The room had been ours for a while.
For a little while, it had felt like the world had paused.
No machines.
No tension.
No pretending.
Just Vihaan, still weak but stubborn, and me — still scared, still somehow standing.
But peace, I've learned, doesn't last long when truth is involved.
The door creaked open.
And just like that—they returned.
His parents stepped in quietly.
No words.
No eye contact.
His mother glanced at our hands — still loosely intertwined on the blanket — and looked away.
His father's jaw tightened as he walked to the window, back turned.
It wasn't a scene.
No raised voices.
No accusations.
But everything about the silence screamed louder than words ever could.
I slipped my hand away. Slowly.
Vihaan gave me a look — the smallest flicker of protest — but I shook my head.
Not now.
Not like this.
The doctor followed shortly after, speaking to them in low tones I couldn't catch.
But I caught enough.
"...stable enough for discharge... recovery better at home..."
My stomach sank.
Home.
Their home.
Not mine.
Not his.
Not ours.
His mother nodded briskly. "We'll take him today, if that's alright."
The doctor agreed. Paperwork was arranged.
And just like that—it was decided.
Vihaan would be leaving.
And I?
I was already being left behind.
They started gathering his things. Quiet, mechanical movements.
I stood there, hands shoved in my pockets, unsure where I was allowed to stand now.
Vihaan looked at me.
Not with panic.
But with something worse.
Regret.
Frustration.
Because he saw it too.
That his parents weren't saying a word about what had happened.
That they were pretending none of it had ever been said.
That I had gone back to being Mehul-from-the-office.
And Vihaan?
Vihaan wasn't strong enough to fight that yet.
When everything was packed, his father finally turned to me.
"Thank you for staying," he said.
Formal.
Measured.
Like I'd donated blood.
I nodded. "Of course."
His mother gave me a small, polite smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"You should get some rest too, beta."
Beta.
I hated how it sounded coming from her now.
How empty it felt.
They started wheeling him toward the door.
Vihaan gripped the side of the bed frame as if it might anchor him.
"Wait."
His mother paused.
He turned to me.
"Can I say goodbye?"
She hesitated.
Then gave a tight nod.
He reached for my hand again.
And this time, I held it tight.
His voice was soft.
"I'll call you as soon as I'm settled."
I nodded, because speaking would've broken me.
"I didn't want it like this," he whispered.
"I know."
He squeezed my hand.
"I'll fix it."
I gave a sad smile. "Don't worry about fixing anything right now. Just... get better."
His eyes searched mine.
Like he was memorizing my face.
Like he already felt the distance stretching between us.
And then they were moving again.
Taking him with them.
And just like that—he was gone.
The room felt cold the second the door closed.
And in that quiet space, I sat back down in the chair beside his empty bed.
The sheets were still warm.
But everything else had gone cold.