I knocked on the front door.

“Trisha,” I called, but no answer. “Trisha, it’s me Yuvraj.” Still no answer.

I started to worry and pushed the door open with all my might. The door flew open. I stared at the house for a good few seconds as I was walking in. “Trisha?”

The first floor was scattered with clothes, books, shoes, utensils, and almost every single piece furniture was knocked to the ground. My heart started beating tremendously. “TRISHA!” I screamed. I looked everywhere for her. Everywhere. I started going to every single room screaming her name. I was freaking out. My heart was thumping so hard that it felt like I could hear it.

Then I heard a moan. “Trisha?” I called. I did not which room it was coming from. “Trisha? Where are you?” I ran to every single room one more time screaming her name. I heard her moan again. I ran into the room that she had forbidden me from entering. I tried to open the door but it was locked.

“Trisha, it’s me Yuvraj, I know you told me not to come in, but open the door.” No sound. I knew she told me not to go in, but this was a matter of life or death. I took a deep breath and knocked the door down.

The door flew open. I stood there and observed the room for a second. It was a mess. I ran in and looked for her. “Trisha, Trisha, where the fu…..” I froze. I felt something sticky on my shoes, I looked down and saw a pool of blood. I started praying that that wasn’t hers.

I froze. I heard the moaning sound again. I looked around the room and there I saw her. “Trisha!” I ran to her and noticed how she had a deep slit on her wrist as well a choke mark on her neck. “Trisha!” I did not waste time sitting on my knees and crying. Inside, I was filling up with tears and I just wanted to let it all out, but I had to take her to the hospital first. So I grabbed a piece of cloth and immediately tied it around her wrist, picked her up and headed to my car. I was angry, mad, frustrated, sad, filled with so many emotions. I kept looking back at her while I was driving.

When we finally got to the hospital, I could not wait for the nurses to bring a stretcher out so I just carried her in. “Is there a doctor available? Where the f*ck is the doctor!”

A nurse ran towards me. “Sir, is everything alright,” she said.

I look at her, frustrated. “Do you not see my girlfriend in my arms? Do you not see blood dripping down her wrist? Nothing is alright, I need a doctor. I need someone to cure her, please help.”

The nurse ran to get a doctor and I followed. “Sir, there is this patient who is in a critical situation, please do help her,” she told the doctor.

The doctor ran out of his office and saw Trisha in my arms. “Oh, dear. Nurse, please have her admitted and have her in the ICU. I’ll be in there shortly.”

I followed the nurse to the ICU and put Trisha on the stretcher since I could not go in. I was freaking out about what had happened to her. Did she cut herself? Did someone force her to do it? Why were there marks on her neck? What the f*ck happened? I had so many questions, yet no one to get answers from. I saw the doctor heading towards ICU and stopped him.

“Please, doctor,” I pleaded. “Please save her, please, I beg of you. If needed I am willing to give her my blood but please save her.”

He grabbed my shoulders and nodded. “Son, have faith in lord.” And he walked into the ICU room.

I then filled out the applications needed. A few hours later, the doctor came out.

“Doctor, doctor, is she okay? How is she? Is she okay? Can I see her? Please say something.”

He smiled. “She is fine, son, she is absolutely fine. She is weak, in fact very weak, so you cannot meet her at this instant, but you can in a few hours.” He then started walking but then stopped and headed back towards me. “Son, I have something to tell you.”

I looked at him, confused.

“Can you come to my office?”

I nodded. As we were walking, I was wondering what he was going to tell me. We walked in and sat down. He took off his glasses, drank water, and breathed out loudly. “Would you like something to drink or eat?” he offered.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“Did you two, by any chance, get into an argument?” he asked.

I was shocked. “No,” I said, confused, “why would you ask that?”

He came forward in his chair. “Trisha was trying to commit suicide.”

I was stunned. Why would she want to kill herself? What happened?

“Do you know of anything that might have have happened or any such thing that would make her want her to kill herself?” he asked.

I did not hear him. In my mind, I was still questioning myself to why on earth she would try to kill herself. What on earth?

“No,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

“She tried to strangle herself and she cut her wrist. She was in a critical condition but she is now better,” he said. He looked at me surprised. “Son, the nurse told me that Trisha is your girlfriend. Do you really not know why she did that to herself?” he asked.

I looked at him and took a huge gulp. “No, sir, I’m sorry, my mind isn’t working.”

“It’s okay, son, it’s okay, I understand. You can come and meet her in a few hours. In that case, you should go and get freshened up, you have blood all over your clothes.” We shook hands and I left. As I was heading to the lift I was wondering why she would try to kill herself. She never mentioned anything to me. Then I remembered what the doctor asked me. Sadly, we weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend.

Instead of heading home, I decided to go to her place. I had spare clothes in my car and I decided to go to there. I walked into her room, tidied up the place, and put up as much furniture as I could. Then I realized I had to go clean the room she forbade me to go in. I went in and cleaned her blood, the room and everything. As I was cleaning the desk I noticed several diaries laying there and one open with blood on it. I grabbed the diary and skimmed through it and noticed that it was Trisha’s. “Maybe if I read her diaries I’ll find out what actually happened.” But then I felt guilt. I did not want to read her diaries since diaries are personal journals and all. Therefore, I just put all the diaries in a stack and left.

But then, I felt like I should just take a glimpse of it. I reopened the diary and read it. I held my breathe when I read the last sentence that she wrote: "He does not like me because he likes someone else. I hate my life.” I looked up.

She tried to commit suicide because of me.