"Yuvraj, please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Don't do this."
"Get up," he ordered, his voice as cold as ice.
Tears streamed down my face. "Please, I'll do anything. Just don't make me-"
"Step on the glass," he interrupted, his eyes burning wit...
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The quiet beeping of the monitor was the only sound in the room, a faint reminder that Aisha was alive. But the peace didn't last.
I had dozed off in the chair, my head resting on the edge of her bed, when I heard a faint rustling. At first, I thought I was dreaming. Then I opened my eyes to see Aisha struggling to sit up, her movements weak but frantic.
"Aisha?" I said, bolting upright.
She didn't respond. Her trembling hands tugged at the bandage on her wrist, her breaths shallow and erratic.
"Aisha, stop!" I grabbed her hands, trying to still her movements.
Her eyes met mine, and the pain in them broke something inside me. "Why didn't you let me go?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Why do you keep bringing me back to this?"
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
I held her hands tighter, my voice shaking. "Because you matter, Aisha. Because you're not alone in this, no matter how much it feels like you are."
But she didn't hear me—or didn't want to. Her body sagged against mine, exhausted, but the fight in her eyes scared me more than anything else.
The door burst open, and a nurse rushed in, followed by the doctor.
"She's trying to harm herself again," I said, panic lacing my words.
The doctor nodded, his expression calm but serious. "We need to sedate her for now. It'll give her body and mind some time to rest."
I didn't want to agree, but I couldn't risk her hurting herself again. I stepped back as the nurse prepared an injection.
"It'll help her sleep," the doctor reassured me.
Aisha flinched as the needle entered her arm, her gaze locking with mine for a fleeting moment. Then her eyes closed, and her body relaxed into the bed.
I stayed rooted in place, staring at her fragile form as the doctor pulled me aside.
"Mr. Yuvraj," he began, his tone measured but firm, "your wife is showing clear signs of severe depression. The repeated attempts to harm herself suggest she's overwhelmed by something—emotional, physical, or both. She needs professional help."
"Depression?" I repeated, the word feeling foreign and heavy.
He nodded. "It's not uncommon in people who've experienced trauma or prolonged stress. I understand she's been through a lot, but right now, she needs a stable environment and someone who can help her work through her feelings."
I felt a knot tighten in my chest. "I'll do whatever it takes. Just tell me what to do."
The doctor placed a hand on my shoulder, his expression softening. "You need to take care of yourself, too. If you're stressed or exhausted, it'll only make things harder for her. Be patient. Be present. And consider involving a counselor or therapist."
