Tenth Grade was Fun!

23. BREAKING THIN ICE

Mechanical. Robotic.

This is how I've been feeling recently.

Right after my mom had told that my dad had been in an accident on his way home from airport, every other thought in my brain flew out of the window with only one thing left on my mind.

MY FATHER.

I asked her what happened and she had explained that a drunk truck driver had driven into the wrong lane and had crashed into the cab in which my dad was sitting, probably thinking how he was going to spend his time with us once he returns home.

With no fucking idea about what fate had in store for him.

Nikhil had taken me to a chair and explained their actual plan of how he was going to bring me back home once my mom had given him the go after my dad had come home—of how they were going to give me a happy surprise.

Happy surprise, my ass.

The doctor had come out and that grave little shake of his head was enough for my mom to end up like a mess on the waiting room floor while me...

Well, I picked up my mom from her position to avoid a wave of those back pains she gets but then,

I went into auto-pilot.

Just a long black empty void of acceptance. Acceptance that I was never going to have my dad around me for a long time—even when he was alive, he was far, far away from me—and now that he's gone, he's just...gone.

Not a single tear spilled from my eyes nor did a single word come out of my mouth, because I was afraid that maybe all these years of not crying would catch up now and make me explode or something and I sure as hell know that my mom doesn't want to see me so broken.

But in all these turmoil, I did experience a feeling.

A hopeful surprise.

In the funeral I had stood in the sidelines, almost invisible and only few of the funeral attendees had even noticed me, which was because they had searched for me.

Mia, Ved, Harsh and Darsh and some of my relatives.

And Nikhil had never left my side, but he never forced me to talk and neither did he.

He simply was there for me.

The surprise...Shaina had looked for me.

Unlike others who said they were sorry or hugged me and sobbed, she took my hands—her face devoid of any expression—and gave a gentle squeeze full of emotions, completely betraying her face.

I don't know why but a tiny hope had bloomed then that maybe, just maybe, we might get along.

It's been almost a month after my dad's death and I had started to try to get accustomed to the fact that the person who had been my first ever hero is no more.

He who crawled with me when I did the same, walked with me and stood by me to catch me if I fell, made me go and fall from a bicycle without training wheels and yet taught me to endure the pains, taught me to swim, lift weights without breaking my spine, take things apart and still fix them back is the one who has now taught me how to bear the pain of losing a loved one.

No one talks like they did before. Just because of the fact that I never cried in my dad's funeral, everyone keeps tiptoeing around me as if I might break down anytime.

Thing is, I don't care. I don't care if I break except for if I break in front of my mom. I know how that would take a toll on her and that's the only thing that keeps me running.