The Broken Needle Someone was calling out to him. He recognised the voice but couldn’t believe it. It was melody to his ears. This can’t be possible, he thought. “Varun!” said the voice again. It was coming from downstairs. He opened his bedroom door and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He has returned Varun followed the source of the sound to the kitchen. There he was! His father stood in front of the window, smiling at Varun; The sun shone behind him and in the early morning light, he looked like an angel with their garden being the picturesque background. Varun ran and hugged his father, not wanting to let go. “Don’t ever leave me alone. Don’t ever leave me alone.” “What are you talking about Varun? I’m right here.” “PROMISE”, shouted Varun looking up at his father. But it was not his father who stared back down. It was a woman in her 30s, her eyes red from mourning the death of her husband. “Are you all right?’, asked his mother. He’s dead. He’s not coming back. Ever, he thought ruefully. Varun let go of his mother and sat down on the table. She ruffled his hair and placed a bowl of cereal in front of him. She sat down next to him with an earnest look in her eyes. Varun knew that look. She wanted to talk. “Mom, I’m really not in the mood right now” “If you could just talk about-“ “Do you think talking about my dead dad makes it easier?”, he said fiercely. “Talking HELPS Varun. My psychiatrist thinks that you should have a session with her as well” “Yes because it’s definitely helping you right? Look at yourself mom. You haven’t slept for a week, your hair’s a mess and you sit in bed all day except when you go see that stupid psychiatrist. Is that what you call successful coping?” There was a pregnant pause and then his mom sighed. She patted him on the back and got up from the table. “I am going out to arrange for the cremation. I’ll see you at lunch.” She left the kitchen and five minutes later, Varun heard their car leaving the driveway. Varun pushed his bowl aside and got up from the table. He went back up the stairs and threw himself into his bed. His eyes fell upon a photo of him and his dad, when they had gone on a trek together. Why did you leave? He sighed and closed his eyes. His father had died in a car crash two weeks back. Since then, Varun had lost track of time. He wasn’t aware of what he was doing and his mother herself was too sad to notice anything. His world had been ripped apart. His parents were the needles who would always stitch him up. But this time, one of the needles had broken. And the other couldn’t function alone. How will I ever live again, with this tear always nabbing at me, threatening to get bigger? Won’t it be easier to just end it all? No more suffering? Varun opened his eyes and looked at the fan above his bed. He had come to a decision. And he wouldn’t back down. He removed his sweatshirt and made a knot from its sleeves. He tied it around his neck and stood up, his eyes not leaving the fan. I’m sorry mom. More than 70,0000 people die by suicide every year, which is one person every 40 seconds. If you're undergoing and something and need help, just remember, you are not alone. We're in it together. And we'll win.