❣️ɪsʜǫ-𝒆-ɪʙᴀᴅᴀᴛ❣️| On Hold

(47.)

Weeks later,
The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room, a sanctuary now filled with anxiety and distress. Sidharth lay in bed, propped against his pillows, acutely aware of the heaviness in his bones, a relentless reminder of the injury that had turned him into a ghost of the man he once was. Life had become a series of challenges, each day feeling more overwhelming than the last. But tonight was different.

Sana, his love and anchor in turbulent seas, lay asleep beside him, her chest rising and falling in the rhythmic cadence of slumber. He watched her face, illuminated by the soft light, memorizing every curve of her features, afraid to look away. They had shared dreams of a future together, woven bright threads of laughter and late-night talks. But underneath the surface, an undercurrent of worry tugged at his heart.

As the clock chimed softly, marking the hour, something shifted in the air. A bead of sweat trickled down Sidharth's forehead as he became acutely aware of a change in Sana's breath. It was no longer steady—a distinct heaviness had overtaken it, like stones sinking in water. His heart raced as he leaned closer, squinting in the low light.

"Sana?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the night.

She didn't respond. Instead, her breaths grew more labored, each inhale sounding like a struggle against a tide that threatened to submerge her.

"Sana?" he called out, his voice cracking. "Sana, are you okay?"

Panic surged through him like wildfire. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to assure her that everything would be all right, but his body betrayed him. Sidharth struggled to push himself upright, but the pain shot through him like a jolt of electricity. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, but it felt like attempting to run a marathon with weights strapped to his legs.

"God, no—Sana!" His voice cracked with desperation as he finally managed to sit up, holding onto the edge of the bed for support, his heart thundering in his chest. The shadows morphed into racing thoughts—terrifying, imprisoning. What if she didn't make it? What if he, a man who had once protected her from the world, was now the one who was utterly useless?

"Please, don't do this," he whispered, even as he fought against the chains of physical incapacity.
A wave of guilt crashed over him. He should have been stronger. He had always imagined himself as the one to swoop in and save her, yet here he was, a shell of what he used to be. Cursing his own frailty, he reached for his phone, his fingers shaking as he dialed Jay's number.

The ring echoed ominously in the silent room until the call connected.

"Jay! Jaldi aaja please...!" His voice trembled, urgency coating every word.

"What's wrong?" The calmness in Jay's voice felt like a balm, but it couldn't touch the chaos inside him.

"Sana... she's not breathing right. I can't— I can't help her."

"I'm on my way," Jay said without hesitation.

"Please don't wake Mom yet".

"Ok". Jay replied and the line went dead.

Sidharth remained frozen for a moment, his world collapsing into an agonizing reality. The seconds dragged on cruelly as he turned back towards the bed. Sana's breaths were becoming more erratic, a sound echoing in his mind like a cruel mantra. A lump formed in his throat as despair seeped into the cracks of his heart. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, the words barely escaping his lips.

He wished he could trade places with her, take away her pain and fear, and offer her the safety that seemed to elude them both. How could he be so helpless? The memories of the vibrant life they had once shared surged through him like an insistent tide. Days of joy and laughter now felt so distant—speculative and fragmented, like pieces of a puzzle that had been tossed into chaos.