Chapter Two: A Chair by the Window
1215 Words
Monday mornings had a way of making every promise of the weekend feel temporary.
By half past seven, Arjun Menon had already packed Ananya's lunch, burnt the first batch of dosas, ironed his own shirt with one hand while reminding his daughter to brush her teeth with the other, and answered three work calls before leaving the apartment.
It was an ordinary morning.
He preferred ordinary mornings.
They demanded attention but not emotion.
Life had become easier once he learned the difference.
The drive to the aerospace manufacturing unit on the outskirts of the city took nearly forty-five minutes.
Rain had left the roads uneven and glistening. Buses stopped wherever passengers requested. Two-wheelers slipped through impossible gaps in traffic. Vendors were already arranging tender coconuts beneath faded blue tarpaulins.
At the security gate, Arjun nodded at the guard before parking near the fabrication building.
Inside, machines drowned out conversation.
Steel, aluminium and carbon-fibre panels occupied almost every workstation. Engineers argued over tolerances while technicians wheeled equipment from one bay to another.
Numbers.
Measurements.
Deadlines.
Everything here made sense.
Metal behaved according to physics.
People rarely did.
"Finally."
Prakash limped into the inspection bay with exaggerated difficulty.
"You survived."
"Barely."
"You had keyhole surgery."
"I still deserve sympathy."
Arjun laughed.
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"My wife has already stopped listening."
"Smart woman."
Prakash leaned against the workbench.
"You know what?"
"What?"
"I missed those banana chips."
Arjun looked up from the drawings.
"So did someone else."
"What?"
"Nothing."
He dismissed the thought immediately.
There was no reason to think about a stranger in a hospital room.
The incident was over.
Finished.
A simple mistake.
It should have stayed that way.
But over the next two days, the memory returned unexpectedly.
While waiting for tea in the office canteen.
While folding Ananya's school uniform.
While standing in line at the supermarket.
Not the man.
Never the man.
Always the room.
Its silence.
The untouched chair.
The flowers standing alone beside the bed.
By Wednesday evening he found himself driving past the hospital on the way home.
He could have continued.
Nothing required him to stop.
Instead, he heard himself mutter,
"Five minutes."
Almost as though he needed permission.
He turned into the parking lot.
The receptionist recognised him.
"Back again, sir?"
"My colleague forgot to return my coffee flask."
It was the first excuse that came to mind.
She smiled politely.
"Happens all the time."
Arjun wasn't sure she believed him.
He certainly didn't.
The elevator climbed slowly to the third floor.
As the doors opened, the familiar smell of disinfectant greeted him.
The corridor looked unchanged.
Visitors moved quietly between rooms.
A young nurse laughed at something one of the interns had said.
A television somewhere played the evening news.
Everything appeared exactly as it had three days earlier.
Everything except Arjun.
He knew precisely where he was going.
Room 307.
The door remained closed.
Through the narrow glass panel, he could see the bouquet.
The chrysanthemums had begun to wilt.
Their petals curled slightly at the edges, but they remained the brightest thing in the room.
The man was awake.
He sat propped against two pillows, looking out of the window.
Not reading.
Not watching television.
Simply looking.
As though the rain outside required his full attention.
Arjun stood there longer than he intended.
He should leave.
Instead, he turned towards the nurses' station.
A middle-aged nurse wearing rimless spectacles looked up from her paperwork.
"Yes?"
"I wanted to ask about the patient in Room 307."
She studied him for a moment.
"Family?"
"No."
"Friend?"
"No."
The nurse waited.
Arjun realised how strange this sounded.
"I visited the wrong room a few days ago."
Recognition crossed her face.
"The flowers."
He blinked.
"You knew?"
"He asked who left them."
Arjun looked back towards the room.
"He noticed?"
"He noticed immediately."
The nurse smiled faintly.
"He thought perhaps one of his old colleagues had remembered him."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"I should have left a note explaining."
She shook her head.
"I don't think he wanted an explanation."
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Arjun asked quietly,
"Does he have... family?"
The nurse's expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"They're informed."
"That isn't what I asked."
"No."
The answer came gently.
"No, it isn't."
She closed the patient file before continuing.
"Mr. Vikram Dev has been here for almost three weeks."
Arjun waited.
"I've seen lawyers."
She paused.
"Company executives."
Another pause.
"Doctors."
"And family?"
"They come when signatures are needed."
Silence settled between them.
The nurse folded her hands.
"People assume money solves loneliness."
"It doesn't."
"No."
"It only makes loneliness more comfortable."
The sentence remained hanging between them.
After a moment she smiled again.
"You brought those flowers because you thought someone had forgotten him."
Arjun looked away.
"I don't know why I brought them."
"I think you do."
On his way back downstairs he stopped at the hospital canteen.
The coffee tasted exactly as hospital coffee always did.
Too much milk.
Too much sugar.
Too little flavour.
Without thinking, he bought another cup.
Halfway to the elevator he realised what he was doing.
He turned around.
Returned to the nurses' station.
"This is ridiculous."
The nurse looked amused.
"What is?"
He held up the paper cup.
"I bought two."
"I can see that."
"I don't even know if he drinks coffee."
"He does."
"Should I leave it?"
"That's your decision."
Arjun looked towards Room 307 once more.
The door remained closed.
He walked over quietly.
Knocked once.
No answer.
Perhaps the man had fallen asleep again.
He placed the coffee on the small table outside the room with a handwritten note borrowed from the reception desk.
Thought you might prefer this to hospital coffee.
—The man who left the flowers.
He stared at the note for several seconds.
Then almost took it back.
Instead, he left.
That night, while helping Ananya with her mathematics homework, his phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Thank you for the coffee.
Nothing else.
No name.
No introduction.
Arjun frowned.
He looked at the number.
Then at the message again.
He typed.
Hospital coffee is terrible.
The reply came almost immediately.
You're right. Yours wasn't.
Arjun smiled before he realised he was smiling.
Ananya looked up from her notebook.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You smiled."
"So?"
"You've smiled twice today."
She sounded oddly pleased.
He reached over and gently ruffled her hair.
"Finish your homework."
She narrowed her eyes.
"I think somebody made you happy."
Arjun laughed.
"You're eight."
"I'm observant."
He shook his head.
"Clearly."
Outside, rain began again.
Inside the apartment, the evening settled into its familiar rhythm.
Homework.
Dinner.
Stories before bed.
Lights out.
Later, standing alone on the balcony with another cup of tea, Arjun looked at the glowing screen of his phone.
Only two messages.
One about coffee.
One saying thank you.
Hardly enough to matter.
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
Yet somewhere across the city, another man had saved his number.
Neither of them knew it then.
But a conversation had begun.
Not with grand declarations.
Not with fate.
Simply with flowers left in the wrong room...
...and a cup of coffee that tasted a little less lonely than the one served by the hospital.
- Writer
