I remember calling my family one by one. I remember talking to my sister who broke down on the phone call. I remember making calls to his friends and giving them the news. I remember crying the entire time I was waiting to board the flight. I remember a kind stranger who offered me water. I remember another one who bought me a sandwich. I remember feeling absolutely numb the entire flight home. I remember wondering what his last thoughts were. I remember thinking I was not strong enough to see him. I remember my dad and his friends waiting to pick me up at the airport. I remember falling in my mom’s arms and shaking with grief. I remember my little brother trying to console me.

I spent the entire night sitting beside his coffin. I cried myself to sleep on his mother’s lap. I was surrounded by his friends who loved him and were worried about me. We exchanged stories about him and laughed. Next day he was to be cremated. In Hindu custom, women aren’t allowed to go to the crematorium. But his uncle said ‘screw that’ and took me and his mother along. I saw his father perform the last rites for his only son. I watched as his body entered the furnace. I turned to my best friend and told her I was scared. She held my hand and his mother held the other. As I saw him engulfed in flames, I whispered “I love you” one last time…