The Night They Both Left

Stillness That Endures

He is walking through the road, the sun was so warm, burning his skin, His phone rang. It was her, but he didn’t want to answer, because the sun and traffic already had him irritated. They had been together for three years, but right then, all he cared about was the heat and the noise on the road.

When he reached home, his phone showed three missed calls from her. He didn’t want to open them. On the lock screen, a new message had appeared from her brother. It said she’d met with an accident. They had taken her to the hospital, but she didn’t survive. He read the message. His body felt a faint shock, a discomfort he didn’t know how to respond to.

He stepped outside. After walking for thirty minutes along the dark road, he lit a cigarette and kept going, putting distance between himself and home. His mind was blank, and his legs trembled from the long walk. He cursed himself for not taking the bike. The hour-long walk had stretched endlessly, each step heavier than the last. And suddenly something hit him like a punch to the chest: she was dead.

He wanted to sit. He saw a park nearby and walked toward it. At the far end, away from the playing children and passing people, he found an empty bench. He sat down, facing a tall tree. The tree stood silent and calm, unmoved by the world around it. Leaves drifted from its branches, falling to the ground and partly buried by sand, but the tree did not flinch, did not cry over what it had lost. It simply remained, steady and still, indifferent to the noise, the movement, and the passage of time. Watching it, he felt a strange calm settle over him.

Later in the morning, he prepared to go to her funeral. He didn’t know what to wear. The night’s sleep had been uneasy but strangely peaceful no dreams, just blankness. He wore the clothes he usually did, but then his eyes fell on the shirt his girlfriend had given him on his eighteenth birthday. A sudden pain spread in his chest, aching through his whole body. Small drops of water slipped from his eyes not tears, just water. He ignored the shirt and wore what he wore every day.

On the way, there was an accident. People gathered in a circle around the body, some whispering, some recording. His eyes fixed on the blood on the road thick and dark. When sunlight hit it, the blood turned even darker, refusing to fade like water. It wouldn’t evaporate. He looked for a few seconds, then kept walking.

At the funeral gate, he heard voices.
“Only nineteen.”
“What a tragedy.”
“How will her father live now?”

He listened to them all as if they were talking about someone else, not her. A friend saw him and came quickly, trying to comfort him with words what God writes, no one can erase... destiny... purpose. His mouth kept moving. He felt irritated. He wanted silence.

Inside the house, her body lay in the center of the house where there was no roof. Sunlight fell directly on her face. Her eyes were gently closed, her skin pale, her lips dry. She looked calm, like she was meditating, not dead. Around her, people cried, shouted, wailed her mother beating her chest, her father standing like a broken wall. But she was still. Untouched by all that noise.

He couldn’t stand it. He walked out, away from the house, a kilometer or more without knowing where he was going. He bought a cigarette and lit it, inhaling slowly. As he smoked, a memory surfaced from months ago, when she had been shifting to another house. They had been on the roof together. She had said, “I love you. We’ll never be apart. I care for you. One day we’ll marry. Please don’t forget — I’m just moving to another state. We’ll handle all of this together.” He had believed her. But now, standing alone with the smoke curling into the night, he realized she had broken that promise. She hadn’t done what she had said she would. The thought settled like a weight in his chest. His head felt light, his body numb. He needed sleep. He went home and lay down not because he was tired, but because he didn’t know what else to do.

After her funeral, he woke at 2 a.m. The sound of crying and shouting came from the ground floor his father’s voice, mixed with his mother’s and uncle’s. The noise told him something had gone wrong, but before going down, he drank a glass of water.

When he reached the room, he saw his grandfather’s head resting on his father’s lap, his body still. His father kept talking to him, as if the words could hold him there. He couldn’t take in the whole scene the confusion, the noise until a voice shouted from behind, “Get the car keys from upstairs!” Another followed, “Go! Go, take the key!”

He walked back to the second floor, muttering under his breath, impatient humans. He found the keys, handed them over. The room emptied quickly; they carried his grandfather’s body to the car. His mother and the others followed. From the car, someone called out to him: “Lock the gate. Stay inside. We’re going to the hospital.”

He stood there, silent, watching the car disappear into the night. Then he went back inside, picked up his phone, and typed a message to his girlfriend:

I think my grandfather is dead. His breath stopped. And I think you’re gone too.

He didn’t sleep, because he was tired of sleeping. His body felt heavy, the blood in his veins dragging slower, thicker, like something dense moving through pipes. He felt the blood all over, running without pause. It irritated him. He wanted it to stop. He wanted his body to stop. It annoyed him that he was still alive.

Suddenly, the bell rang. He picked up the phone. His father was on the other end, breathing hard, words breaking apart. “Your grandfather is no more,” he said, then began to cry. His father waited for some response, a few words, a sound, but he only cut the call.

He went up to the roof. The night was wide open. The stars were far, the moon pale and clear. The cold touched his skin softly. He sat there for a long time, looking at the sky. He felt calm, happy even, like the darkness had come for everyone but forgot to take him.

By morning, the ambulance arrived. When it stopped, people started crying louder when they saw the body. Relatives filled the yard, their sobbing swelling as if that could bring the man back. He stood still, watching the scene. He thought, why are they crying? he’s come home.

They carried the body inside and placed it on the ground, covered in white. His father and mother sat near, touching his grandfather’s face and weeping. The old man’s skin had turned from pale to dark, his lips pressed shut, his face calm like he was sitting somewhere inside himself, meditating. There was blood under his nails, dark and dry.

People kept repeating, he was only sixty, how could he go? They argued about his health, the food, the weather, the reason all of it meaningless. He left the room quietly, walked outside.

As he stepped into the light, a memory came his grandfather’s smile, the day he handed him twenty rupees. “After your graduation, I’ll give you more. Life is tough, I’ll teach you how to handle it. I’ll dance at your wedding too. Your wife will be surprised to see how good this old men got moves.” He could still hear the laughter.

A drop of water came out of his eye. Not a tear, just water. He wiped it away.

He walked to the park again. The same one. The same bench. The tree stood there tall, calm, the wind passing through it. A few new leaves had fallen, lying on the ground. The tree didn’t seem to care. It didn’t cry for what it lost. It simply stood there, still and silent, enjoying the air.

He watched it for hours, then slowly lay back on the bench, and somewhere between the shadows and the morning air, he fell asleep.