Mukesh's condition kept getting worse.
---
The fever didn't go down.
His body felt heavy.
Breathing became difficult.
---
Finally—
his mother took him to a medical clinic.
---
The moment the doctor saw him—
his expression changed.
---
"He needs to be admitted."
---
Mukesh heard those words faintly.
---
"…Admitted?"
He whispered.
"…It's not that serious…"
---
But no one listened.
---
This wasn't the first time he had come there.
Long ago—
he had been here for another illness.
---
But this time—
it was different.
---
He was taken inside a room.
Placed on a bed.
---
The smell of medicine.
The silence.
The white walls.
---
Mukesh looked around weakly.
"…I don't like this place."
---
A doctor came in.
---
"Hold his hand."
---
His mother gently held his arm.
---
The doctor started searching for a vein.
---
Mukesh flinched.
"…It hurts…"
---
"Stay still," the doctor said.
---
The needle pressed against his skin.
---
Once.
Twice.
Again.
---
But they couldn't find it.
---
Mukesh's eyes filled with tears.
---
"…Stop… please…"
---
The needle went in again.
---
"…It hurts… it really hurts…"
---
He was still just a child.
Only 12 years old.
---
His fingers tightened.
His voice broke—
"…I don't want this…"
---
Finally—
after several tries—
the doctor found a vein.
---
The needle went in.
And this time—
it stayed.
---
A glucose bottle was attached.
---
Mukesh looked at it.
"…What is this…?"
---
"Glucose," his mother said softly.
---
But something was wrong.
---
The liquid didn't flow properly.
---
Drop by drop.
Slow.
Painfully slow.
---
One day passed.
Then another.
---
It took two full days
for just one bottle to finish.
---
Mukesh lay there.
Weak.
Barely moving.
---
Day 3…
---
He was staring at the ceiling.
---
His eyes were open.
But they didn't feel like his anymore.
---
"…Why can't I close them properly…?"
---
His vision started fading.
---
"…Everything… is going away…"
---
His eyes slowly rolled upward.
---
He couldn't control them.
---
"…What's happening to me…?"
---
It felt like—
he was losing control over his own body.
---
Like someone else was taking over.
---
Like everything was ending.
---
Then suddenly—
he blinked.
---
Everything came back.
---
He gasped lightly.
"…I'm okay…"
---
His mother, sitting beside him—
was terrified.
---
"What's happening to you?"
---
Mukesh looked at her.
Trying to stay normal.
---
"…Nothing."
"…My eyes are always like this."
---
He lied.
---
Because even he didn't understand what was happening.
---
But his mother knew—
something was very wrong.
---
Her hands trembled.
Her mind was restless.
---
What should I do…?
Where should I take him…?
---
Day 4…
---
She finally called his father.
Who was in India.
---
Her voice was shaking.
She told him everything.
---
Mukesh listened quietly.
---
From the other side—
his father said—
"Do whatever treatment is possible there."
"But first… take him to the biggest government hospital."
---
His mother nodded.
Even though he couldn't see it.
---
"…Okay."
---
Later that day—
the needle was removed from Mukesh's hand.
---
The moment it came out—
he felt a sharp pain.
---
"…Ah—!"
---
He looked at his hand.
---
A small hole had formed.
Deep.
---
"…What is this…?"
---
No one answered.
---
He was taken home.
---
But things didn't improve.
---
He stopped eating.
---
Completely.
---
His mother made khichdi for him.
Every day.
---
"Eat a little."
---
Mukesh turned his face away.
"…I don't want it."
---
"Just a few bites."
---
"…No."
---
It wasn't just the food.
---
He had lost interest in everything.
---
He lay down in his room.
---
The ceiling felt distant.
---
And then—
the dreams started.
---
Strange.
Empty.
---
He saw himself—
standing alone on a silent mountain.
---
No sound.
No people.
---
"…Why am I alone?"
---
Then—
a forest.
Dark.
Endless.
---
He was standing in the middle.
---
"…Where do I go…?"
---
But there was no answer.
---
The feeling…
was something he couldn't explain.
---
Fear.
Loneliness.
Emptiness.
---
All mixed together.
---
He woke up.
Sweating.
Breathing heavily.
---
"…What was that…?"
---
But even he couldn't describe it.
---
Days passed like this.
---
Lying on the bed.
Not eating.
Not speaking much.
---
Just existing.
---
And somewhere deep inside—
it felt like he was slowly drifting away.
---
Without understanding why.
---
Without knowing what was happening.
---
And without being able to stop it.
---