• Eternal Night •

45

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the soft, sterile glow of the hospital monitor. Shivaay's body ached in ways he could no longer put into words, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing on his chest as he watched Anika by the window. She sat there like a shadow of herself, her usual presence muted and worn thin.

Her head tilted slightly as if she were listening for answers in the silence. Her fingers twisted the end of her tee—an old, nervous habit he hadn't seen in years. She looked so small against the vastness of the windowpane, her silhouette framed by the darkness of the night outside.

She's scared, he thought, his heart twisting painfully. No, not scared. Terrified. And I'm the reason why.

He knew her well enough to see past the surface. The steady set of her jaw, the way she forced her shoulders to stay straight—she was trying to be strong. For him, for herself, for the world. But he could see the cracks in the armour.

He hated this—the helplessness. The idea that he could be the cause of her pain, that his life, or lack of it, could leave her stranded in a night so long that it seemed eternal now.

His gaze softened as he studied her profile. She wasn't crying, but he knew she had been earlier. Her eyes were red, and there was a tremble in her lips that she was trying desperately to suppress. She thinks she has to bear this alone, he realized. As if protecting me from her grief will somehow make it easier.

He felt the sting of regret pierce through him. I've spent so much of our time together trying to shield her from things, pushing her away when I thought it was for her own good. But I was wrong. She's stronger than I ever gave her credit for. And now, I don't want to leave her to face anything alone.

Shivaay swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to summon the strength to speak. His voice wasn't as strong as it once was, but it carried a weight he hoped she would feel.

"Anika."

She didn't respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the glass. He tried again, louder this time, and her head turned slightly, her expression distant as though she was still lost somewhere far away.

He watched as she finally stood and made her way toward him, her steps slow, hesitant, and each one breaking his heart a little more. As she sat down by his bedside, he reached out to her, his fingers brushing hers. I have to tell her, he thought, his resolve firming. Even if I don't make it through this, I need her to know she's not alone. That she never was.

And as her fingers entwined with his, he felt a sense of peace settle over him, even amid the storm of uncertainty. If this is my last night, I'll spend it making sure she knows that her light will never fade, not even in the darkest of nights.

"You've been sitting there all evening," he said, his lips quirking up in a weak attempt at a smile. "Staring out like the world has all the answers hidden in the dark."

"I'm just thinking," she murmured, her voice low, hollow.

He reached for her hand. His fingers, though frail, tightened around hers with surprising steadiness. "That's not just thinking. That's torturing yourself. And I know you, Anika. You don't break like this."

Her composure cracked, and she turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Then maybe you don't know me at all, Shivaay. Because I am breaking. I'm shattering, piece by piece, and I don't know how to stop it."

He sighed, his thumb tracing circles over her hand. "Anika... I need you to listen to me."

She shook her head, her voice trembling as her tears spilled over. "Don't say it. Whatever it is you're about to say... I can't hear it right now."