It had been weeks since Rohan had come back from the coma. The hospital room had become a second home to Shanaya. The beeping of machines, the faint antiseptic smell, the muted conversations of nurses in the hall—everything was a constant reminder that time was slipping through her fingers.

Rohan smiled every day. For her. For his parents. For Kartik. For everyone who came to see him. But behind that ever-gentle smile was a boy who knew his days were numbered. His condition was deteriorating slowly, cruelly, and the doctors had already had that dreaded conversation with the family.

But Rohan had begged them—"Don't tell Shanaya. Not yet. Let her have this... for as long as she can."

So they kept it from her.

She noticed, of course. The way his voice weakened. The way he winced when he thought nobody was watching. The extra seconds it took for him to catch his breath , The increasing tremble in his hands when he tried to hold hers. The way his eyes seemed to glaze over more often. 

But she chose denial. She chose faith. She chose love.

He laughed through the pain, joked when he could barely sit up straight, and told her he was getting stronger. He was lying, and deep down, Shanaya knew.

But she played along. Because to admit otherwise... was to accept a truth she wasn't ready for.

So they lived in those small moments. Ice cream in bed. Watching reruns of their favorite childhood cartoons. Reading books together, even though Rohan would always fall asleep halfway through. 

He gifted her his favorite hoodie—oversized, warm, and soaked in his scent. She wore it every night. He once whispered, "So when I'm not there, you'll still have something of me to hold."

She had smiled then. Now that memory would break her.

---------------------------------

Shanaya had gone back home just for a little while. Radhika aunty had insisted . " Go take a proper shower , beta. Eat something warm. You need to take care of yourself too."

He had looked pale. Too pale. Reluctantly ,  She kissed his forehead and whispered, "I'll be back soon, love. Don't miss me too much."

He gave her his usual smile , eyes twinkling with unspoken words. "Always will."

She never knew that would be the last time she'd hear his voice.

She left to shower, her mind already planning to make his favorite pancakes. Just twenty minutes. That's all she took.

But when she came back—She pushed the door open.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Machines had stopped beeping. Nurses were running. His mother was screaming. Kartik stood frozen, fists clenched, tears streaming down his face.

Flat lines.

No beeping.

No movement.

Rohan lay still.

Pale.

Gone.

And Shanaya— She stood still. Motionless. Eyes glued to the frail figure lying on the bed.

The love of her life was gone.

The one person who swore to never leave her, just did.

She didn't scream. Didn't cry. Her bag slipped from her shoulder , hitting the floor with a thud. Her lungs refused to expand. Her lips didn't quiver. Just silence. Her silence.

 She walked inside, slowly, sat next to his body, held his cold hand, and whispered, "You broke your promise."

Everyone cried. Radhika sobbed inconsolably besides her son ,  collapsing into her husband's arms. Kartik punched the wall outside the ICU, his knuckles bleeding. His father broke down , clutching rohan's hand as if willing him to come back. The nurses, the doctors—they had failed. And they knew it.

But Shanaya? She just stood there.

Staring.

Void.

Broken.

Gone with him.

----------------

The funeral was a blur. Rain poured as if the skies themselves mourned. Hundreds showed up. Classmates, colleagues, neighbors, family. The entire city seemed to mourn the ROHAN MALHOTRA. There were photos of him everywhere. Smiling. Laughing. Alive.

His body lay still, dressed in his favorite white kurta. Flowers surrounded him.

Shanaya wore his hoodie. She hadn't changed out of it. Not even once.

She sat there besides radhika aunty , who gripped her hand tightly , weeping uncontrollably. Kartik moved around , handling the guests , the rituals , everything she could've helped with. But today , she was a shadow of herself.

People came and offered condolences.

Some hugged her. Some whispered words of comfort. Others just stared , not knowing what to say.

But she didn't respond.

Not once.

Not a single tear.

Not a blink.

Just a hollow look.

Like her soul had been buried with him.

They lit the pyre. The fire rose high , consuming wood and memories alike.

She watched it all.

Unflinching.

Her fingers numb , her chest tight , but her eyes still dry.

Because crying would mean acceptance.

And she couldn't.

She wouldn't.

Not yet.

------------

Later that night, the house was filled with murmurs.

"She hasn't said a word."

"She hasn't even eaten."

"Should we call someone? A therapist maybe?"

Radhika aunty sat beside her, stroking her hair, whispering, "Beta, you can cry. You need to cry. Please... don't do this to yourself."

But Shanaya just stared ahead. As if the walls had something to say. As if she was still in that hospital room.

Waiting for him to wake up.

Waiting for him to say, "I'll be waiting, baby."

But he wouldn't.

He couldn't.

Because he broke the only promise he made to her.

He left.

And this time, he wasn't coming back.

And neither was she.

_______________________________

"Shanaya, you need to sleep. Please," Kartik pleaded. Nothing.

She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She didn't say a word.

Because how do you cry when the person who understood your soul is no longer breathing? How do you mourn someone who took your heart with them?

She wasn't just grieving. She was broken.

There was a void in her chest, so loud, so heavy, it silenced every part of her.

---

In the days that followed, people moved on. Life did what life always does—it continued.

But not for her.

She wasn't living. She was simply surviving.

Haunted by the laughter she'd never hear again. The kisses she'd never feel. The promises he'd never get to keep.

And worst of all—the guilt. The endless, gnawing guilt that maybe, just maybe, if she hadn't left that morning... He'd still be here.

And so, in her silence, in that unbearable stillness... Shanaya mourned. With every breath she took, she mourned.

For Rohan. For their love. For the forever they never got

_______________

AUTHOR'S NOTE :

This chapter was one of the hardest to write.

Portraying grief—raw, undiluted, and silent—is never easy. Shanaya's pain isn't loud. It doesn't scream or wail. It just sits there, heavy and suffocating, like a ghost clinging to her chest. Sometimes, the most heartbreaking goodbyes are the ones left unspoken. And Rohan's was exactly that.

This chapter was about love—the kind that promises forever, even when time betrays it. About loss—the kind that doesn't hit like a storm, but erodes you slowly from within. And about a girl who gave her heart to someone who never intended to break it, but still ended up shattering it in the most unexpected way.

To everyone who's ever lost someone without closure... I see you. And I hope you felt seen in these words.

Love,

Vrinda.