A month had passed since Karan stood outside her street, since music echoed through silence. Isha hadn't said a word to him, not directly. But she noticed, his absence in the lane now, the coffees that stopped coming, the cranes that stopped appearing. Everything quieted, but something inside her hadn't.
Then one evening, her phone buzzed.
Arun calling.
She answered immediately.
"Isha," his voice trembled, "Karan's not well. He fainted. His fever's touching 103. He's not even talking properly. Keeps murmuring your name. I didn't know who else to call."
Her heart dropped.
She didn't stop to think. She didn't even change out of her house clothes. She just ran.
Through narrow streets, down familiar lanes, her breath catching in her throat. Her feet knew the way. Her heart knew it better.
Karan's house door was unlocked. The air inside felt heavy, still. She stepped in and froze.
There he was, lying on the couch, shirt damp from sweat, eyes half-closed, murmuring words she couldn't understand. A wet towel lay discarded on the floor. The room smelled of sickness and silence.
"Karan…" she whispered, kneeling beside him.
He didn't respond.
She touched his forehead—it burned.
She sprang into action. A wet cloth. A bowl of cold water. The fan turned toward him. She stayed by his side, checking his pulse, cooling his skin. Called Reem to bring medicines, soup, anything warm. Called Arun again to ask what the doctor said.
For the next three days and nights, Isha never went home.
She slept on the floor beside his couch, one hand always on his arm. When he shivered, she tucked another blanket around him. When he mumbled apologies in sleep, she brushed his hair back and whispered, "I'm here."
She didn't cry. She didn't smile. She just stayed.
Sometimes love isn't about loud gestures. It's about showing up when no one else does.
On the morning of the fourth day, the fever broke.
Karan stirred, groggy and pale, blinking against the morning light. His eyes searched the room… and landed on her.
Isha. Curled up on the floor, hair messy, eyes barely open, hand resting on his chest.
"Isha…" he croaked.
Her eyes fluttered open. She sat up slowly. "About time, Romeo," she whispered. "Scared the hell out of all of us."
A weak smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I thought I was dreaming you."
"You were," she said softly. "But I didn't leave."
A pause. He blinked back tears.
"Isha, I—"
"Don't say anything," she interrupted gently, reaching to fix his pillow. "You need rest."
"I missed you," he whispered.
She looked at him, eyes soft. "Then get better. We've both missed too much already."
In that small, worn-out room filled with stale air and healing hearts, something shifted.
The past hadn't disappeared. But love had returned.
In silence. In fevered nights. In the girl who stayed.
And the boy who finally understood what it meant to deserve her.
After some days of having peaceful nights, Karan proposed to her... yes, for marriage.
It was a quiet Sunday evening when Karan finally stood in front of her house again, this time not with a guitar, not with apologies, but with a small velvet box tucked inside his coat pocket.
His heart was racing. Even after everything they'd been through, this felt different. This wasn't about forgiveness or guilt or longing.
This was about choosing her, every single day — for a lifetime.
Isha stepped outside as if the universe had nudged her at the exact moment. Her dupatta softly flowed behind her in the evening breeze, her hair half-tied, eyes curious but warm.
Karan walked toward her slowly, each step steady, a small smile playing at his lips.
He didn't kneel. He didn't make a speech.
He simply held out the ring. And said, softly —"Will you marry me, Isha?"
Her breath caught.
A full minute passed before she laughed softly, teary-eyed, and whispered, "Took you long enough."
And then — "Yes. A hundred times, yes."
She threw her arms around him. He held her like he'd never let go again.
—
That night, Isha sat with her parents. Her fingers trembled slightly, but her voice didn't.
"I love him," she said. "I've loved him at his worst. I've been loved by him at mine. And if there's anyone I want beside me in every phase of this life... It's Karan."
There was silence.
Then her father, normally strict, stern, placed a hand on hers and said, "If he can protect your smile, then I don't need anything else from him."
Her mother nodded through tears. "Bring him home, beta. Not as a guest… but as our own."
—