Aarush's arms tightened around her as he rushed back, her head lolling against his chest.
She was ice-cold.
Her skin clammy.
Lips pale and trembling, even in unconsciousness.
His breath grew ragged.
Each step home felt like a punishment.
For every word he threw at her.
For every moment he didn't stop her.
By the time he reached the penthouse, he didn't wait for the elevator. He took the stairs, two at a time, soaking wet, heart thudding against her frozen frame.
He laid her on the bed gently, as if even air brushing her would break her further.
"Doctor. I need a doctor. Now."
He barked into the phone, voice rough, almost unrecognizable to his own ears. He didn't care it was past midnight. Didn't care he sounded desperate. Because he was.
---
The doctor arrived within twenty minutes.
Aarush stood to the side, arms folded tightly, jaw clenched, unable to breathe as the doctor examined her.
He watched her still figure.
The way her chest barely rose.
The quiet beep of the thermometer.
The stethoscope brushing her skin.
The doctor's frown deepening.
"She had a fever even before she went out," the doctor said, looking up finally. "And in this condition—being out in cold rain, with no food in her system—"
He paused. "Her blood sugar dropped dangerously low. Hypoglycemia."
Aarush's heart stopped.
"If she'd stayed out any longer, she could've gone into a coma. Or worse."
The words struck him like gunshots.
The doctor handed over a prescription and turned toward the door.
"She needs complete rest. Warmth. And emotional calm, Mr. Rathore. She's not just physically weak—her mind's barely holding on."
As soon as the door closed behind the doctor, silence fell like a thunderclap.
Aarush stared at her sleeping form. A tube in her arm now, her breaths shallow but steady. A blanket wrapped tight around her, a warm compress on her forehead.
He dragged a hand through his wet hair.
He had thrown her out.
Shut the door.
Told himself she deserved it.
But now she lay here, looking like one wrong breath could take her away from him forever.
"I could've lost her…" he whispered, sitting beside her, voice broken.
He didn't deserve to be here.
And yet… he couldn't move away.
The first thing Sanya felt was warmth.
Soft blankets cocooned her. The mattress beneath her felt familiar. She could hear the faint sound of water dripping, a curtain rustling.
Then—pain. A dull ache behind her eyes. Her limbs heavy. Her throat dry like sandpaper.
And then...
His presence.
She turned her head weakly, lashes fluttering open.
Aarush sat beside her. A towel in his hand, gently wiping her forehead. His sleeves rolled up, hair messy, shirt still damp.
His eyes—haunted, tired, and strangely… soft.
"A... Aarush?" Her voice was barely audible.
He leaned forward instantly, lifting her head just slightly to help her sip water from a glass. His movements were tender. Careful.
"Shhh... Just drink. Slowly."
His voice was low. Gentle.
Sanya blinked at him, confused.
Was she dreaming?
Or had she already died?
"You collapsed," he murmured, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek. "Your fever… you were in the rain… you could've died."
Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes glistened.
But before she could speak—
He stood up abruptly.
The warmth shattered like glass.
He turned away from her, running a hand through his hair, as if shaking off a mistake.
"Don't… don't misunderstand," he said, his voice suddenly hard, distant again. "I only did what any decent human would."
Her heart sank.
"Don't get your hopes high, Sanya."
He didn't look at her.
"I don't want to become a murderer."
She froze.
"If I lead you on again… if you believe there's more between us when there's not… that's worse than what I've already done."
Her breath caught in her throat.
So this was guilt.
Not care.
Not love.
He was protecting himself from what he might become.
And protecting her—from himself.
"Get well soon," he said, his voice clipped now. "I'll send Somene in to take care of you."
He walked toward the door, not once looking back.
Sanya lay there—shivering beneath the warmth.
Her body recovering.
But her heart cracking all over again.
The door clicked shut.
Sanya stared at it.
Blankly.
As if waiting for it to open again.
But it didn't.
Seconds passed. Minutes. Or maybe an eternity.
The silence screamed louder than his words.
And then—
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Followed by another. And another.
Until her whole body trembled with the weight of unspoken pain.
She buried her face into the pillow, muffling her sobs.
"Why…" she whispered, voice breaking, "why does love always have to hurt like this…"
She didn't ask him for his tenderness.
She didn't ask him to wipe her forehead.
She didn't ask him to save her.
But he did.
And then… he punished her for it.
He called it decency.
But what he gave her for a few fleeting minutes—it was more than decency. It was care. Protection. Something she never knew she needed until she felt it.
And now he'd taken it all back.
But instead of turning bitter, something inside her crystallized.
A decision.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, eyes bloodshot but steady.
"I will love you, Aarush," she whispered to the dark. "I'll love you even if you never believe me. Even if you hate me till your last breath."
"But I won't let myself die here. Not in this house. Not in this love."
Her eyes moved to the ceiling. And slowly—her breath evened.
"Once I find the truth… once I get the proof to clear my name…"
"I'll walk away. From you. From everyone."
"And maybe… maybe then I'll finally breathe."
Outside the rain had stopped.
But inside her, a storm had just begun.