Dalawang buwan pagkatapos ng diborsiyo, laking gulat ko nang makita ko ang aking asawa na gumagala sa ospital. At nang malaman ko ang katotohanan, nalungkot ako…

Dalawang buwan pagkatapos ng diborsiyo, laking gulat ko nang makita ko ang aking asawa na gumagala sa ospital. And knowing the truth made me break…
Hindi ko akalain na makikita ko siya roon – sa dose-dosenang tao na nakasuot ng dilaw na hospital gown, pagod ang mukha at malabo ang mga mata, tahimik siyang nakaupo sa sulok ng hallway na parang iniwan siya ng buong mundo. At that moment, parang may pumipindot sa puso ko. Siya – ang aking dating asawa, na aking hiniwalayan dalawang buwan na ang nakakaraan.

Ang pangalan ko ay si Arjun, 34 taong gulang, isang ordinaryong manggagawa sa opisina, na ang kasal ay tumagal ng 5 taon, tila matatag na tingnan. Ang aking asawa – si Maya – ay isang magiliw, mabait na babae, hindi masyadong kaakit-akit, ngunit nagpapagaan sa aking pakiramdam tuwing umuuwi ako.

Nangarap kami tulad ng ibang mag-asawa: bumili ng bahay, magkaroon ng mga anak, maliit na pamilya. Ngunit pagkatapos ng tatlong taong pagsasama, pagkatapos ng dalawang pagkalaglag ni Maya, nagsimulang magbago ang kapaligiran ng bahay. Si Maya ay nagsimulang magsalita nang bahagya, ang kanyang mga mata ay madalas na nakatingin sa malayo. Nagsimula akong makaramdam ng pagod dahil sa mga araw na uuwi ako mula sa trabaho at puro buntong-hininga at malamig na mukha ang nakikita ko.

Hindi ko itinanggi na kasalanan ko. Nagsimula akong umuwi ng late, iniiwasan kong makipag-usap sa asawa ko, ginagawang dahilan ang trabaho para maiwasang harapin ang kawalan sa pagitan namin. Unti-unti, napapadalas ang maliliit na pagtatalo, bagaman walang gustong saktan ang isa’t isa. Isang araw noong Abril, pagkatapos ng maikli ngunit nakakapagod na debate, mahina kong sinabi:

Maghiwalay na tayo, Maya.

Tumingin siya sa akin ng matagal, pagkatapos ay sinabi lamang ng isang pangungusap:

Nakapagdesisyon ka na, hindi ba?

tumango ako. Hindi siya umiyak o sumigaw gaya ng naisip ko. Tahimik lang siyang tumango at nag-ayos ng damit noong gabing iyon. Mabilis na pinirmahan ang divorce papers na para bang matagal na naming pinaghandaan ang pag-iisip.

Pagkatapos ng diborsiyo, lumipat ako sa isang inuupahang apartment sa New Delhi, namumuhay ng simple: papasok sa trabaho sa umaga, lalabas para uminom sa gabi, o uuwi para manood ng sine. Walang nagluluto, walang tunog ng tsinelas na kumakatok tuwing umaga, at walang pamilyar na boses na nagtatanong: “Kumain ka na ba?” Natitiyak kong tama ako – kahit sa oras na iyon.

Lumipas ang dalawang buwan. Nabuhay ako na parang anino. Maraming gabi kung kailan ako magigising sa gitna ng isang bangungot, at matagpuan ang aking sarili na tinatawag ang pangalan ni Maya sa aking panaginip.

That day, I went to meet my best friend Rohit at AIIMS (All India Institute of Medical Sciences) hospital in New Delhi, who had just undergone surgery. As I walked through the corridor of the Department of Internal Medicine, I involuntarily turned my head because I thought someone was familiar. And then I saw Maya.

She sat there wearing a light blue hospital gown, her hair oddly cut short – she loved her long hair very much. His face was pale, thin, and his eyes were desolate and lifeless. There was an IV drip next to it.

I just stood there. My heart was pounding. Many questions were running through my mind: What had happened to him? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why was he sitting there alone?

I walked up to him trembling and said…

— Maya?

He looked up. His desolate eyes sparkled with surprise.

— You… Arjun?

— What are you doing here? What’s wrong with you?

She turned away, avoiding my gaze. His voice was as low as the wind:

— Nothing… It’s just a health check.

I sat down beside him holding his hand. It was cold.

You don’t have to hide from me. Seeing me like this… How can I be sure?

A moment later, she spoke softly:

— Me… I just found out that I have early-stage ovarian cancer. The doctor has said that it can be cured if I follow the rules. But I don’t have insurance, I don’t have anyone with me, and… I won’t have much money left after I leave home.

I was stunned. His words pierced me like a knife straight into my heart. For the past two months, I have been living in a false sense of peace, while she – who once was my wife, who lay in my arms every night – is alone in an indescribable pain.

Why didn’t you tell me? — I choked up.

— We’re divorced. I don’t want to be a burden on you anymore. Me… I thought I could handle it myself.

I didn’t know what to say. Guilt engulfed me like a tide.

That day, I sat with him till evening. For the first time in months, we talked like family — no blame, no pride.

Before leaving, I said:
— Maya, let me be with you. Although we are no longer husband and wife, I cannot leave you like this.

She just smiled sadly:
“Do you pity me?”
— Nope. I… I really love you.

The next morning, I returned to AIIMS with a box of hot khichdi and some oranges. Maya was surprised to see me, but did not say anything. Maybe he thought I was coming, but he wasn’t sure.

Over the next few days, I almost quit my job to be with him. I took him for a check-up, waited for every medication, and even copied every diet instruction given by the doctor. I don’t know what I needed to do – to repent, to repent, or just because… I still loved him.

One afternoon, as I was preparing her hospital bed, Maya suddenly exclaimed:
“Do you know… Did I know I was sick before the divorce?

I was stunned.

— What?

A week before you asked for a divorce, I went to the doctor because of constant stomach pain. The biopsy results came on the same day we had the fight.

I looked back at him, I felt as if someone had punched me in the heart.

Why didn’t you say anything?
— I know… If I tell you, you’ll stop because of responsibility, not because you still love me. I don’t want that. I want you to be free… At least like a human being who is not bound by pain.

I jumped, couldn’t hold back my tears.

Do you think I’m that kind of person? Do you think I’m not in pain?

Maya looked at me for a long time. She smiled, the calmest smile I’ve ever seen.

It’s not that I don’t believe you. But I don’t want you to spend your whole life with a sick person, and pretend to be happy every day. I can’t stand this.

I couldn’t answer. Because she was right to some extent. At that point, I really wanted to leave him. I considered her a burden—without knowing that I was the one who had left her in this cruel world.

About a week later, Maya was transferred to the general treatment department, where she began chemotherapy. I ordered a folding bed from a relative’s room and went to the hospital to take care of it. For the first time in many years, I learned to truly listen: when she was in pain, when she vomited because of medication, when she laughed at the slightest thing.

One night, while she was fast asleep, I sorted her bag and found a small envelope that read: “If Arjun ever read this, I am sorry. ”

I was confused. After a few seconds of hesitation, I opened the letter.

Arjuna,
if you read this, I may not have the strength to speak. I know you’re annoyed at me being cold and silent. But I don’t want to tire you out. You don’t deserve to be dragged into this helplessness.
I got pregnant again. For a very short time. I didn’t dare to say anything because I was afraid that I would lose my temper like before. And then it came true… I lost my baby six weeks later. The doctor said that it was a weak body and… It was because of a tumor that developed after that.
I divorced to cherish beautiful memories for you, not the image of a skinny wife, full of ivy and filled with the smell of antiseptic. But I still love you very much. That’s it… I keep that love with me.
If I could go back, I would still choose to let go. Because I know… You need to live a different life.
But thank you, for loving me.

I embraced the letter, trembling as if someone had just dropped the whole world with their hands. The things he hid from me—another miscarriage, then being diagnosed with illness, then his decision to leave home—were all to keep me from hurting. But it hurt me a hundred times more.

A week later, Dr. Kapoor invited me to his private room.

Maya’s condition is deteriorating. The tumor is not responding well to chemotherapy. We will try another effective remedy, but the chances of recovery are not high.

I felt as if all my strength was gone. For the first time in my life, I was so scared of losing someone.

Nang gabing iyon, hinawakan ko ang kamay niya sa kwarto ng ospital. Nanghihina siya, at wala siyang gaanong lakas para magsalita. Umupo ako sa tabi niya at bumulong sa tenga niya:

Kung maaari, gusto kong magpakasal muli. Wala akong pakialam sa mga papel. Gusto lang kitang makita tuwing umaga, hawakan mo ang kamay mo ng ganito tuwing gabi. Hindi natin kailangang magsimula muli, magkadikit lang hangga’t gusto mo.

Bahagyang ngumiti si Maya, hinawakan ang pisngi ko. Tumutulo ang mga luha mula sa kanyang mga mata, ngunit may ngiti pa rin sa kanyang mukha.
— Ako… Sumasang-ayon ako.

Sa mga sumunod na araw, nang buong simple, ipinagdiwang namin ang isang maliit na seremonya ng kasal sa mismong silid ng ospital: pansamantalang itinali ng isang nars ang isang pulang sinulid na pulseras, at ilang bulaklak ng marigold na dinala ng isang tao bilang regalo. Walang musika, walang bisita, IV machine beep lang at pabulong na pangako.

Makalipas ang tatlong buwan, pumanaw si Maya sa aking mga bisig. Sa maikling panahon na iyon, kami ay bumalik bilang mag-asawa. Iniingatan ko pa rin ang litrato ng lumang kasal na iyon at ang liham na iniwan niya bilang dalawang sagradong patotoo ng babaeng tahimik na nagmamahal sa akin—ang sakit niya, hanggang sa isakripisyo niya ang kanyang buhay.

Hindi na ako umiiyak tuwing gabi tulad ng dati. Ngunit sa tuwing naglalakad ako sa mga pasilyo ng lumang AIIMS, naaalala ko ang nakakamangha na hitsura—ang hitsura na nagpabago sa natitirang bahagi ng aking buhay. At sa gitna ng pagmamadali ng New Delhi, naririnig ko pa rin ang isang napakababang bulong kung saan: “Salamat sa pagmamahal mo sa akin.” ”