Shabd Heer was known for keeping it together.
He could stitch up a skull with trembling hands around him and still keep his pulse steady.
He was calm. Reliable.
The one people leaned on when things got too loud.
But lately, silence had become his enemy.
Because it wasn't filled with peace anymore.
It was filled with her laugh, echoing somewhere far away.
The version of Vashti Dhiman that existed now wasn't the one who used to chase him down corridors with flushed cheeks and untied hair.
This Vashti walked past him with confidence, not need.
Smiled at other men with the softness she used to save only for him.
And the worst part?
He missed the chaos.
He missed the slammed doors.
The angry eyes.
The way she used to yell at him, "Why are you so calm when I'm falling apart?!"
He used to think her fire was too much.
Now, he felt cold without it.
Late one night, he found himself scrolling through old photos on his phone.
And there it was.
The picture.
Vashti, asleep in the interns' lounge. Curled up like a storm finally resting.
His thumb hovered over it.
Delete?
Or hold on?
He couldn't bring himself to erase her.
Because even though she was moving on…
He wasn't ready to.
He ran into Armaan two days later. They exchanged the usual nods doctors do in passing.
Then Armaan stopped and said, "You ever realize too late you had something rare?"
Shabd paused. "What do you mean?"
Armaan smiled slightly. "Just wondering how long you'll pretend you're not in love with her."
He walked off before Shabd could answer.
Because there was no point.
Everyone else had already seen it.
Everyone but Shabd.
Until now.
And it hit him like a migraine behind his ribs:
He wasn't scared of Vashti's love.
He was scared of what she'd do without him.
And now that she was proving she could—
It was slowly, painfully, breaking him.
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