**A Hole in Your Heart**

I knew my time was running out. Spinal osteomyelitis surgery was looming on the horizon, and not many survived that ordeal. I didn't expect to be one of the lucky ones. As I walked towards my hospital room, fear gnawed at me. I was only 17 years old. "Why, God?" I muttered. "Why me? What about my mom?" I had always held God accountable for my troubles.

"Ayush, you're here," my mom said.

"Yeah, but who is she?" I replied.

A young girl of about 6 or 7 sat on my bed. "Oh, she's actually... She's my friend's daughter. Can you take care of her?" my mom asked.

"What! Do you think I'm a babysitter?" I retorted.

My mom's tone grew stern. "I'm not requesting, Ayush. I'm ordering you."

"But what about her mom? Is she careless?" I inquired.

"Shut up! She doesn't have a father, and her mom works tirelessly to support her. So, please don't be cruel," my mom insisted.

"But..." I started.

"No 'buts.' I'm not requesting; I'm ordering," my mom declared before leaving the room.

"Hey, you! Want to play with me?" the little girl said.

"No, you can play alone, kid," I replied.

She countered, "I'm not requesting; I'm ordering you, old man."

"What!?" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, be my prince, okay?" she said.

And so, my unexpected journey began.

"Yay! Let's start!!!" she shouted.

Every day became a routine, with her bossing me around. I felt like a babysitter, but surprisingly, I couldn't resist her charm. The good thing was that my depression waned, and I started laughing again.

Then, one day, while checking my phone, I discovered my classmates had been hurling abuse at me, calling me a cheater, traitor, and deceitful. I was baffled. I approached one of them, asking why. He said it was because I had promised to complete a project for them. My mood soured. How heartless could they be, expecting me to fulfill their demands while I faced surgery?

That's when the little girl burst into the room, ordering me to be her horse. Annoyed, I shouted, "Just stay quiet!" Silence hung in the air, but it was broken by her uncontrollable sobs. I regretted my outburst immediately. "I'm sorry," I muttered, hugging her tightly, unsure of how to comfort her.

The next day, she didn't visit.

I was filled with remorse. How could I apologize?

In the afternoon, while I was napping, I felt someone holding me tightly, radiating warmth. I opened my eyes, and there she was, sleeping beside me. I gave her a piece of chocolate and offered a heartfelt apology.

Tomorrow marked the day of my surgery.

I spent the entire day confined to my room, but she never came. The next day, as I prepared to leave for surgery, I decided to visit her. Her mother was in tears.

"What happened?" I asked.

"My daughter... she's gone," she replied.

"What? How?" I questioned.

"She had a hole in her heart... she passed away yesterday," her mother explained.

I stumbled out of her room, tears streaming down my face. The weight of my own impending surgery suddenly felt inconsequential compared to the loss of the little girl who had brought light to my life.

As I lay on the operating table, waiting for the anesthesia to take hold, I couldn't help but think about her. The fear and uncertainty that had gripped me before seemed trivial. I realized that her brief presence had changed me profoundly. I had gone from a despairing teenager to someone who had experienced the profound impact of human connection.



© mayorisan