Beneath The Storm (Completed)

Chapter-41: In the Arms of Healing

Atharv paced the sterile hallway outside the ICU, each step echoing in the emptiness around him.

The bright, harsh fluorescent lights above only amplified the hollow ache inside him, their unforgiving glare a stark contrast to the darkness swallowing his heart.

Every second felt like an eternity, each tick of the clock another stab to his soul.

He stopped and leaned against the wall, dragging his hands through his already disheveled hair.

His breathing was shallow, labored, as if the weight of his guilt had settled directly onto his chest, making it impossible to fill his lungs.

The walls seemed to close in, suffocating him, mocking his helplessness.

Atharv's legs finally gave way, and he sank onto the cold steel bench outside the ICU.

He pressed his face into his trembling hands, his mind a whirlwind of regret and anguish.

The memories came unbidden-her shy smile, the sparkle in her eyes when she spoke about things that mattered to her, the way she laughed with abandon, like she carried the sunlight within her.

And now that light was dimming.

A thought gripped his mind like a vice, cutting through the storm inside him:

"What if I lose her?"

The mere idea sent a wave of nausea through him.

His body stiffened, his hands clenched into fists as the dam broke inside him.

"No," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like a desperate man trying to ward off his worst fears.

He stood abruptly, crossing the hallway in just a few strides until he was in front of the glass door of the ICU.

His forehead rested against its cold surface as he stared at Inaara's frail form on the bed.

Tubes snaked around her small body, machines blinked rhythmically, mocking him with their steady hum as if time wasn't slipping through his fingers.

Her face, usually so full of life, was now pale and drawn.

She looked so small, so fragile. He couldn't bear it.

"This is my fault," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt.

"All my fault."

The words were like daggers, stabbing over and over, but he welcomed the pain.

He deserved it.

He had driven her to this, pushed her away with his harsh words, his pride, his inability to admit how much she meant to him.

Atharv clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

He wanted to scream, to punch something, to tear apart the universe for daring to put her through this.

But all he could do was stand there, helpless, staring at the woman who had become the center of his world, a world he had carelessly shattered.