As I looked at his face, every detail seemed to accentuate the struggle he was enduring. His once serene expression now carried the weight of exhaustion, his features slightly weathered and tired. His hair was tousled, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and inner turmoil. It was heartbreaking to witness.
Taking his hand in mine, I spoke softly, my voice tinged with sadness and longing. "Please, wake up," I pleaded, my words carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. "I need you to come back to me. I know things have been difficult, but I believe we can overcome this together."
I continued, my heart heavy with the weight of our shared pain. "You didn't mean to hurt my dad. It wasn't your fault," I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. "I forgive you, Kabir. Please wake up and let's start anew. I miss your smile, your laughter, and the warmth of your presence beside me."
Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the beeping of the monitors. I sat there, holding onto hope and praying for a miracle that would bring him back to me, whole and healed.
I sat there with my head bowed, lost in a sea of thoughts when I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder. It was Sana. "Singh, he's going to be okay. You don't need to worry," she said softly, trying to reassure me.
"Yeah," I replied in a whisper, my gaze distant and unfocused.
She settled beside me, her expression serious. "So, where have you been all this time?" she asked, her curiosity tinged with concern.
I glanced down at my lap, feeling a weight in my chest. "I was with my mom back in my hometown," I admitted quietly.
"Ah," She nodded in understanding before asking hesitantly, "Are things really over between you and Kabir?"
I shrugged, a mixture of emotions swirling inside me. "I don't know, Sana. I honestly have no clue. It feels like it's over, especially since we haven't spoken in over three months."
"What caused it?" she probed, her bravery evident in her question.
"Well," I hesitated, searching for the right words. "You could say it was a misunderstanding and a breakdown in communication, I suppose." The words felt heavy as I spoke them, the reality of the situation sinking in once again.
"He still loves you, you know," She whispered, her words carrying a gentle reassurance.
I sighed softly, my doubts and insecurities weighing heavily on my mind. "I can't be certain, Sana. Who's to say he didn't find someone else during this time?"
She smiled tenderly, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're just trying to protect yourself, Singh. But deep down, you know Kabir better than anyone else. You know he wouldn't betray your trust like that. His feelings for you run deep and they're not easily erased. Just look at the state he's in," she pointed to Kabir's frail form, her voice filled with empathy. "In the time I've been with him, I've seen nothing but his longing for you."
I shook my head in frustration. "Honestly, love and all that can wait. Right now, I just want him to wake up and see that I'm here for him. I'm ready to set aside our past issues and just try to be happy again. I just want him to wake up," I said, my voice trembling with emotion. "Was it really necessary for him to take those pills?" I couldn't help but let my anger seep through. "What was he thinking?"
She sighed, her gaze distant. "He's been struggling with loneliness and pressure. These past few months have been rough for him—guilt over losing you, loneliness, the strain from his management due to performance issues on the field, a decline in his fan base, and hateful comments. It all took a toll on him, and he probably felt like peacefully sleeping forever was the only way out."
I shook my head, a cloud of concern hanging over me. "But still—"
"And he had no one to lean on or share his burdens with," Sana interjected, her voice tinged with understanding. "So, he decided to handle it all on his own. He's always been fiercely independent and stubborn."
"That's not independence; it's isolation," I murmured, feeling a mix of relief and worry wash over me. "But I'm just grateful that he's okay now."
She nodded, her eyes reflecting hope. "Yes, I believe he'll make a full recovery from this."
A genuine smile broke across my face. "That's reassuring to hear."
"He needs your unwavering support," She said earnestly, locking eyes with me.
"I know, and he'll have it," I declared with determination, my resolve firm.
As if on cue, we heard Kabir groaning and saw him stirring on the bed, slowly waking up.
"It looks like your prince charming has finally decided to grace us with his presence," Sana remarked playfully.
"My what?" I stammered, caught off guard. "Sana, enough with the nicknames."
Her soft chuckle echoed in the room, a balm to the tense atmosphere. Her eyes, filled with warmth and understanding, met mine as she teased, "Couldn't resist, you know?"
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, grateful for her light-heartedness amidst the heavy emotions. The weight that had settled over us began to lift as Kabir slowly stirred, his consciousness returning to him like a gentle wave.
His groggy voice cut through the quiet, "What's going on?"
Sana, ever the jester, quipped, "You decided to take an extended nap, brother."
Kabir's eyes widened in realization, memories of the pills flooding back. His attempt to sit up was met with a wince, a reminder of his recent ordeal. "I remember... the pills," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret as he surveyed the room, noticing the concern etched on our faces.
"It's okay, Kabir," I reassured him, my hand finding his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're safe now. We're here for you."
Confusion mingled with gratitude in his gaze as he looked at me, his voice barely above a whisper, "Aryan..."
I nodded, a rush of emotions flooding my heart. "Yes, it's me," I confirmed, relief washing over me at the sound of his voice.
The air seemed lighter, filled with unspoken words and the promise of a new beginning. Kabir's vulnerability in that moment tugged at my heartstrings, reminding me of the love that still lingered between us.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his gaze searching mine for forgiveness.
"There's nothing to apologize for," I replied softly, my eyes locked with his, conveying a depth of understanding and acceptance. "We'll take it one step at a time."
Sana, sensing the need for privacy, excused herself to fetch the doctor, leaving Kabir and me in a cocoon of shared history and unspoken emotions. As he settled back, his hand still in mine, I couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was the moment our hearts had been yearning for—a chance to heal and rediscover the love that had never truly faded.
I don't know what came over me, but without hesitation, I rose from my seat and enveloped him in a hug. It had been months since we'd been this close, and the feeling of his warmth against me was like coming home. I pressed my face against his shoulder, overwhelmed with emotion. "I missed this so much," I whispered, my voice filled with longing and affection.
His trembling hands tentatively found their way to my back, hesitantly returning the embrace. He leaned into me, his tired hum resonating with a mixture of relief and gratitude. It was a moment of reconnecting, of rediscovering the bond that had weathered storms and remained steadfast.
As we held each other, the weight of our unspoken words hung in the air. It was a moment of raw vulnerability and silent understanding, a bridge between the past and the possibility of a future together.
"I'm so sorry, Aryan," His voice cracked with emotion, his eyes reflecting years of guilt and pain. "I never meant for any of this to happen, especially what happened to your dad."
I tightened my embrace, feeling the weight of his remorse. "I know, Kabir," I whispered, my voice filled with compassion and forgiveness. "We can't change the past, but we can heal from it together."
He leaned further into the embrace, his hesitant heart finding solace in the familiarity of our connection. "I've carried this guilt for so long," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You don't have to carry it alone," I reassured him, my heart aching for his pain. "I'm here for you. We'll navigate through this together."
We sat in silence, the only sound being the quiet hum of the hospital room. There were no more words needed, just the comfort of each other's presence. In that moment, we found solace in the simple act of being there for one another, offering support and understanding without judgment or blame. It was a silent vow to heal, to forgive, and to move forward, hand in hand.
Time seemed to stand still as we held onto each other, our hearts speaking volumes in the silence.
After a while, Kabir spoke softly, his voice tinged with hope and vulnerability, "Aryan."
I murmured in response, still enveloped in the warmth of our hug, "Hm?"
"After I'm discharged and back to normal," he began, his words carrying a weight of sincerity, "let's..." He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "Let's get married."
My eyes flew open, the suddenness of his proposal taking me by surprise.