What Will Happen to Me?

What Will Happen to Me?

The autumn wind blew softly through the trees, carrying with it the gentle rustle of fallen leaves. In a small, modest house at the edge of the village, an old woman named Kamala sat by the window, her frail hands resting on her lap, her eyes fixed on the horizon. It was a question that had been haunting her for days, months even: What will happen to me?

Kamala had lived a long life, one filled with both joy and sorrow. She had raised two children, cared for her ailing husband until his last breath, and seen the village grow and change over the decades. Her hair had turned silver long ago, and her once-strong body had grown weak. Now, she lived alone, her children having moved to the city for work, visiting her only occasionally.

As she gazed out of the window, the world outside seemed distant, almost foreign. The fields where she once played with her children had become unfamiliar, and the faces of the villagers, younger now, seemed to pass by without notice. Kamala felt herself drifting further away from the world she once knew, and the weight of loneliness settled heavily on her heart.

What will happen to me? she asked herself again, the question lingering like a shadow in her mind. The future felt uncertain, like a dark path with no end in sight. She had heard stories of old people being sent to care homes, or worse, being forgotten entirely. It was a fear that gnawed at her, a fear that she would become invisible, that her life would fade into nothingness.

One chilly evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Kamala’s granddaughter, Meera, came to visit. Meera had always been a bright and energetic child, full of curiosity and love for her grandmother. She had grown up visiting Kamala every summer, listening to her stories, and playing in the fields with her. But as Meera grew older, the visits became less frequent, and life in the city began to pull her away.

That evening, Meera found her grandmother sitting by the window, her eyes distant, her posture tired. "Nani," Meera said softly, kneeling beside her, "How are you feeling?"

Kamala turned to look at her granddaughter, her eyes filling with a mix of love and sadness. "I’m getting old, Meera," she whispered. "And I worry. What will happen to me when I can’t take care of myself anymore? What will happen when you all forget about me?"

Meera’s heart ached at the sight of her grandmother’s vulnerability. She took Kamala’s hands in her own and said, "Nani, we could never forget you. You’re the heart of our family. You’ve given us so much—your love, your wisdom, your stories. How could we ever let go of that?"

But Kamala shook her head, her voice trembling. "I’ve seen it happen before. People grow old, and then they’re left alone, like the leaves that fall from the tree, waiting for the wind to carry them away. I don’t want to be a burden, but… I’m afraid. What will happen to me?"

Meera’s eyes filled with tears as she held her grandmother’s hands tightly. "You are not a burden, Nani. You never were, and you never will be. You’ve always been our strength, our guide. I promise you, we will never let you feel forgotten."

For a moment, there was silence between them, the quiet broken only by the soft rustling of the wind outside. Meera knew that her words were only part of what Kamala needed. She needed more than promises—she needed to feel secure, to know that she would be loved and cared for, no matter what the future held.

Over the next few weeks, Meera made a decision. She rearranged her life, deciding to move back to the village, not far from her grandmother’s home. She could work remotely, and though the city had always been her home, she realised that Kamala needed her more than any job or city life could offer.

At first, Kamala protested, telling Meera that she didn’t need to give up her life in the city just for her. But Meera was determined. "Nani, this is what I want. I want to be here with you, to take care of you. I want to make sure you never feel alone."

And so, life in the small house changed. The days became brighter with Meera’s presence. Together, they cooked meals, shared stories, and sat by the window, watching the seasons change. Kamala’s fears slowly began to ease, replaced by the warmth of her granddaughter’s love and companionship.

One winter evening, as they sat by the fire, Kamala looked at Meera and whispered, "I was so afraid of what would happen to me. But now I know… I will be alright."

Meera smiled and held her grandmother close. "Yes, Nani. You will always be alright."

And in that moment, Kamala understood that the fear of being forgotten, the fear of what would happen to her, had melted away. She wasn’t alone. She never would be.

In the end, it wasn’t the uncertainty of the future that mattered. It was the love that surrounded her, the connection she had with her family, that gave her peace. The question that had once filled her heart with fear was answered not with words, but with the simple, beautiful presence of those who loved her.

Kamala knew now that no matter what the future held, love would carry her through. And that was enough.