'The Accidental Wife' New thread link-151 - Page 93

31. Missing

Geet sat next to the window and scanned the scene slowly with her eyes.

Hospital Room - bland, white, synthetic.

Clock reading - 11:03 a.m.

Faded print of Van Gogh's Starry Night on the wall.

White board stating today's date - 5/10/2017---the month written before the date in the American way (she did recall that) along with the name of her nurse--Stephie. She'd had her yesterday, too. Pretty, young, auburn-haired and nervous, whom her so-called husband had in his pocket, just like he did so many others.

She had been moved to this room on the 6^th floor from the ICU exactly four days ago Geet had taken to keeping close tabs on every excruciating detail of what was going on, ever since she had become aware that her memory was suspect.

The reason for the move she was told was that her condition had been downgraded from critical' to stable' which was apparently excellent news. Also, because it was a quieter and more secluded location with VOILA! Not one, but two large windows! Though no one cared to elaborate that the only view she got to stare at every day was of city streets full of normal, healthy people, very much unlike her, but she didn't grumble. Her doctors intended well, Maan in particular.

She directed her attention on a pair of pigeons roosting in the eaves while trying to swallow the lump that seemed to form in her throat every time she thought of him. What a horrible plight for a man to be in! If she was really his wife...

She craned to get a better view and winced. Stephie rushed to her side immediately. She fussed around, attempting to rearrange her pillows so it didn't chafe the raw area on her back which had been freshly grafted that very morning with skin harvested from her thigh.

Stephie asked her anxiously, "Are you hurting? Can I get you something for the pain? You haven't had anything since you came back from surgery."

"No." Geet declined with a determined smile, even though every inch of her body throbbed like it had been pounded by a wrecking ball. She'd have loved an opportunity to escape to some weird and fantastic world that looked and felt so much better than the one she was in right now. But she couldn't, because she had persevered to hold on to her mind; at least what remained of it.

They'd all informed her (the experts assembled by the man who'd adopted her as his wife) that she suffered from a profound case of dissociative amnesia. They'd arrived at this general consensus after subjecting her to a staggering number of tests that involved spending harrowing eons inside claustrophobic chambers, getting her brain mapped with weird probes plastered to her scalp, plus countless hours of interrogation, during which she was repeatedly posed the same questions, tested on her reading and writing skills, and made to perform silly tasks like counting backwards and drawing clock faces which any fifth grader could accomplish. In conclusion, she was informed that her brain was in excellent working order except---they looked at her with uniformly grim faces---somewhere in the course of events she had lost sight of herself. She had buried herself deep inside her brain and omitted to mark the spot.

Bewildered and frightened, she had turned to Maan, who was holding her hand while sitting beside her throughout the whole sermon. Deducing her turmoil right away, he said, "Not to worry. All they mean to say is that part of your memory has taken a vacation. It should be back in no time."

Thus, he had allayed her anxieties with a smile he seemed to reserve only for her.

And while she tried to come to terms with her temporary deficiency, he gave her information about herself---something to build upon, as he put it.

She was a young Asian woman, born and brought up in India---she had gathered as much, going by the color of her skin and that she was fluent in three different Indian languages. She was well-educated (a PhD student of English, no less). And while working in New Delhi, she had met Dr. Maan Singh Khurana, and within a short period, got married to him and emigrated to the United States.

"A whirlwind romance?" she had questioned dubiously.

In response to which he had hedged a little before nodding, "Yes, you could say so." But then he hadn't chosen to elaborate further.

"What about my parents? I want to talk to them," she had demanded.

"Your parents are no longer with us," he told her after some hesitation. "It's been several years since they passed."

But when she inquired about the rest of her family, he wasn't quite as forthcoming. Nor was he about the circumstances that had led to her accident.

"Don't get flustered, Geet," he had said. "Think of it as a game of trivial pursuit that you're playing with yourself. The picture will become clearer as your brain builds on bits of new information."

She had taken him for his word. But the picture continued to remain as elusive and abstruse as ever.

"Time for lunch!" her nurse chirped.

Geet was snapped out of her morose musings by Stephie, who placed a tray of sterile hospital food in front of her.

"No, take it away," instructed Maan, as he breezed in, looking suave and handsome as ever. "My wife's having none of that junk today. She's going to eat something I've made especially for her." He opened a brown paper bag from which emanated a mouthwatering aroma.

"It's the very same that you fed me, when I came hunting for you at your apartment the day after we met." He placed a spoonful into her mouth. "I didn't realize it then, but I think that's when I fell irrevocably under your spell. Remember, Geet?"

Geet tried to nod and smile as she chewed on what felt like sandpaper on her palate. But her husband was no fool.

"I'm so sorry to be such a disappointment!" she burst out, reaching for his hand. "Frankly, I don't remember anything at all!"

"It's okay, darling. How can I blame you for my abysmal lack of culinary skills?" He laughed, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at her tear-stricken face.

Later, to make amends, he snuck her down to the lobby for a delicious sundae, then as an added bonus pushed her wheelchair around the moonlit courtyard until she fell fast asleep.

tbc

PS: Thank you for responding to my plea for more responses. Please keep it up!