With my head on Sawyer's shoulder, feeling the warmth of his arm around me while sitting on a bench in the lush green garden with butterflies hovering over the pink chrysanthemums inside the hospital campus itself, listening to the other patients talking and enjoying with their families and loved ones on a spring Sunday afternoon, feels like magic.

It is almost surreal and sad at the same time when I look around at many other people, probably going through what I am currently going through almost all of their lives. Our pain is wishfully temporary, but probably many of theirs might be not.

Do these family members of other patients also sometimes wish that they could just fly away from everything? Just escape this thing called reality. To not be the strong one for once. To not be the one people look up to for once. Just being a normal human being, who is also capable of having emotions.

Natasha had left, without even a warning or a message of any kind by the time I went inside after catching a quick smoke in the balcony. I am not really allowed to smoke, but it was kind of a need of the hour.

I had texted on her WhatsApp. I got single tick. As her DP and Bio was still showing means that either her data was off of maybe her phone had died down.

I ponder over about what was going on in her mind when she left. Did she wish that things were different between us? Or was I just another one of her nightly "slip-ups"? No matter what, she was definitely one of mine. We were both broken souls, who found solace in each other's arms. It was not brain surgery to understand something as easy as this.

But was it right?

Was it justified to Sawyer and to her both?

There were a few unanswered questions that I had in my mind. Ever since I was a kid, I needed answers to everything. For once, I am going to let this one go. I do not have to know about the whereabouts of what happened.

I have always lived under the impression of a concrete world of whites and blacks all around. Maybe this is something that would for once come under the greys.

Did Sawyer deserve it? No.

Did I deserve it though? Maybe.

Does Sawyer deserve to know this in his current mental state and sabotage his recovery and thereafter what we have because of an emotional slip up? Definitely no.

A slender girl in her late teens, while sitting with her mother, passes a smile towards me. I recall her from about a few months ago when she came here for the first time and was refusing to eat anything. Natasha had told me then that she is an anorexia patient and used to starve herself before she was admitted here. Here she is right now, in front of me, smiling under the bright sun, eating a chocolate chip sundae, and talking to her mother.

After my meeting time with Sawyer was over and he is shifted in his room and I am sent out, I take out my phone and look up for Natasha's contact. After she suddenly left in the morning with no warning, I wished I had handled things a little better.

Still no double ticks.

I dial her up. No response.

I dial her again, no response again.

I call her about five times consecutively while sitting in my parked car in the parking lot of the hospital, all in vain. Either something is seriously wrong with her, or she slept with her phone on vibrate.

Now I need to know her address so I could barge in on her and shout on her for not responding to my calls and turning her data off. Or maybe she is just avoiding me because of everything that happened between us, considering how she even suddenly left.

I take my phone out and when I am about to call up a sister to get the hospitals records and look the address up for me, it hits me that Natasha sent me her address this morning itself.

BINGO!

I buckle up my seat belt, set the address on Google Maps and slowly head out of the parking lot and drive up to her apartment building.

The building is huge! It is probably about 17 to 18 floors minimum. Imagine living on 18th floor and being constantly in the fear of falling down.

My luck, Natasha lives on the third floor of this building, as it says on the number plates attached outside on the main gate of the building.

Now all I need is to wait for someone to get the door buzzed for me.

Great. Till then, all I can do is call her up and keep calling, maybe she might respond now.

So, as I have called her up about 5 times, with intervals of playing temple run on my phone, finally I hear someone approaching towards the door from the other side.

A cranky old man emerges from the door and looks at me like I made both his wife and daughter pregnant. No, thank you. I can wait.

I keep mum and wait for the next resident to arrive. That might take a while, so I start a new Temple Run game again.

As I am busy collecting coins and running, I see a woman walk past me and opens the door with her key.

I regain my senses when she is just about to close the door from the inside.

"Excuse me!"

She pauses and looks at me.

"Can you please let me in? A friend of mine is not answering her phone since hours. It could be an emergency. Please, please help me!" I plead her with my palms together.

She holds the door open for me without saying a word and I walk in.

"Thank you so much for this."

"It's okay." She smiles and walks towards the elevator and presses the going up button.

I ditch the elevator and climb up the stairs to the 3rd floor of her apartment building and find myself catching for breath towards the second half of the 2nd floor.

There it is! Her apartment. I walk towards the door and stand on the door mat and ring the bell.

No response. So how to get in?

Too easy though, but I bend down and pick up the door mat. And surprise surprise, I actually do find the key there.

I expected better from Natasha.

I am welcomed inside the living room of her 4 bedroom-hall-kitchen apartment with teak wooden flooring and a beautiful and fresh essence of what smells like potpourri. Her humongous living room has a chandelier, exactly in the symmetrical centre of the roof. The chandelier is in the shape of a branch from a tree, spreading outwards. The bulbs on the ends of those branches are shinning like stars in the extravagant dimly lit room.

Towards the left from the main door is the living room, with soft thick plush couches pointing towards the 55-inch curved plasma Television. Towards the right was the kitchen and dining area.

And if someone goes straight from the main door, there is a criss-cross shaped wall shelf, with a sheet of paper dangling, unorderly stuck to it, trying to escape with the blowing air from the rotating ceiling fan in the living area, exactly in front for the eye line of someone entering the house through the gate.

All I can make out from the distance is that it is handwritten with a black fountain pen, as I can see a few blotch spots on it.

"Natasha! Natasha?" and I get silence in response to my calls.

I walk up to the sheet of paper and slowly pull it out of the two-sided sticky tape that had been used to make it stick to the wall. It seemed like a letter or a note. Maybe it explains where she is.

Clutched between my index finger and my thumb, I start reading it.

"What does did anyone do, in fact?

What is this a result of?

I never usually asked such existential crisis questions from myself because I was aware what effect they have on each individual. Often when we are stuck in a never-ending loop of a few elements of life that we are unable to change, we tend to question perspectives about our own selves, question the meaning of it all in retrospect. Things like these push us to face those very questions and our beliefs about things in life.

Is everything we do really justified? How many people do we hurt almost every day? How much of it can be justified by attributing someone's nature or nurture?

Are we all capable of a human conscience? Does guilt or conscience kill a person more than anything else in the world ever could? It is surprising to note how for many of us, it is our own demons that consume us at the end of the day. There are no monsters under the bed, but our fear of those monsters is what brings us to the end.

I have helped many a patients' lives and held their hand when they were in the same position as I am today. It is amusing to feel how my sins defined me during my last few seconds and everything else in my life was simply nullified when I had decided to end it.

They say, "we don't regret the things we do. We regret the things we didn't do". What a load of crap!

I do not know if anyone is reading this, but if you are, thank you for finding the key below the mat or maybe getting my door broken in and I am sorry. It is okay if you feel anger rising up from your insides. Know this that in the mind of a suicide victim, they are a burden to the world. They feel that it would be much better if they had not even existed in the first place. You will continue to feel this anger for some time. It might be horrifying when you see this image and it would be very hard to get it out of your head. Know, that this was not your fault.

You might have so many unanswered questions in your mind right now. You do not have to know everything. There are a few things that are better left unsaid and unexplained towards the end of each day in life.

You might get nightmares for a few days. You will wake up in the middle of the night in perspiration. Please do not stay mad at me, I tried every possible way. None of those decisions made me feel better than this decision that you are about to see. Know this, that I am much happier and more contented here than there and that I was finally prepared to go."