Vinay usually called once every few months.
Not for anything important.
Birthdays sometimes.
Office gossip mostly.
Random updates about people they both knew but rarely met anymore.
The kind of friendship that never needed maintenance.
That afternoon, Sudharma was sitting inside the college library pretending to work on a project report that had already exhausted him mentally.
His phone vibrated twice.
Maccha Calling.
He answered immediately.
“Maccha.”
“Still alive ah?”
“Barely. You?”
“Same shit maccha.”
Sudharma smiled faintly.
Around him, the library remained filled with the usual artificial seriousness:
“What news?” Sudharma asked.
“Nothing maccha. Same nonsense. One fellow resigned. One fellow got promoted. One manager still behaving like freedom fighter.”
“Hmmm. Office survived without me ah?”
“Peacefully.”
“Liar.”
Vinay laughed.
Conversation drifted lazily after that.
Who got married.
Who apparently had second child already.
Who was suddenly spiritual.
Who moved abroad.
The easy rhythm returned naturally despite the gaps between calls.
Then somewhere midway, Vinay went quieter.
Not serious immediately.
Just slower.
“One person is completely losing it maccha.”
Sudharma leaned back slightly.
“Who?”
“Machaa… bad phase.”
“What happened?”
“Everything together apparently.”
“Who?”
Vinay ignored the question.
“Sometimes life unnecessarily gangs up on one person no?”
“Vinay.” That landed. Means stop beating around the bush…
Pause.
Then:
“Health issue.”
Something about the way he said it made Sudharma stop typing entirely.
“What health issue?”
Another pause.
Then Vinay said carefully:
“Cancer.”
The word landed strangely inside the ordinary afternoon noise of the library.
“Who?” Sudharma asked quietly.
Vinay didn’t answer immediately.
Instead he said:
“And marriage also apparently fully broken.”
Sudharma frowned instantly.
A strange heaviness arrived before thought did.
“Swara ah?”
Silence.
That itself became answer enough.
Sudharma sat upright slowly.
“What?”
Vinay exhaled.
“Early stage apparently. Doctors saying manageable. Surgery needed immediately.”
“What do you mean surgery needed?”
“Exactly that only, maccha.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not joking maccha.”
For several seconds Sudharma said nothing.
None of it made sense.
Swara.
Cancer.
Marriage broken.
Nothing about that combination felt believable.
“When did this happen?”
“Past few months.”
“And nobody told me?”
Vinay snorted softly.
“You also disappeared only no.”
That irritated Sudharma immediately because it wasn’t entirely false.
He had left.
Life had shifted.
Calls had become occasional.
But still.
“Why surgery not done?”
“That’s the issue.”
“What?”
“She’s refusing.”
“Why?”
“Who knows maccha. Apparently mentally exhausted. Everything happened together no.”
Vinay’s voice became softer after that.
“Marriage issue started almost immediately after wedding only it seems. They separated very early. Court stuff still going on.”
Sudharma pressed fingers against his forehead briefly.
The library suddenly felt too bright.
“What exactly did doctors say?”
“Good chances apparently. Early detection. Maybe chemo also not needed if surgery done fast.”
“Then what nonsense is she doing?”
“You know Swara no.”
Yes.
That was the problem.
He did know her.
Well enough to understand how quietly she could shut down emotionally once overwhelmed.
“How is she now?” Sudharma asked.
“Functioning outside. Inside… I don’t know maccha.”
Vinay paused.
Then added lightly, almost intentionally shifting tone:
“You call her once. She’ll at least shout properly at you.”
Despite himself, Sudharma smiled faintly.
“Still same idiot you are.”
“Professionally.”
The call ended a few minutes later.
But Sudharma remained sitting there long after.
Laptop open.
Project untouched.
Outside the library windows, late afternoon traffic crawled past slowly.
Inside his head, old memories returned without order.
Office floors.
Late-night calls.
Wedding hall lights.
Her voice saying:
“This is nice no?”
He hadn’t thought about that conversation in months.
Maybe longer.
He unlocked his phone.
Scrolled down.
Swara.
The contact still existed exactly where it always had.
For several seconds he only stared at the name.
Then locked the phone again.
Then unlocked it once more.
By night, he still hadn’t called. Suddenly he was afraid of hearing change in her voice.
It was close to midnight when he finally called.
The phone rang longer than expected.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then:
“Hello?”
Same voice.
Slightly more tired perhaps.
Or maybe not.
Maybe that was just him hearing it that way.
But unmistakably Swara.
And for one brief second, before anything else arrived—
relief did.
Then anger immediately replaced it.
“What exactly is wrong with you?”
Silence.
Then:
“Sudharma?”
“You’ve completely lost it ah?”
“What happened now?”
“What happened ah? You’re refusing surgery?”
Pause.
“Maccha called?”
“Obviously Maccha called.”
“You could have started with hello.”
“You could have started with common sense.”
Swara exhaled sharply.
“You disappear for two years and suddenly you’ve come to manage my medical decisions?”
“You also could have called.”
“You got busy.”
“You got married.”
Silence.
The sentence stayed between them.
Finally Swara spoke again.
“You could still have called.”
Sudharma had no immediate answer for that.
Outside his room, television noise drifted faintly from the hall where his parents were probably still awake.
Inside the call, silence settled slowly again.
Familiar silence.
The kind neither of them had ever struggled with.
Then quietly, almost tiredly, Swara said:
“I’m exhausted re.”
The anger in him loosened slightly after that.
“What exactly did doctors say?”
This time she explained properly.
Early stage.
High chances.
Surgery immediately recommended.
Possibility of avoiding chemotherapy if handled now.
As she spoke, the defensiveness faded.
What remained was fatigue.
Marriage.
Lawyers.
Family pressure.
Hospitals.
Tests.
Conversations.
Sympathy.
Everything seemed to have arrived together.
“When’s surgery?” Sudharma asked finally.
“Not fixed.”
“Fix it.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Swara.”
This time when she responded, her voice carried something old between them.
“Hmmm.”
“You’re not handling this alone.”
Long silence.
Then very softly:
“You came back only to shout ah?”
Despite everything, Sudharma smiled.
“Currently yes.”
For the first time that night, Swara laughed.
Shanbhogue Publications 
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