Talab

Fanaa 6

Samarth's POV

I don't know what destiny wants from me anymore.

I tried to leave her behind... tried to walk away before I broke more than I could fix.

But this damn car won't start.

And to make things worse, it's pouring outside.
Rain crashing against the windshield like it's mocking me.

In frustration, I bang my hands on the hood of the car.
Nothing.
With clenched fists and a head full of chaos, I turn around and storm back to the apartment.

But the moment I step in—
Something feels off.

Wrong.

The air is too still.
The silence too heavy.

I walk further in and my eyes fall on the balcony.

My breath stops.

There—on the edge of the recliner, under the open sky and merciless rain—
She's sitting like a statue.

Fanaa.

I rush to her. My heart is slamming in my chest as I pull her close.
Her skin is cold. Her eyes... hollow.

"Are you out of your mind, Fanaa?! What was this?! What if you fell from the 67th floor?!"
I shake her shoulders. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink.

Instead, she gives me a painful smile—
the kind that stabs a man right in the gut.

"Huh... I'm not strong enough to kill myself," she says softly, like she's already dead inside.
"If I had that much strength... I wouldn't be standing in front of you right now.
I would've already ended it.
But I'm a coward, Samarth...
A loser who fears death,
Yet loves the thought of dying."

Her tears mix with the rain on her cheeks.

"Fanaa, stop... Stop confusing me," I say, my voice cracking with frustration and fear.
"My head's going to burst."

She looks away.

"Go and relax, Samarth Ji. Don't worry. I won't die so easily."
She gently removes my grip from her wrist and walks to the kitchen.

I stand frozen, watching her body move like she's on autopilot.
Everything about her looks stiff. Mechanical.
As if her soul has already left and only a shadow remains.

I collapse on the sofa, resting my head in my hands.
Everything aches—my head, my heart, my conscience.

She returns silently and places a cup of tea beside me.
Then—her hand brushes against my forehead.

"You're burning up. Samarth Ji, you have a fever," she says softly.

I don't respond.

Without waiting, she walks off and brings a dinner plate.
She tries to feed me. I don't move.

But she insists—gently forcing the spoon to my lips.

I let her.

Maybe because I'm tired of fighting.

Maybe because... I miss her.

After the meal, she massages my head, helping me toward the bed.
I watch her... every move, every expression.

She seems self-conscious under my gaze, but I don't stop staring.

Then, out of nowhere, I ask:

"Fanaa... who are you?"

She doesn't answer.

Just keeps massaging my head until I slowly slip into sleep—
her touch, the only warmth in this storm.

⸻

Fanaa's POV

Who am I...?

I'm no one.

Just a scared, broken soul...
Still running from the shadows of her past.

I carry scars—
Invisible to the world but heavy on my skin.
Scars that whisper reminders of pain...
Scars that won't ever let me forget.

I am the silence after a scream.
The emptiness after the chaos.

A justice-less soul.
A haunted girl...
A broken Fanaa.

A woman who is terrified of being loved because she's forgotten how to be whole.

But maybe—
Just maybe...

If someone still chooses to see me through the darkness...

I might learn how to live again.