Heal With Rabia | Healing After Loss, Single Parenting & Self Growth

  “A second marriage doesn't begin where the first one ended. It begins with a completely new story—and everyone in that story deserves to be understood.” The first time Arjun seriously thought about remarriage, he couldn't sleep. The house was quiet, the children were asleep, and the clock on the wall had crossed midnight, but his mind refused to settle. His mother's words kept returning to him: You need someone. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps the children needed another adult around them. Perhaps he needed companionship. Perhaps continuing exactly as he was would eventually exhaust him. But every practical argument seemed to collide with one painful thought—whoever came into his life would not be Meera. And that wasn't something he could change. The following Sunday, his mother brought up the subject again while they were having tea. She didn't mention marriage immediately. Instead, she asked, "Have you thought about what you want?" Arjun looked up fro...

  “Sometimes the hardest thing after losing someone is not learning to live without them. It is accepting that you cannot keep living exactly as you did when they were here.” It was nearly midnight when Vivaan's fever finally began to come down. Arjun sat beside the little boy's bed with a damp cloth in his hand, watching his tiny face with the kind of helplessness only a frightened parent knows. The pediatrician had told him over the phone that it was probably a seasonal infection and that he should monitor the fever through the night, but every time Vivaan stirred, Arjun's heart raced. The thermometer lay beside him on the table, the medicine bottle stood open, and two used cups of water sat near the bed. Across the room, Ananya was asleep, exhausted after spending most of the evening worrying about her little brother. Arjun looked at both children and suddenly felt the full weight of the responsibility resting on his shoulders. Earlier that evening, everything had happe...

  “A parent can love a child completely and still fail to be present every time. Sometimes, love is not measured by being there for every moment, but by never stopping yourself from trying.” The message came at 9:42 on Wednesday morning, just as Arjun was entering the conference room for an important client presentation. He glanced at his phone before putting it face down on the table. It was from Ananya's school. Parents' Activity – 10:30 a.m. School Auditorium. Please ensure one parent is present. He had promised her the previous night that he would come. He had even checked the distance between his office and the school twice, convincing himself that if the meeting ended on time, he could make it. But the client had arrived early, his manager had asked him to lead the presentation, and now there were twelve people sitting around the table waiting for him to begin. He thought about stepping out and calling his manager, but the presentation was already underway. For the next...

  “Sometimes life doesn't ask you to choose between two important things. It simply puts both in your hands and waits to see how you manage.” The phone began ringing at 8:17 on a Tuesday morning, just as Arjun was trying to convince Vivaan to finish his milk. He glanced at the screen and immediately recognised his manager's number. For a moment, he considered letting it ring. His shirt was still unbuttoned at the collar, Ananya's school bag was lying open on the sofa, and Vivaan had managed to smear milk across his own cheek. But work had been waiting for him for weeks, and Arjun knew he couldn't keep using grief as an explanation forever. He wiped Vivaan's face with a towel, picked up the phone and answered. "Good morning, sir." His manager's voice was direct. "Arjun, I need you in the office early today. The client meeting has been moved to eleven." Arjun looked at the clock. It was already past eight. Normally, that would have meant twen...

  "Sometimes the greatest acts of love are the ones no one notices—until the person doing them is no longer there." Three weeks had passed since Meera's funeral, but mornings inside the house still refused to believe she was gone. Outside, life had already resumed its familiar rhythm. The school bus arrived at the same time every day, office traffic filled the roads, and neighbours exchanged cheerful greetings over cups of tea. Inside Arjun's home, however, every sunrise felt like another examination he had never prepared for. The alarm rang at 5:30 a.m., but Arjun had already been awake for several minutes. Sleep had become light and uncertain ever since Meera left. He quietly switched off the alarm before it could wake the children and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. His eyes wandered across the room until they rested on Meera's framed photograph. She was smiling exactly the way she always did—calm, effortless, as though she knew everything would someho...

Chapter 13: The First Night Without Meera The house was full all day with  Relatives,  Neighbors,  Friends,  Voices,  Prayers,  Sympathy,  Tea, cups,  Footsteps,  Questions etc.  Silence that never truly became silence because people were always around. But by evening, everyone had left o ne by one.  The house that once felt small suddenly felt enormous,  Empty,  Unfamiliar.  Arjun stood in the middle of the living room.  For the first time since the hospital...  there was nothing left to do.  Nowhere left to go.  No formalities to complete.  No people to attend.  Just home w ithout Meera. A pink hair clip still rested on the side table.  Her coffee mug was near the kitchen sink.  Half a packet of biscuits she liked remained open.  Her shawl still hung behind the bedroom door.  Every corner carried her presence.  Every object carried her absence. "Mumma kab...

  Chapter 12: The Day Everything Changed The hospital corridor smelled of antiseptic and uncertainty.  White walls,  White lights,  White silence.  Everything looked clean.  Everything felt broken. Arjun sat on a steel bench outside the emergency room.  Eight-month-old Vivaan slept in his lap, unaware of the chaos surrounding him.  His tiny fingers were wrapped around Arjun's shirt. Ananya (six year old) sat beside him.  Pink frock.  Two neatly braided ponytails.  Holding her mother's dupatta tightly in her hands. "Mumma kab bahar aayengi?",  She had asked the question four times already. Arjun had given four different answers.  None of them true.  Because he didn't know the truth himself. A few hours earlier, Meera had complained of difficulty breathing, t hen dizziness, t hen panic.  Everything had happened so quickly.  One moment she was at home.  The next, they were rushing to the hospital. The doc...