Whiteness was the new darkness for her. Stars were now the nightmare for her.

Priyanka quickly groped the cot to steady herself before she could foolishly hit the ground. Once sitting, her trembling fingers barely pressed the ring, and the nurse rushed in to aid the desperate patient.

"You cannot get out yet." The young and petite woman stared at the pale patient. Even the swan-white uniform of the nurse irritated Priyanka, and she looked away first.

With crisped eyes and a parched throat, she looked at the annoyed younger nurse, wincing internally at the tied-knotted bun for a twelve-hour shift of the nurse. Mona, her silver name badge read.

Mona promptly re-attaches the IV to the wrist of the stubborn patient before warning Priyanka about trying to get out of the hospital bed again without her permission. "A weak body like yours should be resting." The nurse left her dysfunctional patient.

Weak. How pathetic. Priyanka slumps back in defeat. The whiteness of her garments, the bed, the IV tube, the flower vase, and the wall made her nauseous as if they'd cave her in anytime now. Prominent weakness could wither a recently awoken coma patient, but Paris was determined to prove her point of being an independent woman.

"Priyanka!" A minute later, a panicked voice rings in the room before familiar grey eyes hasten in. Though dizzy, Priyanka could still draw up the ferocious appearance of her mother, heaving with worry for her almost dead daughter.

Sarangi did not overlook the disdain on the gaunt face of her eldest daughter, retreating her reaching hands to embrace. She cautiously addresses the frailty, greater than Priyanka's will for independence. The asthenia caused such dependency for the patient, but her determination to ignore and humiliate her mother was far beyond sturdy. Acknowledgement was the acceptable that Sarangi was yet to receive.

"Call the doctor!" Priyanka muttered defeatedly, wisely deciding to lay back on the hospital cot.

The joyous bald surgeon examined the vitals in the beginning as he couldn't move past the exhilaration of saving the life of his younger patient. Priyanka waking up from the coma after two months was a bonus.

Doctor Deshmukh fixes his rim glasses before breaking into a grinning face, "Lovely Priyanka, You are good to go." His statement should've impacted his patient optimistically, but Priyanka dreaded it. She quietly glanced at her sighing mother. Living under the same roof after five years of separation seemed like a nightmare, even if it was meant for a few months.

Meanwhile, Sarangi still could not wrap her head around the fact that her daughter was well and alive after experiencing such a tragic accident and then went on to survive the next two months of coma. Always known for being a fighter, Priyanka fought for her life.

Doctor Deshmukh had a similar sentiment as Sarangi, commiserating with the younger patient endlessly. He warmly welcomed the ____ family into his lively cabin. More than medical equipments, Priyanka noticed the colourfully painted absurd art decorating the place. The compact space made the presence of the multiple paintings more conspicuous, and talking beyond them felt like insulting the artist.

"It is truly a delight to see you so well, Paris," Doctor Deshmukh begins, "No one could have imagined you healing rather quickly if they had seen you two months ago, lying bloodied and cold on the bed..." Sarangi awkwardly coughs to make the younger doctor aware of his ingenious but insensitive words in front of Priyanka.

"Anyways, we are all delightful despite all the odds." Completed Sarangi with a loose smile.

Despite all the odds? Priyanka had many possible answers to her own question. Was coma the odd that they're talking about? Or the amnesia?

Noticing her silence, Deshmukh jumped at the opportunity to consolidate with his repetitive words, "I know your biggest concern, it's the amnesia. It was traumatic for everyone, but at least you have support to get through this. You are not alone in this, Priyanka." Sarangi momentarily agreed. "The memories you lost could return at any moment, and that'd be a miracle, don't you think so?"

Priyanka could only look at her saviour as the most pessimistic vultures stirred in her pit of the stomach. Her fingers instinctively clasped the short hair for a brief second but paused immediately upon realization of her loss. Not only did she lose her memory of two months before the coma, but also her full-length hair that she cherished before it got chopped off during the surgery. Unlike her memory, hair would grow back in no time.

Kind doctor Deshmukh prescribed timely medicines for her recuperating health with weekly therapist sessions.

Priyanka was glad to leave the suffocating hospital room, but the challenge was to stay with her family again after five of self-dependence. She'd have the opportunity to savour her mother's cooking once more, relish her little sister's playful antics, and endure her younger brother's bickering, but despite all the memories, she hadn't genuinely missed any of it. Self-dependence is a blessing for her.

Returning home, the dainty apartment inherited by Sarangi from her parents as a reward for being a lone child to them, and after her divorce, she took up residence with the kids even when her parents were alive, reminded Priyanka of such unwanted memories. The interior decorum remained the same, as if Sarangi never wanted to let go of the past. The unchanging character of her virago mother brought back many distressed recollections of the moments, leaving Priyanka to stay unusually silent.

"It's still pretty." She silently compliments her mother's efforts to maintain the house over all the years, not out of appreciation but only because she could once again relive her childhood.

Seeing her mother smiling profoundly at her at her comment, "You should still change the wall colours. It's dulling the aesthetic." The smile quickly vanished.

Vijay followed after the two ladies while carrying all four bags with ease and tossed them in Priyanka's room upstairs without giving a tinker's damn about the delicate stuff that his sister had nurtured all her life resting in there. He was tired and hungry. The news of his elder sister waking up after two months from the coma steals his sleep for two days. He had to do all the preparations.

The three of them settled together, contemplating the comforting words they couldn't use for each other for the past few years. As if avoiding meaningless interactions, Priyanka left to check her assigned room.

Unconsciously, Priyanka's fingers collided with the forgotten scar that stayed behind from the wound she received while walking towards the room at the mere age of seven as she ran her hand through her short-disordered hair, a chronic habit she adopted from her father, and just as, the worried face of her beloved father flashed before her eyes before sighing and focusing on her steps again.

She doesn't dare to touch the new wound: stitched up after the critical operation, afraid it could create new terrors. Her amnesia is enough terror; trying to remember the cause of her condition was an obnoxious action. Though no medicines would bring back her lost past two months memories, unrequired memories were surely flooding back to her. She stopped trying to recollect the unimportant events that had her into the tragic accident two months ago. She was drunk and driving. She acted irrationally and got the results. At least her mother was right about something: Priyanka's impulsive decisions have always led her to unlikely consequences.

The room which belonged to her now previously belonged to her mother when she was still a teenager. It smelled like nothing, the opposite of her assumption. Changing is the essential significance of existence, but clearly, her mother has trouble accepting that part of her life.

The single bed was still attached to the smooth textured wall, with the oak rocking chair facing the six-foot-tall bookshelf with the flouring embroidered rug underneath. Everything was old but tidy.

Her nostalgia deepened as she looked through the small library she created years ago and left behind to create a new one at her new home. Her eyes passed through the row of fantasy books, touching them and remembering the times she read them iteratively to subdue that glooming loneliness. At the thought, she quickly moved towards her tossed bags on the floor and ruffled through the clothes before her hands found the books series scattered beneath her clothes that uniquely changed the course of her life.

Settling her self-written books on the top shelf, she sighs at the new achievement. Feeling satisfied and dignified, Priyanka decided it was time for further modifications.

She glanced at her reflection of herself in the mirror. Her fragile appearance screamed weak to her, regardless of her adulthood. She was a survivor, and yet she despised her recuperating self. She has never felt this dependent that she was feeling at the moment. It was clawing into her heart, the feeling of emptiness erupting every time she decided to embrace the warmth of the affection. It was pathetic in her opinion, absolutely hopeless.

Her eyes couldn't even withstand her own image. It was almost unbearable. The redundant feeling of asking for more than the already received affection would not halt, and it made her want to crawl away from herself.

"It is only for a few days," she reassured herself. Assurance was the only way to stand with the weight on both feet without hesitation, one of the few things she knew and did for herself.

She would leave as soon as she recovers, but in the meantime, she craved and approved the affection she never expected from her own family. She will enjoy every second of it: her greedy heart needs it.

The dinner scene burst with a liveliness unseen in years,

Sara, an outlier to the tension, sprinkled giggles and posed questions that pushed boundaries.

"Could you not hear our mother's cries when you were in the coma? I heard that one can still perceive their surroundings," she inquired,

her inquisitive eyes fixed on Priyanka, who absentmindedly toyed with her food.

All Sarangi could do in return to ease the anxiety was dismiss her youngest child, "Sara!" It was an unlikely revelation, but Priyanka stayed apathetic to her mother's sacrifices, as words could not heal her inner child. The wounds ran too deep for healing to find its way.

Her mother continually glanced her way, ensuring her healing daughter had enough food on her plate. Her abrasive personality did not excuse her concerns for Priyanka.

"We can go to the Wheelcart every day till you here," Sara suggested childishly.

"Who goes to Wheelcart every day?" Her older sister whispers nonchalantly.

After a solid cough from Vijay, disgusting the three ladies on the dinner table, he speaks, "How long are you planning to stay, Priya?"

"Why? You got a problem with me staying for long?"

"Tsk. You know that's not what he meant." Sarangi defended her only son, "He wanted to buy you a more comfortable bed, and that is what he meant." Vijay nods frantically in agreement.

Priyanka fumbles at his generosity, "I can manage. I mean, it is comfortable enough for me to spend the next two months." Her indirect answer enthralled the family. Her presence was all that they needed.

Priyanka felt fuzzy in her core, noticing their unexpected expressions. They were happy to have her.

Sarangi warmly smiles at her oldest child, with tears in her eyes, and says, "Welcome home." Vijay and Sara echo her words.

By the end of the dramatic dinner and before the time of the bed, Sarangi met with Priyanka in between. Her intense longing to reconcile and reignite the mother-daughter relationship was palpable.

"You forgot your phone at the table." Priyanka takes back her possession with an understanding look, "And I hope you do not mind me answering your incoming call. You were not around."

Sarangi watched her daughter's expression twisting into disdain but restricted her insults to avoid quarrelling with her privacy-breaching mother.

"Do you know Krishant Sanghvi?" 

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