HER FINAL WISH

The rain lashed relentlessly against the windowpanes, a heavy, melancholy rhythm that mirrored the storm inside our home. Suddenly, the radio on the shelf came alive, playing “Galliyan” from Ek Villain. The familiar, haunting notes struck a raw nerve. Without a word, I reached over and clicked the radio off, the silence rushing back in to fill the room like a heavy fog.

My husband, Samik, didn’t say anything, but I felt his gaze shift toward me. We both share an unspoken, lifelong bond with that song—a melody that instantly resurrects the ghost of our past, of our dearest friend, Deepika.

Even the rain feels different now. I used to love the monsoon, finding romance and magic in the falling drops. But time has a way of warping everything. The rain and the ticking clock remain the same, but the people beneath the sky change. Relationships fracture, evolve, and sometimes leave behind permanent scars. I often find myself wishing, with a quiet ache, that I could turn back the hands of time and reclaim those golden days when she was still here, laughing by our side.

I turned to look at Samik. He was staring unblinkingly at a framed photograph of Deepika, silent tears carving tracks down his cheeks. He loved her more than I ever could; he misses her with a depth that time refuses to dull. Every single day, he loses himself in her memory. After all, she was his first love, and in his heart, she would be his last.

I. The World Cup and a Friendship

It all began on the 4th of June, 2014, inside the hum of a local gym. At first, she was just another face among the equipment. A gym instructor was showing her the ropes, and while she pedaled away on the stationary cycle, I seized the moment to strike up a conversation. It was ordinary—asking when she started, what she did for a living—yet that simple exchange rewrote the entire trajectory of our lives.

From that day on, the gym was filled with infectious laughter. We became inseparable, teasing our instructors, breaking into spontaneous dance routines, and soaking in the vibrant energy of everyday joy. The atmosphere was electric, heightened by the fever of the 2014 FIFA World Cup. She was a fierce supporter of Germany, while I bled blue for France. We made a playful bet: if Germany won, I had to obey her every command; if France triumphed, she would answer to me.

Germany took the crown. Defeated yet amused, I asked what price I had to pay. With a bright, mischievous smile, Deepika replied, "Your friendship."

Just like that, a simple wager blossomed into an unbreakable bond. We were each other's anchors, ready to weather any storm together. Or so we thought.

II. The Surprise at Roadhouse Cafe

It was a lazy Saturday morning—July 26, 2014. I was fast asleep when my phone began to buzz insistently on the bedside table. I picked it up without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?" I muttered in a thick, sleepy voice.

"Hey, Aneeta! What’s up?" Deepika’s bright voice chimed through the speaker.

"Hey, Deepu. I'm good, and you?"

"Me too! Are you still sleeping? It’s already ten in the morning!"

My eyes snapped wide open. "What? Ten? Oh no!"

"Come on, it's Saturday! Anyway, I want to meet you this evening. I have a big surprise for you."

"Okay... but what kind of surprise, and where?"

"Surprises aren't meant to be spoiled. Let's meet at Roadhouse Cafe in Boudha at 6:00 PM."

"Okay, see you then."

Six o'clock came and went. By 6:48 PM, I was still sitting alone at our usual table, irritation bubbling beneath my surface. She was chronically late, and it drove me crazy. Finally, she appeared—radiant, breathless, and not alone. She was accompanied by a young man, and both of them wore identical, radiant smiles.

Before I could unleash my prepared lecture, she beamed, "Sorry, my baby."

"Always sorry, Deepu. You're late—again."

"This time, I have a good excuse," she giggled, gesturing to the man beside her. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce him sooner. This is my boyfriend, Samik."

For a split second, the world tilted. I wasn't entirely shocked, but I stood frozen, unsure of how to process the sudden revelation. Deepika grinned, noticing my expression. "Are you shocked?"

"Not shocked, exactly," I managed to recover, "just... surprised. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Where's the fun in that?" she laughed.

"Hey, I'm standing right here!" Samik chimed in playfully. "Did you guys forget about me already?"

That ice-breaking moment sealed our fate. From that day onward, the three of us became a trinity. Laughter, late-night cafe chats, and endless adventures filled our days. Life felt utterly perfect.

III. The Silence

It was Samik’s birthday, and we gathered at our sanctuary—Roadhouse Cafe. But something was fundamentally wrong. While Samik and I chatted and laughed over dinner, Deepika was entirely absent, drifting in a quiet, desolate world of her own.

Noticing the heavy veil over her spirit, I nudged Samik and signaled toward her.

"Hey, Deepu," Samik said softly, placing a hand near hers. "What's wrong? You look completely disturbed."

"Nothing," she whispered, her voice hollow.

She retreated back into her silence. It was chilling. Deepika was the sun of our group; she lived to smile and bring joy. Yet here she sat, staring blankly into a cold cup of tea, lost in a labyrinth we couldn't enter. Samik and I exchanged worried glances. At his silent plea, I tried again. "Deepika?"

I called her name repeatedly, but she didn’t even blink. Abruptly, without a word of explanation, she stood up and walked out of the cafe. We rushed out after her, but she had already vanished into the night.

By 10:46 PM, panic had set in. I tried calling her phone—no answer. My text messages sat on read or unread in the void. Samik called me shortly after, his voice trembling with terror.

"Aneeta... what has happened to her?" he pleaded, near tears. "She isn’t answering my calls or texts. Didn’t she tell you anything? I’m losing my mind. If anything happens to her, I don't know what I'll do. She's changed so much."

"I tried calling too, Samik. She isn't answering me either," I comforted, trying to keep my own panic at bay. "Please, don't jump to conclusions. Rest tonight, and I promise I'll find out what's wrong."

"I love her so much, Aneeta," he choked out. "She is my first and last love. I would die if anything happened to her... I can do anything for her happiness."

"I know, Samik. Take care of yourself. I'll let you know the moment I reach her."

IV. The Cruel Truth

Three agonizing months passed. Deepika dropped completely off the grid, shutting out the two people who loved her most. We visited her home and workplace, but she was always a ghost just out of reach.

"I'm tired, Aneeta," Samik confessed one evening, breaking down completely as he rested his heavy head on my shoulder. "Where is she? Did she leave me? What am I supposed to do without her?"

I held him, choking back my own tears, whispering words of faith I barely believed anymore.

Then, fate intervened in the cruelest way possible. Returning home from the office one afternoon, I caught a glimpse of a familiar, graceful figure walking down the street. It was Deepika. I called out, but she didn't hear me—or perhaps she chose not to. Driven by instinct, I followed her from a safe distance, my heart hammering against my ribs.

My blood ran cold when I watched her push open the doors of a local hospital and walk straight into the consultation room of Dr. Nilesh Shrestha—a prominent oncologist.

Hiding just outside the partially open door, I pressed my ear against the frame, listening to the nightmare unfold.

"Hello, Doctor," Deepika’s fragile voice floated out.

"Hello, Deepika. Come, sit. How are you holding up?"

"You already know how my days are going, Doctor."

"Try to stay positive."

"I am trying... I really am."

"Did you tell your friends about your diagnosis?"

"No."

"Why not, Deepika? You need to tell them. They deserve to know."

"I can't," she whispered, her voice cracking. "They love me too much. They won't be able to bear losing me."

"You still should have told them. Regardless, the reason I called you in today is simple: you need to be admitted to the hospital this week. You have reached the final stage of brain cancer."

The world spun around me. My knees buckled. I turned and fled from the hospital, blinded by shock and rising horror. Outside, the heavens opened up, and it began to pour. I walked aimlessly through the torrential rain, feeling nothing, numb to the cold water soaking through my clothes. My phone buzzed incessantly in my pocket—Samik calling over and over again—but I couldn't bring myself to answer. The doctor's words echoed in my mind like a death sentence: Last stage of brain cancer.

After what felt like an eternity, Samik found me on the deserted street. He ran up to me, soaking wet, his eyes wide with frantic desperation.

"You called me earlier, you said you saw Deepika! Where is she, Aneeta? Please, for God's sake, tell me where she is!"

I looked at him, the weight of the secret crushing my chest, and I broke down.

"Why are you crying? What happened?" he demanded, gripping my shoulders.

When I finally forced the words past my lips and told him the truth about Deepika's terminal illness, the strength drained right out of him. He fell to his knees on the pavement, throwing his head back and screaming in agony against the pouring rain, his cries swallowed by the thunder.

V. Her Final Wish

Two months later, Deepika’s world had shrunk to the sterile white walls of a hospital room. Samik and I walked in, our hearts heavy as lead. Samik couldn't bear to look at her frail, wasted frame; he stood by the doorway, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Weakly, Deepika beckoned him closer. "Hey... please don't cry," she whispered, her voice a mere breath. "You love me, right? If you truly love me, don't shed tears for my sake. Smile for me."

I stepped forward, unable to hold back the bitterness and sorrow gnawing at my soul. "Why didn't you tell us, Deepu? We were your best friends! We loved you. If you really loved us back, you would have trusted us with the truth. Aren't we your friends?"

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Yes, I love you both with all my heart. You are my world. I didn't tell you because I couldn't bear to watch you break. I didn't want to bring this pain into your lives."

"Keeping it a secret caused us even more pain," Samik choked out.

"Please, guys... don't argue with me now," she pleaded softly, closing her eyes as a wave of exhaustion washed over her. "I don't have much time or energy left. But I have one last favor to ask of you both. Will you do it for me?"

"Anything," we said in unison.

"I want you two to get married."

We stared at her in utter disbelief. We tried to protest, to argue against the madness of her request, but before we could form the words, a violent fit of coughing wracked her body. Panic-stricken, we rushed out to summon the medical staff.

Doctors swarmed into the room, but their frantic efforts were in vain. After an agonizing hour, Dr. Nilesh stepped out into the corridor, looking weary and defeated.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "She is no more."

Samik collapsed onto the hallway chair, entirely broken, weeping for the only woman he would ever truly love.

VI. The Present

Present time.

The memories wash over us, and the tears fall just as they did years ago. We honored her final wish, marrying not out of conventional romance, but out of a shared devotion to the angel who had shaped our lives. Later, we were blessed with a daughter, whom we named Deepika—a living embodiment of her memory, keeping her spirit alive in our home.

Framed photographs of Deepika adorn our walls. Samik stands before them often, lost in the past. I never try to stop him. True love doesn't simply vanish when someone dies; it morphs into an eternal ache. He is a rare monument of absolute devotion. She may be gone, but her love remains rooted deep within his heart, untouchable by time.

And “Galliyan” remains her everlasting anthem. Sometimes, late at night when the house is asleep, I hear the muffled strains of that song playing softly from the other room—Samik, hiding in the dark, listening to her voice and weeping for the girl he lost.

Outside, looking up through the clearing clouds, we spot a single broken star twinkling in the vast night sky. Silently, Samik and I close our eyes and make a wish, gazing up at the heavens where Deepika now shines among the constellations.

We miss you, Deepu. You will live in our hearts forever.