The room was wrapped in an odd silence. The faint sound of rain outside seeped in, as if it, too, was part of the stillness.
Leena sat curled in the corner of the couch. Her wet hair clung to her face, each strand carrying the weight of her exhaustion and grief. Her eyes were half-lidded, lips moving slightly — whispers, fragments of words that almost reached the ear yet disappeared into the air.
"Help me…"
The voice was so faint that Sam wasn't sure he'd heard it at all. He leaned in, his voice low.
"What did you say, Leena?"
But she didn't answer. Her breaths were heavy, her hands still trembling around the bottle of liquor.
Confusion clouded Sam's eyes. A storm of questions churned inside him, and the one that finally broke out was raw and unfiltered:
"What… what are you doing, Leena? You're the one who told me to stay away. And now… now you're at my door. Tell me, how am I supposed to understand this?"
There was no anger in his voice, only a restless ache, a quiet helplessness.
Leena lifted her face, tear-streaks glistening across her cheeks. She smiled — but it wasn't a smile at all. It was broken, bitter, a smile laced with pain and mockery all at once. Her eyes were heavy, yet something deep within them burned.
"Death…" she whispered, her face half-hidden behind her damp hair.
"Death is the easiest punishment."
Shock and unease flickered across Sam's face. His hand twitched forward, as if he might grab hers, hold her back from the edge of whatever abyss her mind was sliding into. But Leena didn't even glance at him.
The room grew heavier. The hum of the ceiling fan, the patter of rain, the ragged pull of Leena's breath — all of it merged into a suffocating stillness, as though time itself had stalled.
Leena drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let out a faint laugh — wet with tears, fractured.
That laugh shook Sam to his core.
He couldn't tell if the girl in front of him was asking to be saved… or slowly dragging herself deeper into the dark.
"Too much alcohol isn't good for your health, Leena…"
Sam said, exhaling deeply. His voice carried no anger, only concern.
Leena ignored him. An odd expression flickered across her face — half a smile, half emptiness. She raised a finger toward him.
"You'll do something for me…" her words slurred, stumbling.
"Send a leave application for four days… from my side, to the office. Please… here's my phone."
She pushed the phone toward him.
"Sam… are you listening to me?"
Sam took the phone from her hand, his gaze darkening.
"Leena… do you even hear yourself? Why do you need leave? And besides… I'm not your boss. I'm an employee too. We call the boss our colleague, okay?"
Leena's smile widened. Her eyes narrowed as she slurred,
"No, Sam… you're lying. Just wait, you'll see. You're the one looking wasted right now."
Sam rubbed his forehead, then snapped,
"Leena! Hey, man, relax! I'm trying to calm you down."
Leena laughed, pulling her bag closer. With clumsy fingers, she tugged the zipper open and fished out a small packet.
"Here… this makes you calm. Makes everything feel better."
Sam's eyes widened.
"Weed? Leena, put that away—"
But she wasn't listening. She giggled, patting her pockets.
"Wait… where's the lighter…"
Lying back on the couch, she arched her waist and pulled a lighter from her back pocket. The next moment, smoke filled the room. Leena's eyes half-closed, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She inhaled, then held the joint out toward Sam.
Sam snatched it from her hand and crushed it out. His voice turned hard.
"Do you even realize what you're doing to yourself, Leena?"
Her gaze was hazy, yet there was a strange clarity glinting in it.
"Yes… I know. I have exams. And I need leave."
Sam frowned.
"Exams? What exams? You said you weren't even a graduate."
Leena nodded, her broken smile still lingering.
"Hmm… but I am. I'm Leena. I'll be twenty-two next month. And I'm a graduate too."
Sam stared at her in disbelief.
"You're… twenty-two?"
"Hmm…" she nodded again, then let out a laugh.
"But you… you're old now. You should get married. That girl the other day — she was good."
Sam's face flushed with irritation. His hand slapped against the table.
"I'm just 31, Leena! Just 31! And the way you're behaving right now… unhealthy lifestyle? That's yours, not mine."
Leena cut him off, her eyes suddenly lighting up.
"Thirty-one? Ohhh… thirty-one means your marriage age has already passed."
Her voice was heavy with intoxication, but her laughter carried a sting that cut straight through Sam.
The room fell into silence again. A thin haze of smoke lingered in the air. Sam's eyes stayed fixed on Leena — and Leena remained lost in her own world.
Sami looked at her and said softly, almost like a warning,
"You're completely drunk. Wait here—I'll make you something."
But Leena didn't listen. She followed him, her unsteady steps echoing against the tiles until she collapsed into a chair. The kitchen light buzzed faintly above them, flickering just enough to make the shadows dance along the walls. She leaned back, strands of hair slipping across her face. That faint smile lingered on her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes—it was the kind of smile that tried too hard to hide the storm underneath.
Sami turned away, focusing on the counter. His hands moved with deliberate slowness as he cut the lemons, squeezed them, stirred the sugar. Every few seconds, though, his eyes betrayed him—drifting back to her. She was laughing softly to herself, a broken sort of laugh, light as a child's, heavy as grief.
When the lemonade was finally ready, he placed the glass before her. His tone shifted, firm and edged.
"You shouldn't come here again, Leena. "
Leena tilted her head, her glassy eyes finding his. She reply "don't wait at the door for me next time." But silence wrapped around them like something too loud to ignore. Sami felt it. He broke first.
"I'm just helping you tonight. If you keep drowning yourself like this… someone else, someone worse, could take advantage of you."
Her smile dimmed, replaced by something rawer. She leaned forward, her gaze steady, piercing.
"You're not like that, Sami," she whispered, voice fragile yet certain. "You'd never be that man…"
He froze. Her words landed between them like a spark, dangerous and tender all at once. For a moment, the air in the kitchen grew thick, charged. Sami's fingers tightened around the glass he still held, his knuckles pale. The sharp citrus scent seemed louder in the silence.
He finally pushed the glass toward her. And in that small moment—her hand brushed his. Just a fleeting touch, skin against skin, but it was enough. Enough to make both of them pause.
Leena's breath caught. Sami pulled his hand back too quickly, like the contact burned. The tension snapped back into place, invisible but heavy, a reminder of the distance he kept trying to hold.
Yet the warmth of that touch lingered—between his fingers, in her chest, in the silence that followed.