Forever His

Chapter 62: Fractured Hearts

Mahnoor's POV:

I watch as Farjaad pulls a chair closer to my bed, and Ayesha perches on the edge of the other chair next to him. They're both staring at me like I'm some fragile bird with a broken wing, but I refuse to let that get to me. I'm tired—of being the one everyone worries about, of being the one who's always left behind.

"How are you feeling?" Ayesha asks softly, her voice gentle but probing.

I force a smile, even though I'm exhausted to the core. "I'm fine," I say quickly, waving off the question. "It's not a big deal. The doctors already said I'll recover soon."

Farjaad doesn't buy it. His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans back in his chair. "And Shahmeer?" he asks, not bothering to disguise the loaded weight behind his words.

My chest tightens at the mention of his name, but I keep my expression neutral. I can't afford to let them see how much it affects me. "What about him?" I reply, feigning indifference.

Farjaad and Ayesha exchange a glance, the kind that screams we know exactly what you're doing. I grit my teeth and pretend I don't notice.

"What?" 

"Nothing," Farjaad says, lifting his hands defensively. "It's just—look, Mahnoor, in twenty years of knowing Shahmeer, I've never seen him like this."

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Like what?"

"Like he cares," Farjaad replies simply.

A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. It's harsh and bitter and entirely out of place. "He cares?" I echo, shaking my head. "He doesn't. Farjaad, he ignores me. Every time I try to get close to him, he acts like I'm some sort of burden. Every time I do something for him, he pushes me away because he doesn't want anyone's sympathy."

"Then why do you keep helping him?" Farjaad asks, his tone gentle but insistent. His eyes meet mine, steady and unwavering. "Why do you keep trying?"

I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch in my throat. My hands clench the edge of the blanket, my knuckles turning white.

"Do you... like him?" he asks carefully, as if testing the waters.

I close my eyes briefly, exhaling sharply. And then, because I can't hold it in any longer, I snap, "Yes. I love him. I love him so fucking much it makes me sick!" My voice breaks, but I press on, the words pouring out like a flood I can't stop. "But he doesn't care, Farjaad. He doesn't even care. The first thing he asked me was why I took the bullet, not if I was okay, not if I was in pain. He doesn't care about me, and now I've decided I'm not going to care either."

The silence that follows is deafening. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, the weight of my confession settling over the room like a heavy fog.

Ayesha reaches over and gently places her hand over mine. "Mahnoor," she says softly, her voice soothing. "It's okay to feel hurt. But don't make decisions out of anger. Just... give it some time. Sometimes people care in ways we don't immediately see."

I laugh again, but this time it's softer, sadder. "Time won't change anything, Ayesha. He's never going to feel the way I do. I've accepted that."

Farjaad sighs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "You might have accepted it," he says carefully, "but I don't think he has."

I glance at him sharply, my brow furrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just... think about it," he says, standing up and motioning for Ayesha to follow him. "We'll be outside if you need us."