The next morning…
Mukesh woke up slowly.
For a few seconds, he didn't know where he was.
He stared at the ceiling.
Then he turned his head.
The room.
The walls.
The window.
The familiar surroundings.
Everything slowly came back to him.
He was home.
After so many days of hospitals, injections, medicines, long journeys, and sleepless nights…
he was finally back.
Mukesh slowly sat up.
His body was still weak.
He couldn't move normally yet.
But today…
he wanted to look around.
He carefully got out of bed and walked toward the garden.
Every step was slow.
But he kept going.
The moment he reached the garden—
he stopped.
His eyes moved across the entire place.
The large house.
The courtyard.
The garden beside the house.
The smaller garden behind it.
Everything looked strangely familiar.
Almost like a dream.
Mukesh stared at one particular corner.
Something suddenly flashed through his mind.
A little girl sitting there.
A painting board in front of her.
A brush in her hand.
Color covering the paper.
And Mukesh…
just sitting nearby and watching her.
How does she do that?
He remembered thinking that as a child.
Her father knew how to paint too.
Maybe that's where she learned it.
Mukesh smiled faintly.
Then another thought came to him.
I want to become an artist one day.
For a moment, he imagined himself holding a brush.
Creating something of his own.
But the memory slowly disappeared.
Mukesh looked at his hands.
He wasn't an artist.
Not yet.
He didn't even know what he would become.
He simply stood there…
remembering a version of himself who had once believed he could become anything.
---
Eventually, Mukesh went back inside.
Breakfast was quiet.
His parents didn't talk much.
Mukesh didn't ask anything either.
He simply ate a little and returned to his room.
His body still wasn't completely recovered.
The hospital had helped him survive…
but it hadn't magically made him healthy.
He was still weak.
Still tired.
And sometimes even standing for too long made him uncomfortable.
After some time—
he fell asleep.
---
A few hours later…
Mukesh opened his eyes.
He looked around.
Silence.
"Mom?"
No answer.
"Dad?"
Nothing.
He slowly got out of bed.
He checked the other room.
Empty.
The kitchen.
Empty.
The courtyard.
Empty.
He walked toward the door.
Locked.
Mukesh stared at it.
"…What?"
He tried the handle again.
Nothing.
His face slowly changed.
"They left me alone?"
He sat down.
Then placed his hand over his face.
"Hmm…"
"What am I supposed to do now?"
He looked around the room.
There wasn't much to do.
The old television was sitting in the corner.
A huge, bulky television with a thick back and an antenna.
Mukesh walked toward it.
He turned it on.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
"The recharge is probably finished…"
He sighed.
There was no internet.
No modern smartphone to keep him busy.
No games.
No entertainment.
Just an old television that wasn't working.
Mukesh dropped onto the bed.
"…I'm going to die of boredom before anything else happens."
He stared at the ceiling.
Then remembered something from the hospital.
He suddenly became embarrassed.
His face became warm.
"…And they made me stay on the same bed as Mom…"
He covered his face with both hands.
"I was ten years old!"
He muttered to himself.
"I wasn't that small anymore…"
He paused.
"…Okay, maybe I was."
He frowned.
"But still…"
He buried his face in the pillow.
"That was embarrassing."
---
Several hours later—
the sound of the door finally came.
Click.
Mukesh immediately sat up.
His parents entered.
The moment he saw them—
he shouted.
"Where were you two?!"
His parents stopped.
His mother looked surprised.
"Mukesh?"
"You left me alone!"
His father looked at his mother.
His mother tried to explain.
"We went to the market."
"Without me?!"
Mukesh's voice became louder.
"You both just left me here!"
"We thought you were sleeping."
"I was sick!"
"We know."
"You know?!"
Mukesh pointed toward himself.
"I just came back from the hospital and you left me alone!"
His mother tried not to laugh.
"We were only gone for a while."
"A while?!"
Mukesh crossed his arms.
"I was alone!"
His father sighed.
"Okay, okay. We're sorry."
Mukesh turned his face away.
"I don't forgive you."
His mother raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"No."
He walked toward the bed.
"I don't want to talk to either of you."
His parents exchanged a glance.
Then they quietly sat on the bed.
Mukesh climbed onto the other side.
He deliberately turned his back toward them.
His parents were sitting behind him.
Mukesh lay down.
His back faced them.
His arms were crossed.
He was still angry.
His mother spoke softly.
"Are you really that angry?"
No response.
"Mukesh?"
Silence.
His father suddenly said—
"We have something to tell you."
Mukesh didn't move.
"What?"
His father took a breath.
"You remember those lottery tickets?"
Mukesh remained completely still.
"Yes…"
"We bought five tickets."
"…Okay."
"One of them won."
Mukesh blinked.
He still didn't turn around.
His father continued.
"We won three thousand."
Silence.
Nothing.
His father waited for a reaction.
Nothing happened.
His mother looked at Mukesh.
"Mukesh?"
Still nothing.
"You heard your father, right?"
"Yes."
"You don't have anything to say?"
"No."
His mother looked at his father.
His father shrugged.
Mukesh was still lying there with his back toward them.
Three thousand.
A lottery ticket had actually won.
And yet—
he didn't care.
His anger was still bigger than his excitement.
His mother tried again.
"We also bought some fruit."
"Hmm."
"Apples."
"Hmm."
"Bananas."
"Hmm."
"And another fruit…"
Mukesh didn't respond.
His father quietly laughed.
"Looks like our son is more expensive than three thousand rupees."
Mukesh suddenly turned around.
"I heard that!"
His father laughed.
For the first time in a while—
the room filled with laughter.
A small moment.
Nothing extraordinary.
No hospital.
No doctors.
No fear.
Just a family laughing together.
But Mukesh's anger returned almost immediately.
He remembered.
"You still left me alone!"
His mother sighed.
"Again?"
"Yes!"
Mukesh moved closer and lightly hit his mother's side with his hand.
"I'm angry with you!"
His eyes became watery.
"You left me alone…"
His voice became smaller.
"I was scared."
His mother immediately pulled him closer.
"I'm sorry."
Mukesh wiped his eyes.
"I don't want to talk to you."
His mother smiled.
"Okay."
A pause.
Then—
Mukesh quietly asked,
"…Can I have one banana?"
His mother laughed.
"So you do want to talk to me."
Mukesh immediately looked away.
"No."
His father laughed again.
"Yes, you do."
"I don't!"
His mother handed him a banana.
Mukesh took it.
He was still pretending to be angry.
But he couldn't stop the tiny smile appearing on his face.
For that moment—
he was simply a child again.
A child who had survived something he didn't understand.
A child who had been afraid of losing his life.
A child who didn't know what the future would bring.
He only knew one thing.
For the first time in a long time…
he was home.
And he was laughing.
He didn't know it yet—
but somewhere deep inside his mind, a strange thought had already begun forming.
Whenever I become happy…
something always seems to take that happiness away.
Mukesh didn't understand why.
He didn't know whether it was coincidence…
bad luck…
or something else entirely.
He was only ten years old.
He couldn't understand it.
Not yet.
---
End of Chapter 19