The house was quiet, too quiet, but I didn’t want to switch on the television; it reminded me of Maa. Didn’t want to eat anything that she used to prepare for us. Right now, I didn’t want to exist in a world that didn’t have her in it. The pressure on my chest began to weigh me down, reminding me that no amount of avoidance could distract me from the fact that she was gone. Forever. I needed something, anything that would remind me that she had existed. That her presence on earth was meaningful and lasting. That there wasn’t just this empty void where she used to be. I walked down the passage and opened the door to the spare bedroom. Three boxes in the corner of the room were filled with her things. Three boxes? Was that the sum total of what my Maa’s life was? An empty room and three cardboard boxes? The blood started rushing in. I opened one box and the sweet smell of incense filled the room. My Maa had preferred jasmine incense over sandalwood. The familiar smell made me smile, but my heart felt that it would crack. A small wooden box with lotus flowers engraved on them beckoned me. Inside it was an envelope and in her handwriting, a note:

‘Ashray’s birthday present.’

My breathing quickened. This was a bad idea, I told myself; I shouldn’t be doing this, I wasn’t ready. But my fingers were already tearing the envelope open. Inside, the roll of money I had handed back to her after my weekend at the Goa Music Festival was neatly flattened; a paperclip held it together, along with a note of how much was there.

The attack didn’t grow slowly this time. There was no way I could have used any of the techniques that the doctor had taught me. Like a flash flood, it swelled and consumed everything in its path almost instantaneously. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus, had no idea where my pills were. My hands shook violently as I searched my pockets, but the only thing I could find was my phone. Not much good that was. I was alone. Completely alone! In this house. In my life. I was alone. I pulled my phone out, preparing to throw it, not sure if I was even coordinated enough to manage to do that. My body was fighting against me, determined to end my life without air. Not content until my chest had squeezed the very last millimetre of life-giving oxygen out of it. I hit dial, the last number belonging to the one person who knew what was really happening in my life. She picked up after only two rings.