Just A Friend?

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Two days later

The room was thick with the scent of antiseptic, a stark contrast to the freshness lingering outside. The storm had left everything renewed, but inside, a different storm brewed, one that refused to clear. Prabhas lay motionless on the bed, his gaze fixed on the wall, as if he could will it to change the reality he so desperately wished to escape.

"Brother, please," Rakesh's voice cracked with exhaustion, his hand trembling as he held a spoonful of rice towards Prabhas. "Eat properly. You've got to keep your strength up."

But Prabhas remained unmoved, his face a mask of stoic despair, eyes hollow, as though all the life had drained out of him. Rakesh's heart ached at the sight of his brother, a shadow of the man he once was. He swallowed hard, fighting back his own tears.

"Prabhas, if you keep being like this, nothing's going to change. Your health will just get worse, Anna," Rakesh pleaded, his voice laced with desperation. Days of trying to coax his brother into eating had worn him down, and the weight of it all pressed heavily on his shoulders.

The sudden appearance of Rahul in their lives had shattered Prabhas. The pain was etched deeply into his features, a constant reminder of everything he had lost. Rakesh knew his brother was wishing it were all a bad dream, that he could wake up and find everything back to the way it was—before the storm, before Rahul, before the heartbreak.

Rakesh sighed, trying to find the right words, but they felt inadequate. "You're even ignoring Sweety. I know this whole situation has been a nightmare, but if you want to blame someone, then blame that bloody moron. Sweety was just as helpless as you, Prabhas. She's hurting too, and it's tearing her apart to see you like this."

Prabhas's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond, the silence between them thickening with unspoken grief.

"If I could get my hands on him, I swear, I'd—" Rakesh's words were cut off by the soft creak of the door opening. Both brothers turned their eyes toward the sound, and there stood Sweety, her presence like a fragile ghost in the room.

Prabhas turned his head away, his pain too raw to face her. Rakesh stood up, his movements heavy with reluctance, as Sweety took a step inside.

"Rakesh, Aunty is calling you," she said quietly, her voice strained yet calm, the weight of the past days evident in every word.

Rakesh looked around for a place to set the food down, but before he could find one, Sweety spoke again, her voice soft but steady. "It's okay, give it to me. I'll give it to him."

Rakesh hesitated, glancing at Prabhas, who still refused to meet anyone's gaze. "Thank you, Sweety," he murmured, grateful but heartbroken as he handed the plate to her. "I'll go see Aunty."

With a final, sorrowful look at his brother, Rakesh left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving the two alone.

Sweety settled into the chair beside the bed, her heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Sweety cleared her throat, trying to draw Prabhas's attention. His gaze shifted toward her, but his eyes remained hollow, devoid of any spark, as if all the light and life had been drained from them. The Prabhas she once knew seemed lost in the abyss of his own despair, leaving behind a mere shell of the man she loved.

"Let me feed you," she said softly, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to keep it steady. Prabhas didn't respond; he simply stared at her, his expression a blank canvas, unreadable and void of emotion. She attempted to maintain some semblance of normalcy, acting as if nothing had changed between them, but the tension in the air was palpable, making every movement feel awkward and strained.