It was eleven at night. After dinner, Akash stood on the balcony, feeling the gentle night breeze. The moon hid its face behind a bank of clouds. Crickets sang from the trees, and far off, a lone lamppost blinked stubbornly in the dark.
Akash stared into that darkness, folding and unfolding the uncertain future inside his head. Thoughts swung back and forth. Then his phone shattered the quiet. An “Unknown” number flashed on the screen. It didn’t look like family.
Irritated, he picked up. “Hello? Who is this?” he asked, his voice brisk.
A sweet voice answered, “Hello, Raju? It’s Payel.”
Ugh, a nuisance. This was the last thing he wanted—odd calls at a time like this. He cut the call off with a curt “wrong number” and gave the other person no chance to speak.
Akash had completed his medical degree and finished a year of internship. Soon he was to join a rural hospital on bond—Harinarayanpur. His family home was in north Kolkata, where he’d grown up.
Staring into the thick night, he pictured the village: what would it be like, who would the people be? He’d be back in the city in three years—there were more opportunities, more prestige, private practice waiting. But could he fit into village life for those three years?
His mood was prickly from those worries, and that was probably why he’d been abrupt on the phone. At twenty-six or twenty-seven, he was still single. He’d lived with his nose in books; romance had never stuck. A few proposals, nothing that felt like home. Lately, though, he found himself thinking that a relationship wouldn’t be so bad.
He went inside to bed. Just as he was about to lie down, the same number rang again. This time he answered without irritation. “Yes?”
“Sorry to disturb you again. I hope I didn’t bother you?” the voice asked.
It was so sweet—like a sitar played over the line. All his annoyance vanished. “No, it’s okay. I was in a bad mood earlier… so—actually, I should apologize.”
She laughed. “What are you saying! I’m the one pestering you with a wrong number, and you’re apologizing?” After a pause, “Anyway, since we’re connected by mistake—mind if we talk? Just a little chat?”
Akash realized she wanted to be friends. Normally he might not have cared, but tonight he wanted the company. “Sure. Why not?”
“I’m Payel—Payel Bose. And you?”
“Akash. Akash Roy.”
She said, in a young-sounding voice, “You sound young. Are you single or married?”
Akash smiled. A warm current ran through him. “Completely single. I’m just starting a job. Once life settles a bit, I’ll think about that.”
“Really? Great! What job, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Medicine. I’m joining a hospital soon.”
There was a little gasp of delight on the other end. “Wow—really? I’ve always had a special respect for doctors.”
“Are you a student?” he asked.
“Finished. I work at a private firm. I support myself.”
That one sentence carved a place for her in his mind. “Independent women have my respect. Standing on your own feet matters,” he said.
She smiled. “What can I do—when you have no one, God is there.”
That was their first night. Before hanging up, Payel asked, “Sometimes can I call you at this time? Will that be a problem?”
“I’m free until I join. Call as much as you like. It’ll be good company,” he said.
From then on, almost every night at eleven, Payel called. During the day her number often showed as switched off—she’d explained this: office hours meant a switched-off phone.
Over the next few days, their acquaintance deepened. Akash learned more about Payel. She had no parents, grew up in an orphanage, and had fought to make a life on her own. She’d turned down many improper offers and tried, politely and proudly, to live honestly. The more he heard, the more fond he grew.
One night, Akash asked, “You know, we talk every day, but I don’t even know where you live. You never told me.”
She laughed. “You never told me either. You go first.”
He didn’t want to give his exact address yet, so he said poetically, “I live in a house filled with sunlight and moonlight, with my parents. Now you?”
She replied with a riddle of her own. “Me? I’m a resident of a cold room. The sun never touches me there. I live with my friends.”
Akash chuckled. “What, do you live in Antarctica?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Then we are residents of two different poles,” he joked.
She just hummed a tune in reply.
A few days later, the date for his hospital joining drew close. One night, restless and unable to sleep, Akash said, “We’ve been talking for nearly two months, but I’ve never seen you. I’d like to meet.”
She paused. “Not possible right now, Akash. I’m helpless. But you’re a doctor—one day you’ll meet me.”
“What? Why does being a doctor mean you’ll meet me?” he asked.
“Patients see doctors,” she said. “One day you’ll see me as a patient.”
Akash froze. “Do you have an illness?”
She hesitated. “Yes, Akash. A big one. Something that never goes away.”
The thought of that—such a sweet girl carrying an incurable disease—hit him hard. Yet, in an earnest tone, he said, “Don’t lose hope. I promise I’ll cure you.”
She laughed softly. “We’ll see. First you join the hospital. Then we’ll meet.”
“Promise?” he asked.
“Promise,” she said.
After the call, he sat stunned. He’d fallen for someone, only to hear she might be dying. The idea of losing her hollowed him out.
Two days later he started at the new hospital. It was better than he’d feared—an OT, a morgue; only the doctor was scarce. Just one doctor, one nurse, one staff member besides him.
He spent the first day settling into the quarters. On the second day, he began to work properly—walking the hospital, learning the ropes, then, with Raghu, the hospital compounder, he went to the morgue.
There, along one wall, was the freezer box. Unclaimed bodies were kept there. Recently he’d read reports: body trafficking from rural hospitals had become a ghastly business. Akash wanted to check the register, to count the bodies in the freezer—if anything happened later, responsibility would fall on him, and he didn’t want that chaos.
“Bring the register, Raghu,” he said, “I want to cross-check these cases.”
Raghu returned with the register, and together they opened freezer after freezer, matching names to entries. After the fourth box, they reached the fifth. Raghu said, “Sir, this one’s sad. There was no doctor here; your predecessor was on leave. She was admitted around eleven at night about four months ago with a high fever—typhoid.”
Raghu paused, shaking his head. “As a compounder, I tried my best with whatever I knew, sir, but I couldn’t save her. She died without proper treatment. No one came for the body, so she’s here.”
Akash opened the box. Inside lay a girl as if asleep—her face calm and innocent. He read the name aloud: “Payel Bose.”
His eyebrows knotted. He repeated the name to himself. Could it be the same Payel? How could the girl he spoke to every night be dead?
Raghu added, “The girl’s name was Payel Bose. She lived right in the next neighborhood. She worked at a private company.”
In a shaky voice, Akash said, “Strange coincidence. I know a Payel too—works at a private firm, also an orphan.”
Raghu blinked. “Really? Where’s her home?”
At that question, a lightning-flash of memory struck Akash—his whole body broke out in goosebumps. Payel had said she lived in a cold room with friends where the sun never reached. This freezer was a cold room; sunlight never reached in either. And there were many others like her in here.
“Is there a phone number on her file?” he asked quickly.
“Yes, sir,” Raghu replied. “She submitted her phone at the time of admission. It’s in the file.”
Akash matched the number on the register with his phone. It was the same. Raghu shrugged, “But since admission, her phone’s been off in our storeroom.”
A cold sweat broke out on Akash’s forehead. He pushed the freezer closed without answering Raghu’s words.
As he turned, a voice brushed his ear as though from the cold: “Didn’t I tell you? Join the hospital, then we would meet. I kept my promise, Akash.”
His chest tightened. He opened his mouth, but no sound came.
Raghu sighed. “These village hospitals—no one lasts here more than a few years. When the doctor goes, everything empties out. For poor folks like us, life has little value. Many die without treatment.”
A tear tracked down Akash’s cheek. Now he understood what it meant to lose someone for lack of care. Payel’s death had taught him that grief.
He looked at Raghu and said, with iron in his voice, “I’m not going anywhere, Raghu. Not until I’m transferred. If need be, I’ll practice here my whole life. I won’t let another patient die unattended while I’m here. I promise.”
