the door.
May you like
Face worried.
“Mr. Arjun? There are two women downstairs. Say they’re Maya’s mother and sister. They brought a news crew. They’re saying they’re here to take their daughter home, and that you kidnapped her.”
