After 4 PM, he stepped out of the class.
The corridor felt unusually quiet, though the chatter of students echoed faintly in the background. His legs moved forward, but his mind... it fought him with every step. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around—to go to her. To sit by her side. To hold her the way he did by the classroom door that day, when she was about to fill her water bottle and he was returning with his.
That moment wasn't planned. But this time... he wanted it to be. And that was scary.
She wasn't small, not exactly. But there was something in her that felt... fragile. And he had liked that. Liked that she didn't need saving, but he still wanted to be the one who'd catch her if she ever slipped.
His hand clenched around the strap of his bag.
No.
He shook the thought out of his head, jaw tightening.
This wasn't the time.
He turned—not towards the hospital, not towards her—but to the college's main gate. His steps were heavy but certain. He walked out.
And somewhere not too far away, between the soft hum of IV drips and the sterile chill of hospital air, she lay sleeping.
Still. Silent. Alone.
He thought the fresh air outside the gates would calm him.
It didn't.
The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the pavement. The golden hue made everything feel heavier. He walked past the chai tapri, where laughter floated in the air, cups clinked, and life went on—untouched by his chaos.
But none of it reached him.
His mind was elsewhere—in a white room, beside a beeping monitor, holding a hand he couldn't.
He stopped walking.
Something inside tugged—gently at first, then harder. A memory. Her soft voice. Her brows furrowed in concentration during practicals. The way she fiddled with her sleeve when nervous. The way she blinked slowly when tired.
Why did he remember all that?
Why did he care?
His phone buzzed. A message from a group chat—memes, notes. Nothing from Aditi. Nothing about Aanya.
The silence was louder than any ringtone.
He sat near the gate on the low boundary wall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. It felt like a storm was brewing inside him, and he didn't know how—or when—it would break.
Was he overthinking? Maybe.
Was he supposed to care this much? Probably not.
But he did.
And that terrified him.
---
Meanwhile, in a quiet room on the second floor of the hospital, Aanya stirred. Barely. Her lashes fluttered, just for a second, before she sank back into the warmth of the pillow. She didn't wake—not yet. But something in her breath shifted—like she was reaching for a name, even in her dreams.
Aditi watched from the chair beside her bed, half-asleep, half-alert. She didn't know he was thinking about her. She didn't know his world had shifted even though he hadn't said a word.
But Aditi had known them both long enough to guess.
And she had seen the tremor in his hands.