Borrowed Heart - By Allison Bothley

Ravi woke in a haze of anesthesia, chest heavy under the dressings. A dull pain crested and declined with each breath, punctuated by the beep of the machines. He felt like shit, but he was alive. His original heart had given out under a life well lived and he’d received an upgrade thanks to another man’s unfortunate meeting with a warehouse wall just off the interstate.

Burdened from childhood, old lovers used to joke that Ravi must keep his heart locked away in the attic. So, he was surprised when he began experiencing waves of emotion, unlike anything he’d felt before. The dingy walls of the hospital offered no solace from the onslaught of sadness, grief, and rage. And the crying. That was embarrassing.

Reluctantly, he told the doctor, but she waved it off as an unusual side effect that would pass while smothering her grin. Yet, as he grew stronger and left the hospital, the feelings took on a steady cadence, accompanied by dreams that seemed plucked from another man’s memory.

Maybe that’s why Ravi found himself standing outside the donor’s suburban home one morning, heart pounding as if attempting to propel him forward with the force of its beat.

When the widow appeared at the door, her eyes widened in disbelief. She must have recognized him from the news—the man who carried her husband's heart.

Ravi felt love for the woman rise, tainted by the specter of betrayal. In a moment of clarity, he relived the final seconds before the accident and the realization of treachery as she angled the car towards the grey brick.

The encounter was surreal yet charged with unspoken tension. Ravi, still grappling with the influx of alien feelings now deeply intertwined with his being, struggled to find the right words. His hand trembled slightly as he gestured towards his chest, where the borrowed heart pounded, a palpable reminder of the life lost and the life saved.

"I know what you did," Ravi finally managed to say.

 The widow’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’, black-tinted tears cutting through the facade of her grief.

“I...I don’t…”

"Thank you," he said, the words laden with a weight far beyond gratitude.

Confusion deepened in the widow’s eyes, her stance faltering. The heart pounded in his ears and urged action, some recourse, but Ravi turned away. He was the man who held his heart at arm's length. He was the master of his body, his emotions. This time would be no different. He would consider it a win-win, and the heart would have to come along for the ride.

But as he walked home under a canopy of clouds, a sudden pain pierced through him. Panic flickered across his face as he clutched his chest, feeling the heart falter. He fumbled for his phone, stabbing the code with sweaty fingers, but it was no use. Gasping for air, Ravi stumbled to his knees on the cold pavement. He lay on the road staring back at the widow’s blue and white house, the darkness closing in around him. The heart beat a rallentando until his borrowed time ran out.