Kal a Jayga: Tomorrow Will Come
Alternate ending to Kal Ho Na Ho. Naina really lets Aman make too many of the decisions. The day of the wedding, she decides to take her fate into her own hands.
Author's Note: I think that Aman is a lot more serious on the inside than he is on the outside. Hence, his "inner" voice, as I have written it, is not quite as lighthearted as his "outer" voice.
Chapter Three: Aman
Why does dying have to hurt so much? Not only the constant thud thud, thud thud thud, thud, thud thud of my heart against my ribs – but the tears in Naina's eyes, the pain in Rohit's voice – they hurt more than a heart attack, and I've had several of those.
My mother stopped me running after Naina when she left. The look in her eyes reminded me that I'd nearly given myself another episode yesterday, charging halfway across town. I was lucky, yesterday. My heart is reminding me, too, that I probably won't be so lucky today.
Luck. Huh. I seem to have run out of that stuff altogether – luck and time both. Priya's eyes tell me that much. Even her "stupid doctor face" can't hide the fact that she's more scared every time she sees me. And I'm running out of things to distract me from the fact that I'm pretty scared, too.
Naina was a distraction, for a while. I was able to lose my fear and the constant, deadening thump of my own heartbeats in her eyes for a while – but now even she reminds me that soon, soon, I will lose her; will lose all of what I have loved. Well, more accurately, they will lose me. I will be reborn into another form, forgetting everything about this life.
According to Naina's religion, apparently, I will go up to heaven and be an angel. That would be okay, too. Then I will remember. I will be able to watch Naina and Rohit and their life together and be happy, maybe.
The bus shifts gears and the seat rumbles under me. I am close to my stop – I can see the glass-sided building where Rohit works, rising high above the sidewalk in front of me. The bus lurches to a halt and I run down the steps. My heart is racing. It feels like being punched in the chest, rapidly and rhythmically.
So. I will take it slowly. Good, anyway – give Rohit more time to talk Naina out of breaking their engagement. I'm not really sure what I'm going to say to her, anyway. The "I don't love you" line is getting harder and harder to pull off; it's getting to be a bigger lie every day.
As I walk across the polished granite floor of the lobby and into the elevator, as I watch the numbers climb on the display, I am squishing my love far down into my chest, an air bubble that wants to rise to the top of the pool and burst into song. I have to do this. Once upon a time, it had been so easy to lie to Naina, to hide my love and my pain and my fear. To tell her that Priya was my wife, to help Rohit reveal his love, to pretend that their happy ending would make me happy.
Well, it would make me happy, as happy as I could be, anyway. As happy as a world without Naina could be.
Rohit's office is down the hallway, and I take the time walking down it to fix my face into a carefree smile. Bursting into the office, I turn to Naina as a magnet turns to the north. She is standing near one of the walls, which is really just a huge window. Rohit is behind his desk. This separation, this distance, between them, does not comfort me.
"Naina," I say remonstratively, "your mother was very surprised when you left your pithi ceremony so suddenly." She is staring at me wordlessly, and something is glittering in her eyes, something that is as strong and as beautiful as crystal. I try to continue with my speech. "You know I can't sit through a mother's . . ."
"You never told us," Rohit says loudly, cutting me off. I look at him properly for the first time and see that he's on the phone. He is also staring at me, and there is a strange, stretched-looking grin on his face. "You never told us that you still had a chance."
"What on earth are you talking about, Rohit?" I glance between them – Naina with her unreadable eyes, Rohit with that strange smile.
"Money may not be able to buy you happiness, Aman," Rohit says, and somehow the stretched grin turns into a big, stupid smile - "But it can certainly buy you heart surgery." He holds up his desk phone. "I called Priya. She's still on the line."
I stumble forward. The phone is by my ear. "Priya, is this idiot making any sense to you?" I say, striving for calm.
There are tears in her voice, but she laughs as she says, "Oh, Aman . . ."
"Is what he says true?" I put on my firmest voice. "Priya doctor, you never told me about this surgery!"
"We discussed it – oh, months ago, years even. With your insurance, even with the Heart Foundation fund, it would have been too expensive. Specialists in Switzerland, six or seven surgeries, months in rehab – but, oh, Aman, if it works, yaar . . ."
"How long, Priya," I manage to say. "Just tell me how long."
The number she whispers is so ludicrous, so unbelievable, so scary almost, that I don't properly hear it. Instead I look at Naina. She stares back at me, and the fire in her beautiful eyes is like a wave of warmth to my suddenly numb body. I hear, on the other end of the line, Priya giving me her usual cautions – about experimental surgeries, about dangers and risks and bed rest (which I cannot stand) but I simply hand the phone back to Rohit. As if I care – now that I have nothing to lose, everything to gain. He is grinning – he says to Priya:
"I think we'll have to hammer out the details later. He's not going to hear it right now."
I don't hear him, either. Naina is in my arms, her warm cheek is pressed against mine. There are no tears now – only that fierce warmth, that fire, that warms me.
"You'll come to Switzerland with me, won't you?" I whisper, running my fingers through her hair. "Only I think the snow will be too cold for me unless I have you there to hug me. Priya is too tall – she's as skinny as a whip –"
Naina laughs. "Are you calling me fat?" She makes to back away, but I don't let her. Only far enough away that I can see her face. The dimple is there, although she is trying to hide it. I know that my dimples are out in full force.
"What I'm saying, Naina Katharine Kapur, is that you'd better try to keep your hands off me – poor Rohit doesn't know where to look." I break into laughter as she blushes and looks over at Rohit.
"Rohit –" she says, but he throws up a hand to stop her.
"It's all right, Naina. I'm glad to be a part of this love story. I'm going into the office next door to call my parents – once I explain everything, they'll be delighted." He passes me, and I let go of Naina for a moment to grab his arm.
"Rohit, thank you." He turns his head reluctantly to look at me, and I see the tears in his eyes. Then he chuckles wetly.
"When I think what you almost made me do, you duffer . . ." he says, and then rushes out of the room.
"Naina . . ." I whisper. Too many times I've said that when I was on my own, to the silence and darkness, enclosed by sadness and loneliness that I had thought would never be lifted. "Naina, Naina, Naina, Naina."
"Aman," she whispers back. She pulls away again, the fire in her eyes burned down to embers, doused by tears.
"You didn't have to make such a big scene back there," I say teasingly. "I'd have run away with you any day of the week. As it is, I'm afraid your Dadi is going to be upset for a day or two."
She smiles, tremulously. "You're just so impossible when you think you know what's best," she said. "Anyways," her voice gains strength, "You'd better get used to scenes. You're among the crazy Kapurs now – yes, and even the crazy Kapoors."
"I wouldn't want anything else." I can't really believe that this is happening. It seems so unbelievable, like a dream suddenly turning into reality - but no dream could be this good. Something in my heart, perhaps the constant pain, is reminding me, punishing me for this selfishness – what if I am just setting Naina up for more pain? "Naina," I say seriously, holding her round chin gently between my fingers, "You don't have to do this, you know. Chances are, I'll still only live for a few years, at most, and . . ."
"Shut up, Aman," she snaps. Her hand steals up to rest over my pounding heart. She stares up at me. "Aman. I can't let you go. Even if this doesn't work, I've got to love you while I have you – kal ho na ho."
I shake my head. "Don't say that. Now I've got something to live for, the future seems much brighter. Tomorrow will come, Naina. Kal a jayga."
THE END (or is it . . . ?)
P.S. To any readers who stumble upon this story who actually speak Hindi, I apologize if my translations of Hindi words or phrases are, umm, incorrect. The only Hindi I know I learned from Bollywood movies, and Google Translate provided the rest. If you have any corrections to offer, please leave it for me in a review or email me! And everyone – leave reviews! I eat 'em up! Even if you HATED it, tell me why (no flames, please – not everyone will like EVERYTHING) so that I can improve my writing. Thanks! ~GS3