I reached for my phone, vibrating in my backpack. A quick prayer for good news followed, as my literary agent, Mayur’s name flashed on screen.
“Hey Shreshta, guess what? You made it! Penguin Random House has accepted your manuscript of ‘Rainbow Dreams’, Mayur elatedly informed.
I pinched myself to ensure it wasn’t a dream. I was speechless. Meanwhile, Mayur on the other side kept on uttering “Hello, you there? Can you hear me, Shreshta?” It took a good thirty seconds for my mind to process what I’d just heard.
“It wouldn’t have been possible without you, Mayur”, I beamed and hung up the phone.
Navigating through multiple cycles of self-doubt and ‘what ifs’, I could finally bag my debut publication deal, my biggest dream ever.
Just then, my phone buzzed, reminding me of the doctor’s appointment at 2 p.m. It escaped my mind that my biopsy reports would be in, that noon. But that moment, nothing on earth mattered, except for the ecstasy of my greatest accomplishment.
I walked into the doctor’s cabin and after exchanging civilities, I could sense some unrest in her demeanour. She offered me a glass of water, which seemed quite offbeat. She, then let out a heavy sigh as if girding herself to share a disturbing news.
The sound of silence was now weighing on my heart, and I inquired quickly, “Is my biopsy report ok, ma’am?”
“It’s unfortunate, my doubts are real, you have pancreatic cancer…Ssttaaggee”, said she.
“Stage?”, Our eyes locked, as I queried.
“Stage…IV”, she revealed.
I felt the earth move under my feet. My heart sank. What an irony! I heard the best and the worst news of my life within a span of less than a hour.
Days dragged in distress. Nights were cold, a different cold. The blades of unfulfilled dreams pierced my soul, inch by inch.
A volley of questions traversed my mind, “Would I be alive to hold my book baby? Would I witness my debut book creating milestones?” And so on.
What perturbed me the most was, the time I was left with, 5 months in case the Big C was kind, or else…
I packed my bags for the US, as my generous school buddy offered me a stay at her place and her doctor spouse assured I would be in safe hands since one of his friends was a renowned Oncologist, who would be treating me.
I reached the airport. There he was, standing with a bouquet of my favourite rainbow roses, his favourite book, ‘The Alchemist’ and a pair of lackluster eyes that hadn’t slept for weeks. Mayur, once my literary agent, now my love agent. My cancer diagnosis made this transition quite seamless.
How I wish I had time on my side to read volumes of love his silence spoke in those departing moments, but I had to bid him adieu…a final, may be…
“I stood at the airport, watching him walk away, not knowing when or if I’d see him again.”
