I felt home in the dark.
Darkness is a place nobody should get accustomed to.

I died two days ago. Throughout my life, I wondered how death would show up at my doorstep. Would it be gentle? Would it inform me beforehand, send me a memo, or would it be predictable, like a friend who barges into the house without warning? Would it surprise me like a lover from a different city with flowers in his hands, and desire in his eyes, to claim my body like his very own?

Death was an unopened letter.

When I found it in my postbox 48 hours earlier, it read:

Dear Desmond,
Your terrace is clearly your favourite place to be. You’ve walked into it with a cup of chai in your hand, admired the breathtaking view, and always murmured, “I could die now, I feel at peace.” Why not go from a place you found solace in? We’ve decided you should slip from here. The thud of your head will be so harsh, you won’t know a thing.
It’ll be painless. Just like you always wanted it to be.

With love,
Death.

Nobody gets to have a great chai and a painless death. I stole the perfect package. Death was right. I did not feel a thing. I’m just sitting here bored at a hospital in Kerala watching myself sleep peacefully, something I have never experienced when I was alive.

Nightmares were my best friends, except on days when Adarsh wrapped his arms around me and traced his fingers over my eyebrows. He held me so close that I felt like I could bury myself inside him safely. I felt we were one.

I wish he was here. I wish I could tell him how he was right about death and see him smirk.
That idiot.

When we sat in silence on the terrace reading that day, he suddenly looked at me and said, “What if death was like switching off the light in our room.”
It was precisely that, only I cannot roll over and reach for him here.

Here, it’s cold and dark. A weird sense of familiarity washes over me. I felt home in the dark. I think darkness is a place nobody should be accustomed to.

But so much of it prevails in this world, everyday feels like winter in Sweden. I haven’t been there, only heard of it.

I’ve been waiting for 49 hours now. Neither my family nor my husband Adarsh has claimed my body. Do they know I’m dead? Are they okay? I’m worried.

Baby, where are you?
Come, take me home.