"What's she doing here? Is that her? Wait — why is she in a hospital? Is she hurt too?"
Thoughts bursting one after another. His face down, eyes to the ground, head full of questions and heart pouring out concern he had no room left to carry.
He sat beside Sasha, checking on her from time to time. The whole while, the image of Reva at the entrance — held by a nurse — was quietly killing him from the inside.
Then the door opened.
He assumed it was the nurse on her rounds. But then the blue fluffy slippers caught the corner of his eye.
He shifted his glance upward.
And there — there was Reva's face.
That single moment was enough. Every wall he'd built, every layer of composure he'd held through the last several hours — it gave way completely. Like he'd been carrying something unbearable for too long and his arms simply refused another second of it. His eyes filled with the warmth of having someone familiar close. The loneliness that had been pressing against his chest since he'd arrived — it cracked open the moment she walked through that door.
He pulled her close. Buried his face against her. Held on with both arms and cried until every fragment of fear he'd been swallowing finally found somewhere to go.
For that moment there was no one else. The world narrowed to just her presence and the quiet relief of not being alone in it anymore.
[Elliot]
"I was scared. I felt like I was about to lose her. If anything had happened — God knows how I would have faced them.
Right now I need y—"
"She's awake." Reva's voice, quiet and careful.
I pulled back.
The embarrassment hit immediately — crying in front of her, of all people. And I had been right on the edge of saying it. Right there. Thank God.
I turned to Sasha. She had opened her eyes briefly, just enough — and then the medication pulled her back under. I checked her vitals, satisfied myself she was settled, and cleared my throat.
Turned back to Reva. The tear stains on her shirt were not something I could unsee.
That's on me.
I looked toward Sasha to avoid her eyes and asked — "How are you here? What happened?"
Then I looked back at her properly. And there — as expected — Sean stood behind her. Reva without Sean nearby was a rare sight at this point.
I gestured for them both to sit. They settled on the couch — Sean mostly watching Reva with that quiet attentiveness he always had around her.
"Nothing serious — just weakness. I blacked out." Reva said simply, handing me a glass of water as she said it. Like it was nothing. Like she hadn't just been admitted to the same hospital.
"Is Sasha okay now? What happened exactly? What did the doctor say about the fracture?"
I told them — she'd been on her way back to the airport heading home when the accident happened. A few stitches, fractures now stabilised, out of immediate danger.
Sean leaned forward. "Has a report been filed? Do you need any help with that?"
"Everything's been handled by the secretary. No need to worry." I said. "She's safe — that's what matters most."
We talked for about twenty minutes before I noticed it — Reva's face going pale around the edges. Sean noticed before I finished the sentence. He was already moving, gently ushering her up, telling me he'd come back in the evening. And just like that they were leaving.
I caught one last look at her before the door closed — her smile as she walked out, small and genuine.
And then the room went quiet again.
****
It felt like yesterday.
That bubble of a personality — it never changed. Not once. That tiny frame, long hair pulled into a neat ponytail, those doe eyes — I first really saw her at Rain's parents' food stall. A girl from a wealthy household, completely unbothered, happily eating sweet and sour street food like it was the finest thing in the world. Every Friday and Saturday without fail. Always left with a packed parcel too — like she couldn't bear not bringing some home.
Every fragment of her is expressive in a way you can't manufacture.
The way her cheeks go rosy eating her favourite lemon cake. The way her lips go full and pink after a bowl of spicy noodles. The way her ears turn red the moment someone compliments her — like her body betrays her before she can compose herself. The way she fidgets with her thumb when Sean scolds her.
You can't unsee these things once you've seen them. You simply can't.
From the very first day to right now — this person has been the same. Ambitious. Expressive. Entirely, effortlessly selfless.
No wonder I'm still here.
This girl thinks I don't know. But I know. My mentor told me — after I won the scholarship — that she was the one who approached the teacher and pushed for my name to be considered. She never said a word to me about it. Not once.
She gave me a push. I did the rest — I know that. I'm not confused about that part.
But that push came from her. And because of it I became a research scientist, working in defence biochemical research, contributing to something that actually matters. A life I built — starting from a door she quietly opened for me without expecting anything in return.
But nothing — nothing — compares to the airport.
The day I won and was leaving for abroad. She was there. That small face, probably trying not to show she was upset. The trio becoming two now.
She handed me a bag. Only open it after takeoff, she said.
Her hair was loose that day. Flowing. Her eyes were doing that thing — red at the corners, trying hard. Those tiny hands waving as I walked through.
I knew in that moment. I knew exactly what I had to become.
When the plane lifted I opened the bag. Found a wrapped box. Inside — a carved wooden box with my initials on it and carved as" To the most remarkable person".
I opened it.
A four leaf clover. Sealed carefully in a small plastic cover. One of only two she had.
The other — if I remembered correctly — she'd given to Sean when his mother fell ill.
This person....
***
A knock at the door pulled him back.
He exhaled slowly — returning to the room, to the present, to the quiet beside Sasha's bed.
For someone with a mind that processes the world the way Elliot's does — emotions had always felt secondary. Inefficient. His shy, guarded nature had been a product of that for years. But with Reva and Sean — somehow he had always been the one to speak first. That trio had been something worth remembering.
And yet.
There had always been something unsettled between Sean and him. Something that wasn't simply about the financial gap between them back then.
It was something else entirely. Something Sean carried that Elliot couldn't quite name — a sense of responsibility, of quiet trust, of a maturity that had always made Elliot feel like he was standing slightly outside of something he couldn't enter.
He still couldn't name it precisely. But he felt it.
The nurse finished her checks — Sasha still sleeping soundly. Elliot stepped out for air, leaving the nurse to it, and made his way toward the entrance.
A hand landed on his shoulder from behind.
He turned.
Sean.
Standing there with that easy smile of his.