Page 72 of Wasted Grace

I just sit there, breath shallow, chest caving in with something that feels a lot like finality. A lone tear accompanying me.

And then—

Just before she reaches the door, her voice cuts through the silence. Low. Steady. Back still turned.

“You gave her the things I should never have had to share with another woman. Your protectiveness. Your care. Maybe not your love... bits of it, though. I don’t know.”

She turns slightly. Just enough for me to catch the anguish contorting her face.

“But then you gave her your body for thirty minutes.”

My heart stops.

Thirty minutes.

Oxygen evaporates. Words disappear. All that remains is the sound of her walking away.

And the soft click of the door behind her—

Louder than any scream. More absolute than any goodbye.

Echoing long after she’s gone.

EIGHTEEN

Advik

“You’re... I’m sorry, Advik, but are you comparing your predicament with... wanting tosneeze? Is that right?”

Dr. Reza’s voice holds no judgment, just quiet confirmation. But the absurdity of it almost makes me laugh.

Because, yeah. That’s exactly what it feels like.

Like I’ve been stuck on the edge of something for decades. A cycle. Building, twitching, right there—but never quite getting the release.

It’s been three days since I told Greesha everything. Since she walked out of my office with that finality in her voice. Since I heard the soft click of the door.

She’s been distant since. Understandably.

That day, I couldn’t sit still. I had this gnawing urge to saymore. To explain it better. As if stringing the perfect combination of words together would unlock some miracle in her mind. Make her understand.Forgive me.

But three days later, I know better. I think.

That urge was never about her.

It was aboutme.

About trying to earn a pardon I hadn’t earned. I wanted relief from my own guilt. Not her pain. It was a selfish kind of retribution—dressed up like confession. And realizing that... made things quieter.

Not easier. Butquieter.

Now, I don’t feel like I’m spiraling. I feel edgy,yes—but like I’m on the edge of something worth climbing. Like I finally found a foothold. Because I wanted to absolve myself and confirm my failure. That I tried with Greesha and... failed. So I could get in that cycle again.

For so long, I hinged my purpose of giving up, onher. On her death. On Khushi’s death. And Khushi Joshi’s death.

Then my purpose of living, on Greesha’s survival.

My entire existence swung between extremes: mourning people... then measuring my worth through how much I couldn’t save them.