The hospital lights flickered without her. Her white coat hung untouched behind her door. The world had continued spinning, but Dhwani hadn't moved an inch from the quiet darkness of her room.

Seven days.

Seven days since the code blue.

Seven days since the little girl who called her "sunshine doctor" skipped away from her hands.

Seven days since Dhwani let everything fall-her strength, her control, her walls.

She hadn't returned any calls.

Not Diya's. Not the hospital's. Not even Darsh's.

The world had become a slow, blurry tunnel. She couldn't breathe properly. Every heartbeat felt too loud, and every silence felt too long. She didn't sleep, not really-just passed out, exhausted from crying or dissociating. She barely ate. And she couldn't look in the mirror without seeing the little girl's face.

Then, on the eighth day, her door shook.

"Open the damn door, Dhwani! Or I swear to God, I'll break it down!"

A part of her wanted to pretend she didn't hear it.

But the voice was impossible to ignore.

Because it was Diya-her best friend, her anchor, her reality check.

The door creaked open. Dhwani stood behind it-frail, lifeless, wearing the same hoodie from three days ago.

Diya's expression twisted from rage to disbelief. "You look like shit."

Dhwani tried to say something but ended up just pressing her lips together.

Without waiting for an invitation, Diya walked in. "So this is what you've been doing? Disappearing like a ghost? Because of him or because of you?"

"I... I just..." Dhwani's voice was barely a whisper.

Diya turned around. "You ignored my calls. You didn't show up for the coffee date. You didn't even text back when I said I missed you. Do you know how infuriating that is?"

"I wasn't okay," Dhwani finally said, her voice cracking mid-sentence. "I'm not okay, Diya. She-she was just a kid."

Diya's face softened. "I know, yaar."

"I tried to save her. I did everything. And I still failed. Then everything with Darsh... it just-broke something in me."

She crumbled to the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest.

"I don't know how to be me anymore."

Diya crouched down in front of her, placed a gentle hand on her head. "Hey. Look at me. You're allowed to not be okay. But you're not allowed to suffer alone. Especially not when I'm here."

Dhwani sobbed, her head falling into Diya's lap. "I don't want to feel this. I don't want to feel anything."

"I know," Diya whispered. "But we have to feel it to heal it."

They stayed like that for what felt like forever. No judgment. No fixing. Just presence.

Later, Diya helped her into clean clothes. Brushed her hair. Forced her into a hoodie and jeans. The makeup bag stayed shut. "Today, you don't need to look like yourself. You just need to feel like you exist."

They took an auto to their favorite roadside chai stall-the one tucked near a rusted bookstore, far away from the sterile, bright world of hospitals and surgeries.

Dhwani took her first sip of chai, and the warmth spread through her like light cracking into a cave.

They sat on a stone bench. The city buzzed past, but time slowed for them.

"You know, I diagnosed a sprained ankle as a fractured tibia in my second year," Diya said suddenly.

Dhwani blinked. "What?"

"Yup. Sent a guy for an X-ray and everything. He was just stiff because he wore tight boots."

And somehow, for the first time in a week, Dhwani laughed.

A real laugh. Breathless. Unpolished. Healing.

"I missed this," she whispered.

"Then don't disappear on me again," Diya said, serious now. "And don't ever let a man, no matter how rich or jawline-blessed, make you question your worth."

Dhwani looked away. "He didn't just make me question it. He played with it."

"I figured." Diya leaned back. "And someday, you'll talk about it. When you're ready. No pressure."

There was silence. But it wasn't empty this time. It was warm. Peaceful. Like an exhale she'd been holding in for too long.

As the evening sun dipped below the city skyline, painting their shadows longer than before, Dhwani let herself feel the ache. The grief. The anger. The exhaustion.

But most importantly, she let herself feel alive again.

---