I handed him the paper without looking at him.
He read it silently. His eyes moved quickly at first, then slower, as if the meaning was sinking too deep.
He folded the paper carefully—too carefully.
“Not worse ” he murmured. “Not better. Bas… hanging.”
Hanging.
Yes. That was exactly what it felt like.
He sat beside me on the floor, back against the wall.
After a few minutes, he said quietly,
“Lavina, agar kabhi tum… give up karna chaho… I’ll understand.”
I turned sharply.
“Give up? Tum de rahe ho option?”
(You’re giving me the option?)
He looked away. His jaw tightened.
“I’m scared you’re hurting too much.”
“And you think I’m alone in it?” My voice cracked. “You’re hurting too.”
He swallowed hard. His fingers curled into fists.
“I’m supposed to be strong ” he whispered, almost angrily.
“Who told you that?” I shot back.
He didn’t answer.
So I reached out and placed my hand over his fist.
He flinched at the touch just a little like someone who has held pain too tightly for too long.
I moved closer and rested my head against his shoulder.
“Tum bhi toot sakte ho Aarjak ” I said softly.
(You’re allowed to break.)
His breath hitched.
“Bas mere saamne nahi ” he whispered.
(Just not in front of you.)
“Why?”
He inhaled sharply. His voice was barely audible.
“Because if I break… you’ll shatter.”
My eyes stung. His fingers curled around mine and held on, tightly.
Then his forehead touched my hair, his breath warm and dense
We didn’t speak for a long time.
Silence can be cruel.
But that evening, silence felt like a warm rough blanket.
We cooked together without talking much. He chopped vegetables. I stirred dal. Our shoulders brushed occasionally.
Each touch felt like a reassurance and a question at the same time.
During dinner, he finally said,
“Let’s take a break from hospitals. One week. Bas ek hafte ko normal jeeyenge.”
(Let’s take a break from hospitals. One week. We’ll live normally for just one week.)
Normal.
I almost laughed.
But the way he said it like a plea, not a plan made my heart soften.
“A week ? ” I repeated in a questioning tone
He nodded. “Just us.”
I agreed.
Because sometimes you need to step away from hope to survive it.
We lay in bed facing each other.
He touched my cheek with the backs of his fingers.
How can a man's touch be so comforting I never knew until I felt his
12. Something has changed
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