The room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn shut, letting in only a thin streak of moonlight. The silence was almost surreal, broken only by the ticking of a wall clock and the soft rustle of the bedsheet as Dhwani stirred.

Her lashes fluttered, and slowly, her eyes opened.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the slow awareness of breath, the rise and fall of her chest. But then - everything hit her all at once.

The girl.

Her tiny hand in Dhwani's.

The moment she coded.

The helpless sound of the heart monitor flatlining.

The cries of her parents - that mother's scream.

Dhwani jerked up with a gasp, her hands clutching the blanket as her chest heaved in short, rapid bursts.

She couldn't breathe.

Her throat closed in, her heart thudded wildly, her vision blurred.

No. Not again. Not now.

The panic stormed in, crashing against her body, choking her. Her fingers curled against her palms as she pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm herself - trying to stop the flood of grief and guilt that surged from somewhere too deep to reach.

"Dhwani!"

She looked up, startled, as Darsh rushed to her side.

He'd been sitting nearby on the couch, still in the clothes he wore hours ago, eyes heavy with worry. He reached her in seconds, kneeling in front of her without hesitation.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're okay. Just breathe. Look at me," he said softly but firmly, his eyes locked on hers.

Her lips trembled. "I-I can't-"

She shook her head, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. "I couldn't save her, Darsh... I tried-I really tried-"

He reached for the glass of water and gently guided it to her lips. "Small sips. Just breathe with me."

His voice wasn't commanding. It was... calm. Gentle. Like he was trying to anchor her without pulling too hard.

Dhwani clung to the glass, took a few shaky sips, and let herself fall forward as her sobs grew uncontrollable.

"I promised her..." she choked, "I told her she'd be okay. She held my hand before going in and she smiled at me... and now she's-she's gone. I watched her die, Darsh. And I couldn't do anything."

Darsh said nothing at first.

He just moved closer.

And then, without a word, he pulled her into him - slowly, carefully, until her forehead rested against his shoulder.

She didn't resist.

In fact, the moment his arms wrapped around her, Dhwani broke.

She sobbed into his shirt like a dam had burst, her entire body trembling from the weight of everything she'd been holding in. Grief, guilt, exhaustion - it spilled out in ugly, heart-wrenching gasps.

Darsh held her tighter, his hand cradling the back of her head. He didn't tell her to calm down. He didn't tell her she was strong.

He just let her fall apart - and stayed.

"I don't know how to do this anymore," she whispered, her voice cracked. "Two surgeries in two days, barely any sleep, and now this. I... I feel like I'm drowning."

Darsh exhaled quietly. "You don't have to do it all alone."

She looked up at him slowly, eyes red and swollen. "I don't know how to stop feeling like I failed her."

"You didn't fail her, Dhwani. You gave her everything you could," he said, brushing a tear from her cheek. "And sometimes... sometimes, even everything isn't enough. That's not on you. That's not your fault."

His voice cracked just slightly - almost unnoticeably - but Dhwani heard it.

For the first time, she saw something in him that he rarely showed: vulnerability.

He wasn't the untouchable CEO right now. He wasn't the cold, unreachable man everyone spoke of. He was just Darsh - sitting beside a broken girl in the dark, holding her together when she couldn't do it herself.

"I hate this feeling," she murmured. "This emptiness. This helplessness."

He nodded. "I know. But it won't always feel like this."

They sat in silence for a while after that. Just breathing. Just existing.

Eventually, her sobs faded into soft hiccups, and her body grew heavier against his. She hadn't realized how drained she was until her head fell softly against his shoulder.

He noticed.

"You should lie down," he said gently.

"No," she mumbled. "I don't want to be alone."

"You're not," he whispered.

She looked up at him again, and for a fleeting second, something flickered between them. Not romance. Not comfort. Something quieter. Deeper. A kind of unspoken understanding born from pain.

She eventually shifted back under the covers. Darsh didn't leave.

He sat beside her, not saying anything, his presence enough to calm the storm.

And for the first time in days - maybe weeks - Dhwani let herself rest. Her fingers still gripped the edge of the blanket, but her breathing was calmer now.

She didn't know what tomorrow would bring.

But for tonight - even if just for a moment - she wasn't falling apart alone.

---

Darsh's POV

She was finally asleep.

Curled up on the bed like a child who had fought too many wars, her fingers twitching even in slumber-like her body didn't know how to stop bracing for impact.

And him?

He was sitting beside her, staring into the dark like a man who just saw the aftermath of his own wreckage.

He had been so blind.

Not just to her pain.

But to what he had become around her.

He hadn't fallen for her the way people usually describe it-sweet, accidental, romantic.

No.

He'd been obsessed with her. Addicted to the idea of her. Her light. Her calm. Her fire. And that addiction had turned ugly fast.

He didn't just want her.

He wanted control over her.

The way she walked into a room and didn't try to impress anyone.

The way she did her job with no agenda.

The way she didn't bend-not even for him.

And that infuriated him.

He had tried to own her with his authority.

He shifted her cases. Watched her sweat. Pulled her into tight corners under the excuse of "work."

He made her nervous. Then watched with satisfaction when she tried to hold her ground.

He was cruel.

Not out of malice-but out of lust, power, and pride. A dangerous mix that turned his feelings into a game.

And she had no idea.

She had thought he was just tough, cold, professional.

She didn't know he watched her like a storm brewing. That he crafted situations to see how far he could push her before she broke.

And tonight-

She did.

But it wasn't a victory.

It was a fucking funeral.

Because in that moment, with her crumbling in his arms, choking on tears and apologies for a life she couldn't save-he saw it.

The truth.

She had been fighting battles everywhere-

And he had been one of them.

The worst one.

Because he disguised his hunger as authority.

His desire as power.

And while she was slowly breaking, he was using it to feed his obsession.

God.

Dharsh pressed his palms against his face, breathing in ragged silence.

What kind of man does that?

What kind of man lets a woman drown under the weight of expectations-then adds more just to see her struggle?

The kind who never deserved her.

The kind who finally sees what he's done far too late.

He didn't want to touch her now.

Not when she was fragile. Not when her body still flinched in sleep. Not when every part of him remembered the way he'd stood too close in hallways, how he'd let his eyes wander too long when she wasn't looking.

She was never just a colleague. Never just a curiosity.

She was a storm. And he-

He had tried to trap it in a glass box and call it his.

And now?

Now she was lying there-grief spilling out in waves-and all he could do was sit with the guilt clawing through his chest.

For the first time in his life, he wasn't angry.

Or powerful.

Or lustful.

He was ashamed.

Ashamed that someone like him-spoiled, sharp-tongued, control-addicted-had come so close to someone as rare as her.

Ashamed that the only reason he saw her clearly now...

Was because she finally shattered.

He didn't deserve her forgiveness.

Hell, he didn't even deserve to be in this room.

But he would stay.

Not to earn redemption.

Not to chase her softness.

But to finally accept the damage he had caused.

And maybe, just maybe-

Become the kind of man who could someday apologize without expecting anything in return.

---