Kyra

I can hear my breathing louder than the beeping around me, fast and ragged. It slows down now and then until the incident of my father's heart attack flashes before me like a nightmare, reminding me of the crude words which had made him fall to his demise.

Everyone keeps coming in, hugging me, stroking my hair, telling me that it's not my fault. But the only thought which clouds my mind is: would he have been here if I hadn't lashed out at him?

Once again, someone was put on the deathbed because I couldn't tame these emotions over storming within me. Only this time, god decided to show a sliver of mercy and not take away my bearer. Or maybe he just wanted to play games with me and kept the gates of hell closed for my father until I had been broken down into nothing.

I will never know.

Fate never seems to speak clearly these days. Happiness never stays long enough to feel real. I had lived a little too freely these past few weeks, and now fate had returned, not with chaos, but with a quiet cruelty. It twisted the knife it had once buried in me, as if to remind my soul that the joy I tasted was never meant to last. Just a fleeting mercy before the fall.

I heave a shaky sigh, lifting my gaze to my father's still body. But it falters, my vision blurs before I can truly take in the sight of him lying there, motionless. My breath catches, lodged somewhere between disbelief and fear, and then the tears come as if they'd only been waiting for permission. They sting my eyes, spill down my cheeks in burning trails, but I don't wipe them away. A broken sob claws its way out of my throat, ragged and sharp, and I double over, clutching my arms as if I can hold myself together. My chest aches, a brutal weight pressing down until I can barely breathe. My shoulders shake violently, body racked with sobs that don't seem to end, each one tearing through me like it's trying to reach whatever's left of my heart.

It's my fault he's here. It's always my fault. No matter how hard I try, it'll never be enough. No matter how many nights I spend trying to prove my worth, he'll never understand this hunger for writing I have in me. And if he'll never understand, He'll never accept me. And no acceptance means I'll forever be the last person he'd care for, the last person he'd love, the last person he'd want here to sit with him while he's suffering.

And yet, I shamelessly insisted on being here instead of anyone else. I refused to let my brother have this spot, I told my mother off, and I didn't budge even when I got a painfully dirty look from my sister, like she blamed me for all of this.

My phone had been buzzing nonstop, calls and messages, mostly from Shiv and the others, I'm guessing. But also from him.

I'd left my conversation with Ansh hanging, somewhere in the middle of another dumb argument. He'd jokingly claimed he could hack into my phone and read the half-finished novel I'd been too scared to share with anyone. I hadn't responded after that. Didn't have the energy.

Still, I wouldn't put it past him to already know where I am and why. What surprises me is that he hasn't barged in yet, fury blazing, ready to tear the world apart. Ready to kill my half-dying father for being the reason behind these tears spilling silently down my cheeks.

He would do that. He's never shy about reminding me.

"Your tears," he once said, "are more precious than you think. Anyone who dares to spill them? They have already signed their death wish."

And yet, I was already crying when he said that. Not because of the threat in his voice, but because the girl inside me—the one who'd learned to cry quietly, who'd never been told her pain mattered—didn't know how to handle it. No one had ever looked at my tears like they were something sacred. And then there he was... this maddening stranger who had somehow begun to carve a place for himself inside my heart, whispering the words I'd spent years silently aching to hear.

A sound cuts through the silence, and my body goes still. My heart stutters as my eyes snap upward—toward my father. He's stirring, faintly, breath catching like it's unsure whether to return. I blink, then hastily swipe at the tears still clinging to my skin, forcing the storm inside me to quiet down.

"Dad?" I question softly, my voice cracking in an effort not to cry again.

His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, staring blankly at the ceiling. For a moment, he looks lost—like he's unsure of where he is, or if any of this is real. Then his gaze slowly sweeps the room, taking in the sterile light, the machines, the silence. And finally... it lands on me.

I brace myself, heart pounding, almost afraid he'll turn away—that he'll look at me with the same disappointment I've seen too many times before. But he doesn't. He just looks. Steady. Quiet. Like he sees me for the first time in years.

I inhale shakily, the weight in my chest pressing harder, and then I speak—softly, gently—as I remind him of what happened.

"You had a minor heart attack.. Everything is fine.. Um, I'll go get the doctor so he can check on you again." I explain, hurrying up from my seat so I can escape my embarrassment.

"No," he whispers, "sit.. I want to talk to you."

I stare at him in concern, worried about what might happen if I burst at him again. He shifts slightly, and I move forward slightly to help him sit up.

"You shouldn't exert yourself so much; you need rest." I glance at him for a moment before diverting my gaze.

He sighs, taking a moment to get a hold of himself, before speaking again.

"Kyra, I'm already weak," He begins, a pain in his voice which makes my heart throb in pain, "I don't know how many moments I might have left with this family. There is still so much I wish to do." He shakes his head slightly, regret lacing his words.

"You've already done enough for us, Dad, there's nothing more we want from you," I explain softly, passing him a gentle smile, hoping that he'd give me one in return.

He doesn't.

"Kyra, I don't know if you're aware yet, but the company had a breach a few days ago." He pauses, glancing towards me to read my expression.

I knew Kanishk had told me.

I give him a nod and he continues, "I need your help, my child. You know I don't want to put you through this pain; no father would willingly do that. This is the only way to ensure that the company stays where it is and can grow even more. Imagine the ease your brother would feel. He wouldn't have to worry about the lost project anymore, he wouldn't have to worry about having to grow every day." He pleads.

I look away, confused. Was it the only way? Was I really that helpful?

Kanishk was devastated that day; he looked like he might've almost cried. He's worked so hard to build this company more than our dad did himself. While it took Dad a decade to get here, it only took 2 years for Kanishk to make the company into an empire. And now, because of this stupid breach and loss of their newest project, he had started to doubt whether or not he was even capable of holding the company in his hands or not.

"Kyra, you need to understand," Dad starts again, "For your brother, do it for him, Beta."

Dad reaches out, slow, steady and wraps his fingers around my wrist. Gently, he pulls my hand into both of his, holding it like it's something fragile, something he's afraid to break. His grip tightens, not out of strength but desperation, and when I look up, I see it, an expression I've never seen on him before.

His eyes are drowning in sorrow, brows furrowed low, and every line on his face is etched with pain. And he doesn't say a word, but he doesn't have to. His silence is loud enough.

"Dad.. I.." I hesitate.

"Kyra," he squeezes my hand tighter, and I wince softly in pain, "You're the only way out. It's just a contract marriage. You don't even have to act like a real wife. And I'll get you the funding for your stupid novel." He flinches at the last words, looking at me with hesitation, "Kyra.. I.."

I passed him a sad smile before slipping my hand from between his.

Even at the edge of death, my father won't ever change.

I shake my head softly, "You'll never understand, Dad, it's not some stupid novel, it's my life's work. Burn your contract. I don't need your help. And my brother is capable enough to save the company," I pause, my voice shaking, "Stop undermining your kids." I scoff.

I draw in a shaky breath, my chest tightening as I turn away from him. Without looking back, I start toward the door of his hospital room, each step heavier than the last.

Then I hear it, my name.
Softly at first, almost unsure.
And then again, sharper. The way I've heard it most of my life, laced with anger, disappointment, disgust. Like a slap wrapped in syllables.

It hits me like a wave. The pain, the fury, the helplessness, all of it crashing into me at once. I stumble forward, heart racing, and before the tears can spill again, I rip the door open and step out of that suffocating room, desperate to breathe, to feel anything but this.

"Kyra," I hear my mom gasp, and she tries to hold onto me as I stumble out.

Tears blur my vision, thick and blinding, and I simply shake my head as I gently push her away. My touch isn't harsh. I take a step back, my body trembling, barely able to contain the pain clawing its way out from where I'd buried it deep inside.

I hear my brother call out for me, his voice desperate, arms already reaching out, ready to catch me before I completely fall apart. But I shake my head, hard and fast, backing away. The storm is too loud inside me, too wild, and there's a scream swelling in my chest, raw and aching, just waiting to tear its way out.

"I need space", I crooked out.

My feet move on their own, carrying me wherever destiny decides to take me. I'm not walking, I'm escaping. Hot tears sting my cheeks, falling faster than I can wipe them away. I try to breathe, to take deep, steady breaths, but my lungs won't cooperate. There's a weight on my chest, heavy and suffocating, pressing down like it wants to keep me from finding air. I can't think. I can't stop. I just keep moving, hoping I'll outrun the breaking point.

I stumble through the hallway, barely able to see past the tears blurring my vision. The lights above smear into white streaks, and my breaths come too fast, too shallow. My chest is caving in, my throat too tight to let in any air. I keep walking, feet dragging, unsure where I'm even going. I just need to get away from the room, from his voice, from everything.

I turn a corner and find myself in a quieter part of the hospital. It's dimmer here, silent, almost like the world has stepped away to let me fall apart in peace. My legs buckle beneath me. I reach out blindly for the wall, but I miss—and then I'm falling.

Or at least I think I am.

Arms catch me. Steady. Warm.

My breath stutters, my fingers instinctively curling into the front of someone's shirt. I don't look up. I can't. My heart is pounding too hard, my mind spiralling too fast. But there's something about this touch... something achingly familiar.

My eyes shoot up, and I look at the person in front of me through blurred vision.

Golden eyes stare back at me, panicked.

"Ansh," I choke out.

Before I break apart in his arms.

His arm curls around my waist, slow and gentle, like he's afraid I might shatter. I feel the hesitation in him before his breath brushes the top of my head, warm and uneven, and his mouth parts like he wants to say something, but the words don't come.

Then he pulls me closer until I'm pressed against his chest. And I don't resist. I melt into him, my forehead resting just over his heart as it beats steadily and strongly, so unlike mine. His hand slips up my back, resting between my shoulder blades, and we just... stand there.

The silence stretches, but it's not empty. It's full of everything I'm too broken to say.

Tears continue to pour down my face, soaking into his shirt in messy, uneven waves. I don't care. I can't stop. I bury my face deeper into him, letting the fabric absorb the sobs I can't keep buried anymore.

"Shh.." He breathes out, his thumb caressing against my back.

His touch disappears for a moment, and for a split second, my heart panics—cold air rushes in where his warmth had just been. But then he's back, closer this time. I feel him shift, then lean down, and before I can fully process what's happening, his arm slides beneath my knees and the other steadies me at my back.

He lifts me.

My arms instinctively wrap around his neck as he carries me across the corridor, each step quiet but certain. He walks us to one of the plastic waiting chairs pressed against the wall and lowers himself down, adjusting me in his lap without letting go.

I don't fight it. I just fold into him, curling against the warmth of his chest, pressing my face to the soft fabric of his shirt that already clings damp with my tears. His body is solid, still, warm, and I sink into it like it's the only safe thing in the world. My knees tuck against him, arms drawn in close, and I let myself be held. Cocooned in the circle of his arms, I let the pain have me.

"Kyra.." He begins, his voice is calm, steady, "What happened, my love?" He gently hooks his finger under my chin, urging me to look at him.

I don't fight it. I let myself look at him, and I know he sees it. All of it. The pain carved into every corner of my face, the tears still clinging to my lashes, the silent ache I've tried so hard to hide. His eyes soften, losing that usual edge, and something quiet flickers there. He leans in, slow and careful, and presses a kiss to my forehead. When he pulls back, I feel the loss of his lips like a sudden chill.

"Talk to me," he whispers, voice low and steady, like he's offering me a way out of the dark.

The words tumble out before I can stop them, cracked and soaked in tears. My chest trembles as I try to breathe, but the pain pushes up too fast, too raw to hold back anymore.

"I'm so tired," I whisper, voice shaking, barely a breath. "I'm tired of being the perfect daughter. I'm tired of holding this pain, Ansh." My voice breaks around his name, and I choke on a sob that slips through my throat. "It's killing me from the inside out. It feels like everything is against me. Am I that hard to love? To be understood?"

I draw in a jagged breath, tears streaming down my cheeks, my body shaking with the effort of holding myself together and failing. My voice rises, not in anger, but desperation.

"I wish I were crude. Unfeeling. Mean. People wish to hate me anyway." My eyes squeeze shut, as if that might block out the pain. "What's the point of having a soft heart? What's the point of caring when it just hurts?"

I shake my head furiously, wiping at my face with the back of my hand, but the tears don't stop. "But no matter what I do... that softness never leaves. My heart stays like that. Sensitive. Soft. And fucking annoying."

I let the silence settle between us, heavy and trembling, like my body in his arms.

"Señorita," he murmurs, voice low and achingly soft, "you're not hard to love. To love you... It is probably the easiest thing a person could ever do." He looks at me like he's holding the truth in his hands, like every word has waited a lifetime to be spoken.

"How could anyone not?" he continues. "How could someone look into these precious, tear-filled eyes and not want to hold you? Not want to take every ounce of your pain and carry it themselves?" His thumb brushes the edge of my jaw, reverent. "You're the kindest soul I've ever known. Every step you take brings light into the lives around you. Every smile you offer makes people laugh like they've forgotten how to hurt. And every tear you shed..." He exhales shakily. "Even the fallen angels grieve when you cry."

He leans closer, forehead almost resting against mine. "To love you is as effortless as breathing. As natural as the gods forsaking heaven just to find their soulmate on earth. To love you is to fight death itself, to cling to life just for one more moment in your warmth."

His voice drops, rough with emotion. "To love you is to love someone too soft for this world... someone even the demons in hell would protect with what's left of their half-burnt hearts."

"I'll fix it," he swears, voice trembling. "Whatever caused these tears... I'll make it right. I promise, my love. Soon, everything will be okay."

I stare at him, tears still clinging stubbornly to my cheeks. His words wash over me like a melody, soft, haunting, and everything my ears had been desperate to hear. He speaks so beautifully, so earnestly, that even the greatest poets would fail to stir my heart the way he just did.

A shudder runs down my spine, delicate and electric, and my breath hitches. My eyes, glassy with emotion, lock onto his and in them, I see it. The one thing I've craved more than anything else in this world.

Affection.

Unfiltered. Unconditional. His.

And then I feel it, one beat. Then another.

My heart picks up, traitorous and wild, falling deeper and deeper than it was ever meant to.