The white ceiling above stared down like an unfamiliar sky — vast, sterile, unfeeling.
Maholi blinked once.
Then again.
Her throat burned with dryness, her limbs heavy as if she'd been dragging the weight of unshed tears in her sleep. But the ache in her chest — that was the sharpest. Like her heart had been wrung out and left to crack beneath a merciless sun.
And then…
She felt it.
A warmth. Alive. Anchoring.
His hand.
Curled around hers — gently, protectively, as if he was afraid she might vanish if he let go.
She turned her head slowly.
Abir sat there, eyes rimmed with red, his stubble unshaved, hair a disheveled mess. His once-pristine shirt was creased and spotted, like it had absorbed the weight of a night spent in silence and regret.
Her hand — trapped in his.
She yanked it back like it burned.
"Don't," she whispered, her voice raw. "Don't touch me."
Abir recoiled as if struck.
"You fainted," he murmured. "You weren't waking up. I was scared—"
"Oh, now you're scared?" she said, her voice trembling with barely-contained fury. "You ignored my calls. My messages. You let her answer your phone. And then you stood there—next to Ruchika—while the world celebrated your engagement."
Her voice cracked. Her vision blurred. But she didn't stop.
"You let me look like the mistake. Like a secret you never meant to keep."
Abir stood abruptly, pacing once — his fists clenched like he was holding something inside that threatened to explode.
"I didn't know," he said, breath uneven. "I never asked for that announcement. It was my father. The PR. Ruchika. I didn't agree to anything."
"Then why didn't you say something?" she snapped, every syllable like a dagger. "Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you defend me?"
"Because I was going to!" he shouted, finally losing control. "That night — that exact moment — I was going to tell everyone that I love you."
Her breath caught.
The hospital room felt suddenly too still.
Too quiet.
"You what?" she asked, barely breathing.
"I love you," he said again — softer this time, like it had always been there, just buried under fear. "I didn't say it before because I was a coward. You made me feel things I hadn't let myself feel in years. Peace. Longing. Hope. You made me want home."
Her chest rose and fell with sharp, shallow breaths.
"So you hurt me instead?" she whispered. "Punished me for loving you?"
His gaze dropped to the floor. Shame coated his voice.
"Because I thought I didn't deserve it," he said. "I thought if I let myself love you… I'd lose you too."
Her expression faltered.
"Lose me? Like who?"
He looked up slowly. His eyes — glassy now — held something deeper. Older. Pain that had roots in another time.
"The woman who saved my life," he said. "I was ten. There was an accident — debris everywhere. And she… she shielded me. Took the hit herself. I never remembered her face. I just remembered her words."
He paused. Swallowed hard.
"She whispered: Protect her. My daughter. And then she was gone."
Maholi's world tilted.
"I didn't remember until I saw you," he continued, voice breaking. "The girl who wore her necklace. The one I couldn't stop looking at… even before I knew why."
Her lips parted. The necklace. Her mother. The eyes that once begged a stranger to save her daughter.
She felt like she couldn't breathe.
He stepped closer, cautious.
"It was your mother, Maholi," he said gently. "I was there. You were there. I didn't understand it at first, and when I finally remembered… I was terrified."
A tear slipped down her cheek. This time, she let it fall.
"And what now?" she asked, voice hollow. "What are we supposed to do with all this? The silence… the damage…"
Abir's hand reached out slowly. This time, he didn't take hers.
He cupped her face — featherlight, trembling.
"We hold on to it," he whispered. "We give meaning to her sacrifice. Because your mother died protecting me… and all I've done is hurt the one person she loved most."
Their foreheads met.
Her lashes fluttered closed, and they breathed in the stillness between them — heavy, but shared.
"I'm sorry," he said against her skin. "For everything. For being too late. For not being brave."
She didn't reply at first.
Then her fingers gently curled around his wrist.
"Then prove it," she whispered.
He didn't kiss her.
Not yet.
But this time… she didn't pull away.
Because finally — finally — the silence had shattered.
And what remained between them… was truth.