'google658fd05d77029796.html' The Curious Girl: Chapter 3 | The Original Poetry

continued from part 1part 2...


           ‘Prithvi Miyan.’ Qayoom bhai jolted me from the deep sleep I was in. It was later part of the morning till now. But the anxious look on the face of Qayoom bhai was not boding well for my future. ‘Agatha’, Qayoom bhai said with a sullen look; one that conveyed two things to me. One, that he was not sleeping last night, and second, that the morning was not as bright as I thought it would be, something was gravely wrong with Agatha.

‘What happened to her?’ I jumped off my bed immediately, running towards the bed of Agatha, looking all over the ward like a lunatic. She was not there in her bed. ‘Where the hell is she?’ A million swords of pain pierced through my heart as I jolted Qayoom bhai. My mind was sinking painfully down the darkest tunnel of everlasting misery as hundreds of ominous thoughts clouded my existence, threatening to tear it ruthlessly into the anarchy of hell. It appeared as the darkest horrors of time had braced themselves to unleash their ugliest face of vengeance upon me.

‘She had sudden violent attack of seizures this morning leading to unconsciousness’, Qayoom bhai explained, holding me by the shoulders. ‘She is currently in the ICU. Doctors say that she has gone into coma.’

‘Will she come back to consciousness?’ I asked him in despair.

‘Doctors aren’t very sure about that’, Qayoom bhai dropped his head as he said that, suggesting that opinion of doctors was far worse than he spoke.

I took off on my feet immediately, running towards the ICU as I hurled outside the ward, through the corridor as my heart threatened to burst out of my chest, tears rolled down my cheeks as my soul cried for justice.

I peered hurriedly through the glass pane as I reached outside the ICU. There she was, as calm as ever, sleeping in the lap of uncertainty without a tinge of worry on her face. Somehow, just seeing her through the window eased my pain drastically. The ever curious countenance that she possessed ensured me that wherever she was, she was alright.

Qayoom bhai came close to me as he placed his hand on my shoulders like an elder brother.

‘Do you think she loved me Qayoom bhai?’ I asked him as I peered at her beautiful face through the window.

‘From what I saw, it was nothing less than the hand of Allah himself. It couldn’t be anything other than love’ he said with a certainty that was missing from our lives for quite some time.

I hugged Qayoom bhai as tears kept on streaming. It wasn’t due to the pain only that the tears were rolling. It was something else that I couldn’t understand completely. Perhaps, it needed the perfect balance of one and a half expressions that Agatha had mastered to express what I was going through. And I was left handicapped without her.

*    *    *

I am Prithvi, and here I am, waiting for Agatha to come back to my life as I continue to love her in every moment that passes by. And giving me company as I sit beside her, are the three pearls that bejeweled the three hours of our togetherness. Therefore I have with me as I wait for her, a lifetime of love to give, the passion of hope to wait, and a promise that I never made!

*  A story by Deepak Kripal  *

Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.          -   E.E. Cummings

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One Response so far.

  1. Thank you for reading the story. Here is me hoping you enjoyed :)

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