Darkness slowly loosened its grip on her.

At first, Aanya felt nothing—no sound, no pain, no memory—only a strange heaviness, as if her soul had been dragged back into her body against its will. Then came the faint beeping. Slow. Rhythmic. Unforgiving. The smell of antiseptic filled her lungs, sharp and unfamiliar, burning away the illusion that she was still trapped in the wreckage.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

White. Everywhere. White walls, white sheets, white lights so bright they hurt her eyes. For a moment, she didn't understand where she was. Her body felt weak, foreign, like it no longer belonged to her. Tubes were attached to her hand, a dull ache pulsing through her veins.

And then memory crashed into her like a wave.

The truck.
The impact.
Blood.
Ishaan.

Her breath hitched violently.

She tried to sit up, panic exploding inside her chest, but pain shot through her body, forcing a cry from her throat. Her hand flew instinctively to her stomach, then to her chest, as if she needed to feel her heart beating to believe she was still alive.

"Ishaan..." she whispered, her voice barely a sound.

Silence answered her.

Her eyes darted around the room frantically, searching. The bed beside hers was empty. Too empty. No familiar presence. No warm body shielding her. No hand holding hers.

Fear unlike anything she had ever known wrapped around her throat.

Fragments returned slowly—blurred and broken. Strangers shouting. Hands pulling at metal. Someone covering her with a blanket. A woman's voice telling her to stay awake. Sirens screaming through the night. Faces she didn't recognize—locals, perhaps travelers who had witnessed the accident and rushed to help, who had pulled them out and carried them to safety when the world had nearly ended.

She remembered none of their faces.

Only Ishaan's.

Her heart began to pound painfully. Tears flooded her eyes before she could stop them.

"Where is he?" she whispered again, louder now, desperation bleeding into every syllable. "Where is my husband?"

No answer came.

The truth crept in slowly, cruelly—like poison spreading through her veins. If he were here, she would feel him. Hear him. He would already be beside her, teasing her for scaring him, brushing her hair back, telling her she was safe now.

But she was alone.

And Ishaan wasn't.

A sob tore out of her chest, raw and uncontrollable. Her hands trembled as she clutched the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as if pain could keep her anchored. Her mind replayed the last moments again and again—his body over hers, his smile, his words.

I will protect you... even if it costs my life.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head weakly. "No... you promised."

Her chest felt hollow, as if someone had ripped something vital out of her and left her breathing anyway. Guilt crashed down on her, heavy and merciless. She had refused to jump. She had chosen togetherness over survival. And he had chosen her life over his without hesitation.

Tears streamed silently down her temples, soaking into the pillow beneath her head.

Why am I here, her mind screamed, if he isn't?

Her hand curled into a fist over her heart, as if she could keep it from breaking completely. Every breath hurt. Every second without him felt wrong, unbearable, unjust.

She stared at the ceiling, eyes empty yet burning, and realized something with devastating clarity—

She had survived.

And survival had never felt so cruel.

The world had continued to turn, strangers had saved her, doctors had done their jobs, machines were keeping her stable—but the one person she needed, the one person who made life make sense, was not there.

And in that sterile hospital room, surrounded by quiet machines and unanswered questions, Aanya felt the full weight of loss settle into her bones.

The moment reality fully struck her, Aanya broke.

ISHAAANNNNN.

A raw, animal cry tore out of her throat as she tried to sit up again, her body shaking violently. Panic consumed her, swallowing reason, drowning thought. Her hands flew to the IV line, fingers trembling as she yanked at it desperately, pain screaming through her veins—but she didn't care.

"Ishaan!" she screamed, her voice echoing against the sterile walls. "Ishaan—where are you? Please... someone take me to him!"

The monitor beside her began to beep wildly.

Doctors and nurses rushed into the room, voices overlapping, urgent and alarmed. One tried to hold her shoulders down gently, another reached for her hand, trying to stop the bleeding where the needle had been pulled free.

"Ma'am, please calm down—"
"You need to lie back—"
"You're not stable yet—"

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, thrashing weakly but fiercely, tears streaming down her face. "Take me to my husband! I want my husband! Ishaan—where is he? Why won't anyone tell me where he is?"

Her voice cracked, breaking into sobs that sounded too broken for a human heart to survive.

"Ishaan!" she cried again, louder, more desperate. "Please... please come back. I'm here. I'm awake. I'm waiting."

Her hands clawed at the sheets, at the air, as if she could pull him back by sheer will alone. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, bordering on hysteria.

That was when the door burst open.

The room fell silent for a fraction of a second.

They stood there—her family—looking like people who had walked straight out of a battlefield. Faces pale. Eyes red and swollen. Clothes wrinkled, stained, forgotten. Strength worn thin.

Mrs. Mehra was the first to move.

She rushed forward and wrapped Aanya in her arms tightly, crushing her against her chest as if letting go would shatter them both. The moment Aanya felt that familiar embrace, something inside her completely gave way.

She collapsed into her mother-in-law's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Ish... Ishaan," she cried brokenly, clutching at her clothes. "Please take me to him. I need to see him. I need to—"

Mrs. Mehra couldn't speak.

Her body shook as she held Aanya, tears pouring freely down her face, soaking into Aanya's hair. She pressed her lips to Aanya's head again and again, as if trying to protect her from words that would destroy her.

Behind them, Mrs. Verma covered her mouth with trembling hands, a sob escaping despite her efforts to stay strong. Her knees nearly gave way as she leaned against the wall, tears blinding her. Seeing her daughter like this—shattered, screaming for the man she loved—was a pain no mother should ever have to witness.

Nisha stood frozen near the door, tears streaming silently down her face. Her chest felt tight, her heart breaking with every scream Aanya let out. This was the same woman who had laughed with her few hours ago , teased her, she was happy full of life—now reduced to a sobbing shell, begging for her brother.

Jiya cried openly, her shoulders shaking as she held onto Sikha, who herself looked hollow, devastated. Sikha's eyes were fixed on Aanya, filled with helpless sorrow. No words came to her—only tears, endless and silent.

The men tried to hold themselves together, but even they were failing.

Dinesh stood rigid, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled, eyes shining with unshed tears. Karan looked away, fists clenched at his sides, breathing unevenly, unable to watch his brother's wife break like this. Every sob felt like a blow to his chest.

The room was filled with grief—thick, suffocating, shared.

Aanya clung to Mrs. Mehra like a lifeline, crying as if her heart were being torn apart piece by piece.

"Please," she begged again, her voice hoarse. "Just take me to him. I won't say anything. I won't cry. I just need to see him once."

Her words cut through everyone present. No one spoke. Because no one had the courage to tell her the truth yet. And in that hospital room, surrounded by people who loved her but could not save her from what was coming, Aanya cried not knowing that the silence around her was already an answer. The family didn't just stand there watching her break. They broke with her.

Aanya kept asking.

Again and again.

Her voice had lost its sharpness now, stripped of screams, reduced to broken pleas that trembled on her lips.

"Please... take me to Ishaan," she whispered, clutching Mrs. Mehra's sleeve like a lifeline. "I just need to see him. Just once."

Mrs. Mehra cupped her face gently, wiping away the tears that would not stop. Her own eyes were swollen, red, but she forced herself to be steady—for Aanya.

"Shh... calm down, beta," she murmured, pressing Aanya's head against her chest. "You have to breathe. You have to be strong."

Mrs. Verma stepped forward too, wrapping her arms around Aanya from the other side, holding her as if she were 5 year old child. The warmth of two mothers surrounded her, grounding her shaking body.

"Listen to us, Aanya," Mrs. Verma said softly, her voice trembling despite her effort. "If you want to see him, you must calm yourself. Ishaan would want that."

Nisha knelt in front of her, eyes filled with tears but voice firm with love. "Be brave, Aanya. Like Ishaan believes you are. If he knew his Rose was breaking like this because of him, it would shatter him. So breathe... we'll take you to him. I promise."

Aanya nodded slowly, helplessly. Not because the pain had lessened—but because she had no strength left to fight.

They helped her stand, supported her trembling steps, and walked her down the long, white hospital corridor toward Ishaan's ward.

Outside the ICU, Aransh and Mr. Verma stood waiting.

Waiting for news.
Waiting for hope.
Waiting for a miracle.

The moment Aanya saw them, she broke free from everyone and ran straight into Aransh's arms.

He held her tightly as she cried like a child who had lost her world.

"Where is he?" she sobbed into his chest. "How is he? Please tell me... how is he?"

Aransh gently guided her to a chair, knelt in front of her, and cupped her face between his hands.

"Look at me, baby," he said softly. "You're my strong tiger, remember? You have to stay strong. He won't leave you that easily. He's too stubborn for that."

He tried to smile, tried to lighten the moment—but Aanya didn't smile back. Her eyes were fixed on the closed ICU doors. Her body sat there, breathing, but her soul was standing behind that door.

Minutes felt like hours.

Then finally—

The doors opened.

Bella stepped out, followed by two senior doctors.

Her mask was pulled down, her face pale, eyes red and exhausted. She had just operated on her best friend—on her family.

Aanya ran to her.

Bella barely had time to remove her gloves before Aanya clutched her arms, desperation shaking her entire body.

"Bella," Aanya pleaded, her voice shattered. "Please tell me... is he okay? Is Ishaan okay?"

Bella's lips trembled. For a moment, she couldn't speak. Then she pulled Aanya into a tight hug, finally letting the tears escape.

"He has to be okay," Bella whispered, voice breaking. "Don't worry, baby. I promise you—I will save him. I promise."

Aanya clung to her, crying silently.

Mr. Verma stepped forward, voice heavy. "Beta... how is he now?"

Bella turned toward the family, then looked at Mrs. Mehra—who sat there like an empty shell, staring at nothing, as if her soul had already been torn away.

Bella took a deep breath.

"We can't say anything for sure yet," until he regains consciousness.  she began carefully. "His condition was extremely critical when he was brought in."

The corridor went silent.

Bella took a slow breath before speaking again, the doctor in her forcing the friend in her to step back.

"He suffered severe polytrauma," she said quietly, choosing each word with painful care. "The impact caused extensive damage to the soft tissues of his back. Shattered glass pierced deep into his skin—there were multiple lacerations spread across his entire back. His back is badly injured."

She paused, her jaw tightening.

"He also sustained a serious head injury—most likely a traumatic brain injury. He lost a significant amount of blood before he was brought in."

The room felt unbearably still.

"We performed emergency surgery," Bella continued, her voice lower now. "We removed all the glass fragments, controlled the bleeding, and stabilized his vital signs. Right now, his blood pressure, oxygen levels, and heart rate are being maintained."

Then she hesitated.

"But his condition is still critical," she said softly. "He's under intensive monitoring. There is a risk of brain swelling, possible memory loss, or other neurological complications. Until he regains consciousness, we can't determine the full extent of the damage."Aanya froze.

Bella continued, her heart heavy. "There is also a possibility that when he wakes up, he may experience memory loss... or he might slip into a temporary coma."

Aanya's breath stopped.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No... that can't happen."

The words felt like knives.

Bella took another breath, forcing herself to finish. "If he does not regain consciousness within the next 72 hours... there is an eighty percent chance that he could go into a coma."

"He has to wake up," Bella whispered, her voice breaking completely now. "He has to. Please... just pray. Right now "All we can do now is wait... and pray that his body fights back."

A broken cry tore out of Aanya's chest.

Mrs. Mehra collapsed forward, sobbing uncontrollably, her grief echoing down the corridor.

Nisha covered her mouth, tears streaming freely. Mrs. Verma clutched her chest as if her heart could not bear any more pain. Aransh turned away, eyes burning, jaw clenched, fighting his own breakdown.

The air felt heavy—like life itself had paused.

Aanya sank to the floor.

Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her chest, tears blurring her vision.

"Please," she whispered to no one and everyone. "Just wake up... Ishaan. Please."

No one ever realizes the exact moment when happiness collapses into grief.

One second, they were laughing—newly married, bound by vows meant to last forever, hands intertwined with promises whispered under sacred fire. And in the very next breath, fate tore the ground from beneath them. Now, one of them lay on a hospital bed, suspended between life and death, while the other stood outside an ICU door, shattered, helpless, clinging to hope the way a drowning person clings to air.

Aanya stood there, her palms pressed against the cold glass of the ICU door as if sheer will could force it open. As if she could walk inside, touch him, and somehow pull him back to life. In her mind, the scene kept replaying differently—she could almost see him stepping out, perfectly fine, that familiar teasing smile on his lips.

Rose, look, I'm okay. Why are you crying?
He would hug her, kiss her forehead, scold her for worrying too much, pamper her like he always did.

But reality was cruel.

No one knew if he would wake up.
And if he did—would he even remember her?

That thought struck Aanya like a violent current, stealing the air from her lungs. The possibility that Ishaan Mehra might open his eyes and not recognize his wife—his Rose—was unbearable.

"No... no," she whispered fiercely, tears streaming down her face. "You can't do this to me, Ishaan Mehra. You promised me forever. You promised you would never forget me. Never leave me."

Her fingers curled into fists against the glass.

"Then what is this?" her heart screamed. "Why are you lying there while I'm standing here breathing? Why did you protect me instead of yourself? You didn't need to be a hero. I never asked you to be one."

Her chest tightened as guilt and love twisted painfully together.

"You weren't supposed to leave me alone like this," she thought desperately. "We said we'd end together. So why are you the one fighting for life while I'm safe?"

Her tears blurred everything.

"How could you even think of leaving your Rose behind?" her thoughts shook with fury and devotion. "If you don't come back, I swear I will haunt you—even in heaven. So you better return to me."

The family watched her helplessly.

They tried to guide her to a bench, to make her sit, to give her rest—but she refused. She clutched the doorframe as if letting go would mean losing him forever. In her mind, she was still at the airport, still waiting for him to step out and say they were late for their flight.

Nearby, Nisha hugged her mother and Jiya tightly, holding herself together only for them. Her own heart was breaking for her brother, but she forced herself to stay strong—for her family.

Mrs. Verma stood beside Aanya, silent tears flowing freely. Aransh stood on the other side, his face hollow, eyes fixed on the ICU door. Everyone looked the same—empty, shattered, waiting.

Just hours earlier, none of them had known any of this would happen.

They were at the airport—surrounded by movement, announcements echoing through the halls, suitcases rolling across polished floors, lives continuing in careless rhythm. The family stood together, waiting to bid farewell, smiling through tired eyes, already imagining the moment Aanya and Ishaan would arrive—laughing, late as always, glowing with newlywed warmth.

Then Nisha's phone rang.

An unfamiliar number.

She hesitated for a second before answering, her voice casual, unprepared for the words that would destroy everything. The man on the other end spoke urgently, his tone shaking. He explained that there had been an accident—on a quiet stretch of road not far from the city. A few locals passing by had seen the crash. Several cars had stopped. Among them was a man from the business field who recognized Ishaan Mehra immediately. Without wasting time, they had called an ambulance and rushed both Ishaan and Aanya to the nearest hospital. Someone had searched Ishaan's phone for an emergency contact.

And they had found Nisha.

The moment the words reached her ears, the world beneath her feet disappeared. Her fingers went numb. The phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a hollow sound. She stood frozen, her face drained of all color, her breath locked in her chest.

The family was still waiting—still smiling, still unaware—when the sound caught their attention.

Aransh reached her just in time, gripping her arm as her knees buckled. "Nisha?" he asked sharply. "What happened?"

She couldn't speak.

Her lips trembled. Her eyes filled. And then, in a voice so broken it barely sounded human, she whispered the words that shattered every heart around her.

"Ishaan... and Aanya... they met with an accident."The world froze.

Time stopped.

No one moved. No one breathed. It felt as if someone had ripped the air out of the room. Faces went blank, then pale, then terrified. Within seconds, chaos replaced stillness. Bags were abandoned. Goodbyes were forgotten. Fear took over where joy had lived moments ago.

They ran.

The drive to the hospital felt endless—sirens screaming in their ears even though none followed them, prayers pouring from trembling lips, hands clutching seats, hearts pounding with dread. Every second felt stolen.

When they finally reached the hospital, Bella didn't waste a moment. As soon as she learned Ishaan's condition, she went straight to the doctors examining him, her professional instincts overtaking her personal fear. She followed them into the operating room, leaving behind her family, her hands shaking even as she forced herself to stay steady—for her best friend's husband, for the man lying between life and death.

The rest of the family was taken to the waiting area.

There, they sat in unbearable silence.

No one spoke. No one cried aloud. Every pair of eyes was fixed on the closed doors—waiting for news, waiting for answers, waiting for a miracle. And above all, they waited for Aanya to wake up, unaware that when she did, her world would already be broken beyond repair.

And now, here they were—standing in silence, broken beyond repair, praying that the love which had survived everything so far would survive this too.
___

The next morning did not arrive with light—it arrived with dread.

Ishaan was still unconscious.

When the doctors finally granted permission for the family to see him, they walked toward the ICU corridor as if approaching an execution ground, each step heavy, each breath unsure. No one spoke. No one dared. The air itself felt bruised. When the door slid open, reality struck them with a cruelty none of them were prepared for.

Ishaan lay on the hospital bed, wrapped in layers of white bandages that swallowed his familiar face. Wires snaked across his body like cruel restraints, machines humming where his heartbeat should have spoken for itself. Tubes entered him from places love had once touched. His skin was pale, swollen, lifeless. The man who had laughed, teased, loved—who had promised forever—looked distant, unrecognizable, as though death had already claimed half of him and was waiting patiently for the rest.

The room collapsed into grief.

Mrs. Mehra staggered forward, her hands trembling as they clutched the bedrail. A broken cry tore from her chest—raw, animal, uncontainable. This was her son. The child she had held, raised, protected. Seeing him like this shattered something deep within her that would never heal.

And then memory betrayed her.

Another hospital.
Another bed.
Another body wrapped in bandages.

Her husband.

Ishaan's father had once lain exactly like this—silent, unmoving, unreachable. She had waited then too. She had prayed until her voice broke, until her knees bled on cold hospital floors.

He never opened his eyes.

The thought struck her like a knife to the heart.

What if Ishaan never wakes up?
What if history repeats itself?
What if God takes him the same way?

Her legs failed her.

Before she could collapse, Aanya caught her, pulling her into a desperate embrace. The two women clung to each other, crying in a way that stripped them of dignity and strength. Aanya sobbed like a child who had lost her world, her body shaking violently, her breath breaking between shattered whispers.

"Ishaan..."
Her voice cracked every time she said his name, as if it might disappear if she didn't keep calling it.

The pain in that room was suffocating—thick, heavy, inescapable. Every family member stood frozen, hollowed out, watching life hang by threads and wires.

Eventually, exhaustion forced movement. Some stayed back, unable to leave even for a moment. Others were gently pushed out by nurses, told to rest, to breathe, to survive.

Aanya refused.

She seated herself beside Ishaan's bed, as though the space belonged only to her. Her fingers slipped into his uninjured hand, holding it with reverence, with terror, with love so deep it hurt. She held him gently, as if even touch could break him, as if he were made of glass and grief.

She did not eat.
She did not sleep.
She did not look away.

Every plea to rest was ignored. Leaving him—even for a minute—felt like abandoning him to death.

Bella came in quietly, checking monitors, adjusting settings, speaking softly, carefully, the way doctors do when hope is fragile. She reassured Aanya, explained numbers and possibilities, promised vigilance.

Aanya did not respond.

Her eyes never left Ishaan's face.

She watched his chest rise and fall with mechanical assistance, counting each breath like a prayer, like a countdown. She memorized the rhythm, terrified that if she blinked too long, it might stop.

Day passed—not forward, but downward.

Aanya spoke to him constantly. She told him about their wedding, about the vows he had made, about Paris waiting for them. She whispered memories into his stillness, reminded him of his laughter, his strength, his love.

She leaned close to his ear and begged him to come back.

To open his eyes.
To smile.
To call her Rose one more time.

Hope was no longer a feeling.

It was the only thing keeping her alive.
___

Evening slowly settled into the hospital, not with peace, but with a quiet heaviness that clung to the walls. The corridor lights dimmed slightly, the noise softened, and one by one the family members were asked to leave. Rules were rules—visiting hours were over. Reluctantly, painfully, everyone stepped out.

Everyone except Aanya.

Inside the room, she still sat beside Ishaan's bed, exactly where she had been all day. Her posture hadn't changed. Her fingers were still wrapped around his, as if letting go might erase him. She had not eaten. She had not spoken. She had barely blinked. She was only breathing because her body remembered how.

Outside, Nisha and Aransh remained, seated silently, guarding the door like sentinels. Inside, it was just Aanya and the man she loved—one awake in agony, the other unconscious in battle.

The door opened softly.

Bella entered, her movements careful, professional, restrained. She checked Ishaan's vitals, adjusted the IV, studied the monitors with eyes that understood both medicine and fear. Everything was stable—for now. When she was done, she didn't leave. Instead, she pulled a chair closer and sat beside Aanya.

She gently placed her hand over Aanya's.

Aanya did not react.

"Aanya," Bella called softly.

No response.

She tried again, her voice gentler, firmer. "Aanya... look at me, baby."

This time, slowly, Aanya turned her face. Her eyes were hollow—no tears left to fall, no strength left to fight. Shock had settled deep inside her, numbing everything except the pain.

"How long will you sit like this?" Bella asked quietly.

"Until he wakes up," Aanya replied simply.

Bella's chest tightened. She took a slow breath, choosing her words carefully.

"Then wait for him," she said softly. "But for that, you need strength too. You haven't eaten since yesterday. You haven't slept. If you keep going like this, you'll fall sick."

Aanya looked away.

"You're weak, Aanya," Bella continued gently. "You were injured too. I know your head is aching right now—I can see it. Look at your hands... so many scratches. Your head is still wrapped in bandages. If you don't give your body what it needs, it will only get weaker."

Bella squeezed her hand.
"And then tell me—how will you take care of Ishaan?"

The words finally broke through.

Aanya's eyes filled again, tears spilling over silently. Her lips trembled.

"Tell him to wake up, Bella," she whispered desperately. "You're his best friend. He listens to you. Tell him his Rose is waiting for him. Please... tell him to wake up."

Bella's eyes burned. She stood up suddenly and pulled Aanya into a tight embrace. Aanya clutched Bella's waist like a lifeline, crying into her stomach, her body finally shaking with all the pain she had been holding in.

Bella exhaled shakily.
"Do you trust me?" she asked.

Aanya nodded against her, helpless, broken.

"Then believe me," Bella said firmly, her voice steadier than her heart. "I won't let anything happen to him. I will save him."

Aanya pulled back and looked at her—searching, pleading.

Bella nodded back.

They stayed like that for a moment, holding on to each other in silence. Then Bella wiped her own tears and forced a small smile, trying—desperately—to lift the weight crushing them both.

"Besides," she added lightly, "he still hasn't fulfilled his biggest wish yet."

Aanya looked at her, confused.

"He hasn't taken his Rose on her honeymoon," Bella continued, a teasing glint breaking through her sadness. "You really think Ishaan Mehra is the type to leave without completing every single dream he's been building for two years? Especially the ones he planned while waiting for you?"

Aanya let out a small, broken chuckle—barely a sound, but real.

Bella smiled softly.
"And knowing him, he probably has a full list. Fancy dinners, dramatic surprises, over-the-top romance... and a lot of shameless flirting."

That earned a faint smile from Aanya—fragile, trembling, but alive.

"Come on," Bella said gently. "You need to eat something. Just a little."

Aanya tried to protest, shaking her head.

"No," Bella cut her off softly but firmly. "If you want to sit beside him and wait for him to wake up, you'll need energy. So let's go."

After a moment, Aanya nodded.

She stood up slowly, her legs weak, her body protesting every movement. Before leaving, she turned back one last time. Her eyes traced Ishaan's face, the bandages, the stillness.

"I'll be right back," she whispered. "Please wake up."

Then she walked out, carrying hope like a fragile flame—terrified it might go out, but refusing to let it die.

The night deepened outside the hospital windows, heavy and watchful, when Bella finally sat across from Aanya with a small bowl of food in her hands. Aanya hadn't realized how weak she was until Bella lifted the spoon and held it near her lips—firm, unyielding, caring in the way only someone who loved her deeply could be.

"Enough," Bella said softly. "Open your mouth."

Aanya hesitated, then obeyed. Bella fed her slowly, patiently, each bite an act of quiet insistence that Aanya was still alive, still needed, still fighting. Aanya's eyes burned with unshed tears as she swallowed, not tasting the food, only feeling the warmth of someone refusing to let her disappear. When it was done, she whispered a faint thank you, her voice barely there.

Outside, Aransh and Nisha waited. Exhaustion clung to them like a second skin. Their eyes were red, their shoulders heavy with fear and sleeplessness. Aanya walked to them slowly, every step deliberate.

"Bhai... di," she said gently. "You both haven't gone home since yesterday. Please go and rest. You can come back in the morning."

Nisha shook her head instantly. "We're not leaving you."

"I'm not alone," Aanya replied softly. "Bella is here. And I'm not going anywhere. Please...you both need rest too."

Aransh looked at her for a long moment, then pulled her into a tight embrace. Nisha joined them, holding Aanya like she might shatter if they let go. All three cried quietly, clinging to each other in the corridor that smelled of antiseptic and fear.

Before leaving, they stepped inside once more. They stood at a distance, looking at Ishaan—so still, so broken, yet still unmistakably him. Nisha pressed her palm to the glass of the door, whispering a prayer. Aransh bowed his head, his jaw clenched in helpless rage. Then, reluctantly, they left.

The room fell silent again.

Aanya returned to Ishaan's side and sat down slowly. She took his hand—his unharmed hand—and held it between both of hers, pressing it against her chest as if trying to give him her heartbeat.

"Ishaan," she whispered, her voice trembling but steadying as she spoke. "You proved something today. You proved that you can die for me."

Her throat tightened, but she did not stop.

"Now it's my turn," she continued, leaning closer. "I will prove to you that your Rose can live for you... and if needed—kill for you."

She lowered her forehead to his knuckles, tears sliding down silently.

"You didn't protect me so I could break," she murmured. "You protected me so I could stand. And I will. I promise you... I won't let this end here."

Slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes hardened—not with madness, but with resolve. She looked straight ahead, at the cold white wall, her voice dropping into something darker, colder, terrifyingly calm.

"I won't spare you, Arav," she said slowly. "You hurt the wrong person."

Her fingers tightened around Ishaan's hand.

"Didn't I warn you?" she whispered. "As long as I am breathing, you cannot touch him. But you did."

Her lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile.

"Now be ready," she said softly. "Because this time, it won't be the Black Crown's mafia king who comes for you."

She leaned closer to Ishaan, brushing her lips against his forehead.

"This time," she whispered, "his queen will."

And beside the man fighting for his life, Aanya sat—not broken anymore, not helpless—but awake, watching, waiting... and preparing.
Thank you so much for reading this story. Please comment your precious thoughts and don't forget to tap that heart.

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