ALMOST THERE

CHAPTER 14: "He's not coming back.."

Jaane Nahin Denge Tujhe - Sonu Nigam
📱🌑🥀🌧️

It's been three days.

Three days since I heard Hamza's words-each syllable seared into my mind like a brand.

His right arm... it's fractured. From the shoulder.

The hours have crawled by like wounded animals since then, dragging their broken bodies through the landscape of my mind, leaving behind a trail of unspoken fears and unanswered questions.

Sunday now. The darkness outside is deceptively bright, the murk of it slicing through the thin curtain of my room, mocking my hollow insides.

I sit on the edge of my bed, knees pulled to my chest, staring at my phone as if it holds the answer to some unasked question. But it's the same answer every time-the kind that makes your stomach twist and your heart squeeze painfully.

One grey tick.

My phone is an extension of my body now, a phantom limb that throbs with a constant ache. I clutch it like it's the only thing tethering me to reality, checking it every few minutes, hoping, praying, that this time there will be a message, a missed call, a sign of life.

But there's nothing.

Just the cruel silence of that single grey tick, mocking me with its indifferent existence. Shahaan's number sits there, untouched by his hands, and every time I see it, a fresh stab of anxiety slices through me.

My room feels like a cage today, the walls too close, the air too heavy. I can't cry-God knows I've tried-but the tears won't come. They're stuck somewhere deep inside, trapped behind the dam of my pride, my stubbornness, my refusal to let anyone see the storm that rages within me.

Because what are the odds they won't bury me in questions I know I cannot bring myself to answer?

What would they say if they saw the way my hands shake or how my breaths are shallow and uneven, like I'm constantly trying to stop myself from falling apart?

I can't let them see.

Instead, I swallow the pain, force it down where no one can hear its screams, and I wait. I wait for a miracle. For the universe to throw me a bone. For a single message-just one-that would tell me he's okay. That would tell me he's still there, somewhere, even if he's in pain, even if he's angry, even if he's tired. I don't care.

I just need to know he's there.

I glance at the clock. 10:15 p.m.

It's only been five minutes since the last time I checked my phone, but it feels like a lifetime. I imagine Shahaan on the other side, his phone buried in the chaos of some sterile hospital room, forgotten and lost among the sheets and the dull scent of antiseptic.

Maybe he can't reach it.

Maybe he can't even move his arm.

The thought slashes through me like a razor blade, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from screaming.

When I open them again, my room feels even smaller, the air even thicker. I grab my phone and send another message, knowing it will never reach him but doing it anyway, because what else can I do?

My fingers tremble over the keyboard as I type: Shahaan, please, just tell me you're okay. I need to know.

I hit send, and there it is again-one grey tick, like a cruel joke. I want to throw my phone across the room, shatter it into a thousand pieces so I don't have to look at that damn tick ever again.

But I can't.

Because what if, in that moment, he tries to reach me?

What if I miss the one chance I have to hear his voice?

I stand up, pacing the length of my room like a caged tiger. My thoughts race in circles, chasing their own tails. I replay our last conversation, the way he called me Shehzadi in that soft, teasing way that always made my chest feel too tight, like there wasn't enough air in the room.

I hear his laughter, see the crinkle in his eyes when he smiles. And it hits me again, that feeling-this unnameable, unbearable need for him.

I glance at my phone again.

Nothing.

I'm a fool, I know that. But I'd rather be a fool than face the reality that maybe-just maybe-something's wrong. Really wrong.

The hours blur together, a kaleidoscope of silence and frantic hope. I press my phone to my chest like a prayer, as if the mere contact will summon him somehow, like magic.

My heart drums against my ribs, every beat chanting his name, over and over until it's all I can hear.

Shahaan. Shahaan. Shahaan.

Time stretches, bends, and I feel it pull at the edges of my sanity. My breaths come in ragged bursts, shallow and quick, as if I'm running a race that has no end. I sit back down on my bed, my knees drawn up once more, and let the emptiness wash over me.

I think about calling Hamza again, but I don't. I've already bothered him enough. I can still hear his voice from the last call-reassuring, but strained. "I'm sure he's okay, Saysha. Maybe his phone's just off, or he's sleeping." I could hear the uncertainty behind his words, and that made it worse.

I bury my face in my knees, my arms wrapped tight around myself like I'm holding in all the broken pieces, trying to keep them from falling apart.

My mind wanders to a thousand places-Shahaan in a dark room, Shahaan in pain, Shahaan calling out for help and no one hearing him.
And suddenly, my breath catches, and a tear slips down my cheek, hot and unwelcome.

I tried to focus on the sounds outside-muffled sound of raindrops, the low hum of a distant car engine, the croak of a frog. But none of it could drown out the screaming silence in my head. It was a silence that had a voice, one that whispered all the things I didn't want to hear, things like, "He's gone," or, "He doesn't want to talk to you," or worse, "He's not coming back."

The first tear. The dam has broken.

But I swipe it away, force it back, and take a deep, shuddering breath.

No.

Not here.

Not now.

I check my phone again. My vision blurs for a second, my thumb trembling over the screen as I open our chat.

Still just one grey tick.

It feels like the universe is holding its breath, and I'm trapped in that space between breaths, where everything is still and quiet and unbearably tense. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, the cold seeping into my skin, grounding me. And I wait. I wait for the world to exhale, for that tick to turn blue, for Shahaan to come back to me.

And in the silence, I feel it-the depth of what I've been hiding even from myself. The truth that I've never dared to name. Because naming it would mean facing it, and I don't know if I'm brave enough for that.

So I wait. I wait in the silence, my heart a raw, open wound, bleeding for someone who might never hear me.