I was sitting in my garden, enjoying the golden hues of the evening sun. Suddenly, I heard an unfamiliar voice. When I turned around, I saw the Lord standing there, telling me that I had only four days left.

I didn’t know what to do.

When there is so much to think about, you often find yourself unable to think at all. As the reality of my life’s countdown began to sink in, I realised I would have to leave this beautiful world - to part forever from all my loved ones.

I believe life is beautiful when we are surrounded by those we love and by those who need us. But now, knowing that my time is limited, I must make the few hours I have left meaningful, so that my loved ones feel happy and cherished - at least as much as I can make them. Every second now feels precious. I have begun to understand the true value of time.

I started thinking about all the moments I had postponed - visiting my aging parents, calling my old friends. I regretted not playing with my kids when they asked me last night. I wished I had helped my wife in the kitchen when she was unwell last week. I regretted forgetting our wedding anniversary, thinking there would always be another time.

But now, there is no “next time.”

Regret started haunting me deeply.

I now had to decide: Should I tell my dear ones that these would be our final days together? Or should I keep this knowledge to myself and simply spend my last moments with them in love and silence?

I know how hard it would be for them to accept such news. Their sorrow would multiply mine. So, I decided not to tell anyone that I was counting my last moments in this world. I would instead spend every remaining second with them, making them smile.

I believe that a life becomes truly meaningful when someone around us smiles because of us - when we are able to help those in need.

I kept repeating the phrase, “my loved ones.” But who are they?

They are my parents, my wife, my children, my friends, my teachers, my well-wishers - all those who surround me with care and kindness.

My parents - who lived their entire lives for me, nurturing me from a fragile bud into full bloom - are now aging and and need my support.

My wife - who entered my life with the belief that I would be with her till her last breath - deserves every bit of love I can offer in return.

To bid them all goodbye would be the most heartbreaking thing.

I could already feel the fear of death - its silence, its coldness. The thought of lying alone in a coffin, away from all those I love, terrified me.

But I still have a few days. I will take them all to my childhood home - far from the hustle of the city - in the hope that, at least, my death won't be hurried.

That home has a big mango tree under which we played till dark. The juicy malgova mangoes must still be there, waiting for me to taste them. The pond, no longer as green, still gives me goosebumps with its cold water. The temple where I saw her for the first time, where we tied the knot, will await us.

I want to hold her hand and sit there - just for a while.

I want to eat my favourite dishes, lovingly cooked by my mother. Maybe it’s the taste, or maybe it’s her love that makes it special - I still don't know. I want to play one more game of chess with my father. I wish he would still beat me, or else I would let him win. I want to ride my old bicycle with my sister on the back.

There is so much I want to do. Would a single day be enough? I don’t know.

I know I could break into tears at any moment, but I keep reminding myself that even a second of sadness in front of them is a loss too great to bear.

I would call upon my lawyer friend to arrange my will, ensuring I leave no burden behind. Debts of money I can repay, but the debt of love - that remains unanswered.

Life becomes a play, and the hardest role to perform is smiling while hiding immense sorrow. I think she - my wife - has sensed it. But she chooses silence. Her eyes tell me: We’ll meet again in another world.

And now, the final day has arrived.

I lie beside her. I ask her to sing my favourite song. I wish to leave this world through her voice, in our bed, in her lap. I won’t let her know. Let her think I’m asleep.

Yes, this is the death I had hoped for.

And yet, I wonder: If I - healthy and strong - struggle to plan my last four days, how can someone with terminal illness plan their last days? Every time they see someone, they must speak as though it might be the last time. They must say goodbye as if it’s final - because they never know when that last second will come.

I can now sense the fear of death in their eyes, the silence in their ears, the coldness in their hands. So many live every second wondering: Will this breath be my last?

Even as I fly toward another world, I leave behind this question:
If I have another life… Will I live it differently?