My Last Love Story by Falguni Kothari Page B

eventually fail.
    But the worst was, he was losing brain function because of where the tumor was situated. We had to watch for slurred words and missed steps and a whole lot of things his doctors had listed. Over the next few months, the tiny tumor would slowly eat into Nirvaan’s brain, and all any of us could do was watch it happen.
    The strong smell of coffee mingled with the ocean air, and I inhaled greedily as the argument zinged around me. Zayaan came to stand by the table, but he didn’t sit down. I regretted declining his offer to make me an espresso. It was going to be a rough night.
    Zayaan had never once offered medical advice to Nirvaan—not in my presence, at least. I saw him reach out and rub the back of his hand on my mother-in-law’s cheek in comfort—once, twice—and then he dropped it back to his side. Another piece of my heart broke and floated away.
    “You are going, Nirvaan. Bas— that’s that. What’s the harm in it?”
    “Are you joking? I’m not going to India for two months. What if I fall sick there? What if I get worse? I’m not checking into an Indian hospital, much less some quack ashram in Kutch. I don’t want to die there, Dad.”
    My father-in-law stiffened at the harsh reminder of what was to come, but he didn’t back down. “I’m looking into a medical jet facility in case…in case we need to bring you back.”
    Nirvaan gave an incredulous laugh. “If this place is supposed to work miracles, why in the heck would I need an emergency evac? Shouldn’t I waltz out of there on my feet?” He frowned at his father, and after a few seconds of fraught silence, he gave a long sigh. He didn’t look so pissed anymore. “Daddy, please, I don’t want to spend the rest of my days in futile treatments and hospitals. I want to live strong. God, I want to live . Then, I won’t mind dying so much.”
    My in-laws wept then—not badly, but pain glittered in their eyes, as sharp as diamonds. I had to avert my gaze to the star-studded darkness till I got my emotions under control once again. I knew the quality of strength required to discuss the business of death with your beloved. I knew intimately the devastation of being utterly helpless in a bad situation.
    I’d once wished upon a shooting star and gotten the shoes I’d wanted—red Mary Janes with silver buckles. What would I wish for should I see a star tonight? That Nirvaan would find relief soon, so all of us could be free of this constant heartache? Or that he would linger and suffer so that we might have more time with him?
    I was glad I didn’t spot a falling star tonight. I was very glad I didn’t pray anymore.

I pulled Nirvaan aside that night and made him promise not to fight with his father for the rest of his parents’ visit. I guessed my mother-in-law must’ve extracted the same promise from her husband, as my father-in-law did not bring up Kutch again. Hopefully, we’d banked all altercations for the weekend.
    I tried to give Nirvaan plenty of time alone with his parents. After all, I had him all to myself daily while they had to make do with weekends. If we still lived in LA, it would’ve been different, not to mention so much easier. But we didn’t, and I wanted to give them time to make more memories.
    In light of that, I would take off every chance I got. I ran errands, got the car cleaned, held my brothers and sister-in-law hostage on the phone for hours, cleaned the house without getting in anyone’s way, finished reading two books on Saturday afternoon by the beach, and so on.
    Zayaan made himself scarce the whole of Saturday, too. He left the house after breakfast with a briefcase full of papers and books and his laptop, informing us of his intention to spend the day at the library for research.
    So, when I received a text from him, asking me to meet him at The Caramel Bookery near the town’s center, I couldn’t help my reply.
    Me: Aren’t you sick of books by now?
    He texted back promptly.
    Zayaan: