The Girl in the White Saree
My mistake, I’ve worn my mom’s white saree to the temple. The same one I wore when rescuing Ishan in the metro.
Ishan and I’d been best friends since forever. We went to the same college, worked at the same hospital. His compassion, dedication, everything about him stole my heart.
I kept it to myself. Until that fateful day.
Medi-health Hospital caught fire. Ishan entered the children’s ward to rescue trapped children, not leaving everything to the fire brigade. As a fellow doctor, I did the same. I’d been careful. Despite that, he shielded me when a beam fell.
We argued, rushing down the fire-escape, carrying sick children and guiding others to join.
“Why, Ishan? You needn’t cover for me.”
“I want to save my friend!”
“I do too! He’s my true love—”
Ishan’s wide-eyed stare. I caught my tongue, joining the other doctors, avoiding him.
***
Chaos coerced the hospital to shut. We found paediatrician positions at different hospitals. I cut ties with Ishan, my one-sided confession to blame.
***
Presently, I’m running from Ishan. He spotted me as I stepped out of the temple. We haven’t met since I confessed. I can’t run forever, though. What worries me is that he’s chasing “the girl in the white saree”, not me.
Two months ago, late at night, Ishan and I were alone in the metro compartment. Despite his claustrophobia, I thought he was being adventurous. Panicking, I heard him repeat, “I was seeing off a friend. He gave me my ticket, pushed me into the train; the automatic doors closed.”
Barely conscious, he didn't recognise me when I ran to him. To him, I remained the “girl in the white saree” who comforted him until the train stopped at the next station.
He begged me to stay as the paramedics escorted him. But I ran away. Like I’m running now. The white saree is a poor choice. How do I keep my other secret?
Ishan is persistent. We sprint through the Mumbai streets, creating a spectacle. As I pretend to call the police, Ishan closes in and grabs my arm.
“I-Ishara... You’re the girl in the white saree?”
“It’s a payback. You saved me that day. No need to thank me, Ishan. Goodbye.”
“Wait. Let’s talk. Why’d you stop being friends?”
“Because it’s awkward. I don’t want to burden you with my feelings.”
“Do you intend to move on?”
I stay silent.
“You can’t, huh?” He chuckles and narrows his gaze. “I shouldn’t tell you this. But I missed you and realised…”
He looked at his prosthetic leg, the replacement for the limb he lost two years ago.
“I’m not the one for you, Isha.”
“Does this mean?”
“How could I not love you? I’m enamoured with you. But I’m handicapped—”
“Yet you ran a marathon.”
“You deserve better.”
“I decide what I deserve.”
We end our argument with laughter and a teary hug. A lengthy discussion awaits us regarding our future, but I'm confident our love will somehow triumph.