Shadows Of The Stumps

We All Made It - Part 1

The silence in the room was deep now — the kind that came not from peace, but from exhaustion finally overtaking vigilance.

Maithili stirred slightly, her head still on Arjun’s shoulder. She blinked against the faint light coming from the window beside Meera’s bed — a soft grey now, the beginnings of another dawn.

She straightened up just a little, shoulder aching, and looked at him.

“You should sleep for a bit,” she said gently. “It’s been two days. You’re running on fumes.”

Arjun didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on Meera’s face — still and pale, but breathing. That was all he needed right now.

“I’ll sleep when she wakes up,” he murmured.

Maithili didn’t argue right away. She just watched him — the quiet defiance in his jaw, the cracked skin around his knuckles, the freshly bandaged cut on his cheek.

“You need to rest,” she tried again. “The worst is over. The medics are watching her. You’ve done your part, Arjun.”

He finally looked at her, and his voice was softer this time — but resolute.

“No. Not until I see her open her eyes. Not until I hear her say something — anything.”

There was something in the way he said it. Not desperate. Just… stubborn. As if his presence alone was a shield that had kept her alive this long, and leaving now would be betrayal.

Maithili sighed. Her own body ached, shoulder bandaged and stiff, ribs sore, but she understood. She’d felt the same once — in the tavern, when she watched Meera slip into unconsciousness.

“Alright,” she whispered. “But then at least let me stay awake with you.”

“No,” he said, with the ghost of a smile. “You need to rest too. You’ve been through hell.”

“We all have.”

Arjun nodded. He reached over and gently nudged the blanket closer around Maithili’s shoulder. His touch was light, deliberate.

“Sleep, Maithili,” he said. “Please. Just for a while.”

She hesitated — then nodded. Leaned back into her chair, finally giving in to the weight behind her eyes.

“Wake me up when she does?”

“I promise.”

She closed her eyes.

And Arjun turned back to Meera.

His sister.

His Noor.

Her hand was still in his — smaller than he remembered, colder than it should’ve been — and he held it like an anchor.

His voice dropped into a whisper, only for her.

“You’ve made it this far, Meer. Just a little more. I’m right here.”

And with that, he sat still in the darkened infirmary, his thumb tracing the lines on her palm, refusing sleep, refusing to blink too long.

___________

The room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the bedside monitor and the faintest silver light creeping in from the window beside her. Machines hummed softly. Outside, the rest of the base slept — spent, bruised, grieving, but alive.

Arjun hadn’t moved.

His white shirt was wrinkled, faint specks of dried blood still lingering near the cuff. He sat in the same position since dusk — elbow on the edge of the bed, Meera’s limp hand in his, his fingers wrapped securely around hers like she might float away if he let go.