Amara's POV:
For a few seconds, I forgot every trace of pain in my body. Mom's trembling smile as she entered, Jia's tears breaking into laughter — it all blurred into a warmth I didn't know I'd missed this much. Eric stood beside her, quiet, cautious, as if one wrong move might break the moment.
And then there was Vihaan — his eyes, his ruffled hair, the exhaustion in every line of his face. His smile wavered, but his tears spoke louder than words. In that instant, I felt… seen. Really seen.
I wanted to tell them I was fine, that I was here — but my lips wouldn't move. So I just looked at them, memorizing every face, letting their presence tell me what words couldn't.
Then, in a blink, the world began to blur. The voices softened, faces faded, and I let my eyes close — not out of pain this time, but peace.
Vihaan's POV:
When I was busy admiring her — just breathing in the reality that she was here — she suddenly closed her eyes again. For a split second, the air left my lungs. Panic spread through me like fire. Not again.
"Doctor!, Doctor," I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.
The doctor hurried in, checked her pulse, and then smiled — calm, reassuring.
"She's fine," he said. "It's a sign of recovery. She'll faint like this for a while; the traces of the poison are still in her system. It'll take time to fade completely."
And just like that, the storm in my chest settled a little. I sank back into the chair beside her, whispering to myself, "You're safe. That's all that matters."
She still isn't talking to me, but somehow the world feels warm again. She's safe — right here, in front of me. I held her hand in mine and just sat there, unwilling to leave her side even for a moment.
Hours slipped away before she finally stirred again. Her lashes fluttered, her breath catching softly — like even waking up was a fight she wasn't sure she'd win. When her eyes met mine, hazy and half-lidded, something inside me just… stopped.
"Feeling okay?" I asked, my voice gentler than I'd ever heard it sound.
She nodded faintly, her throat moving as she tried to speak. Then, with that fragile whisper I'd missed more than I can ever admit, she asked,"You ate something?"
Of course. That's her. After everything — after the pain, the silence, the fear — her first thought is still me. That single question tore through me, raw and quiet, and suddenly I was fighting tears I didn't even know I still had left.
Her voice… God, her voice. I didn't realize how empty the world had felt without it. It was weak, trembling, but it was hers — and hearing it was like breathing again after being underwater for too long.
"Yeah," I said softly, forcing a smile. "I did."
She gave me that look — the faintest tilt of her head, that knowing glint that always saw through my lies. Even now, even like this.
"Fine," I sighed, my voice cracking just a little. "I will. Promise."
Her lips curved — not quite a smile, just the ghost of one — but it was enough to undo me. It was life. It was hope.
Then, slowly, she opened her hands — reaching out in that quiet way of hers, not asking, not demanding, just… waiting. For me.
For a second, I froze. Afraid she was still too fragile, too breakable. But she kept her palms open, and something in her eyes said, I'm still here.
So I leaned in and pulled her close — carefully, desperately, as if I let go even for a second, she might fade again.
Her warmth pressed against me, real and steady. I felt her heartbeat, soft and stubborn, like it was whispering, We made it.
And that was it — the moment everything inside me broke and healed at once. My chest ached, my eyes burned, and all I could think was how impossible it was to love someone this much and still not have the words for it.
Because she wasn't just here again — she was home.
I was called away for medication changes. I told Eric to stay with her — don't leave her alone — and then stepped out to discuss the adjustments and the precautions we needed to take. The meeting ran longer than I expected. When I finally pushed the door open and rushed back into Ama's room, my heartbeat stuttered.
A masked man stood at the bedside, a knife pressed to Ama's throat. Eric was there too — his face white, hands clawing at the attacker's arm. For a second, the world went bright and slow.
I didn't think. I ran. My foot connected with the man's chest, and he pitched backward, crashing into equipment and scattering a tangle of cables. He went down like a sack.
I hauled Eric up, then lunged after the intruder. We grappled for a few frantic seconds — him clumsy, panicked, easier to overpower than I'd feared. He shoved past, sprinted out of the room, and vanished into the crowd in the corridor before I could get a clear look.
The room smelled of antiseptic and adrenaline. I slammed the door, then turned to Ama. She was unconscious.
Eric was trembling so violently that his teeth rattled. I pulled him into a hug — he shouldn't have to go through this.
I scanned Ama quickly for any immediate injuries, every second stretching painfully long, my heart hammering with a mix of fear and relief that she was still here.
After checking the security status, Eric and I sat quietly on the couch in Ama's hospital room. When she opened her eyes, Eric instinctively moved closer.
"How are you feeling now?" he asked gently.
"Good," she whispered, her voice weak and barely audible.
Then she glanced at the clock. "What time is it?"
I told her it was ten past forty-five at night.
She asked, glancing at Eric, why he was still there in the hospital, suggesting he should go home and rest. I wasn't sure whose bond with Ama was stronger — mine or Eric's. But Eric seemed to understand her every subtle glance and gesture. Without a word, he simply lifted his school bag, overflowing with books, as if to say, I'm staying until you're better.
A small smile escaped me at the sight. Their interaction felt like an elder sister scolding her little brother — tender, protective, and utterly familiar.
He then sat beside Ama on a chair and started reading a story. At this moment, I wasn't sure what I would do next, but one thing was clear to me: I needed to be more alert.
Adrian's POV:
It had been a week since Amara was admitted to the hospital. Her recovery was slow, hindered by both internal injuries and the external wounds she'd sustained. Every now and then, Jia and her mom came home for a short while, but Vihaan barely left the hospital, and Eric stayed right by his side.
I spoke to Jia about the attack, and after a few hesitant glances, she finally broke her silence and told me the whole story. Everything became clear, and I knew the truth had to be disclosed — at least in front of Vihaan.
The hearing was approaching, and Amara's side had strong evidence. Still, a corner of my heart warned me: What if Jia hated me after this? What if she never forgave me?
After a quiet inner struggle, I reached for the doorknob and stepped inside. Jia's father was already sitting beside Vihaan, speaking casually — or rather, speaking as if nothing had happened, as if he'd done nothing at all.
"Hey, son, come join us," he called the moment he saw me.
"Doctors say we can take Amara home in three or four days," he added, his grin completely fake. "She'll recover faster being with family."
I glanced at Amara, puzzled and uneasy. Why wasn't she protesting? Why wasn't she exposing him?