The room, once heavy with quiet pain and hushed concern, now stood empty.
Arun had left moments ago, retreating to his own room so his brother could rest peacefully.
Meanwhile, Ayan lay motionless, his face serene yet distant. A thin sheen of sweat glistened under the dim bedside lamp.
His breaths were slow and steady beneath the weight of the warm blanket wrapped around him.
His phone rang.
His eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion.
With trembling hands, he reached for it, blinking away the haze clouding his vision.
One name stared back at him—Aarav.
For a moment, Ayan simply stared, lips parting as unspoken emotions swirled in his chest.
His thumb hovered, hesitating, before he drew in a shaky breath and answered.
"…Hello… Senior?"
Silence stretched across the line.
Aarav was there—listening, holding onto the sound of his voice as if it meant more than words could. Then, gently, he spoke.
"Ayan, are you okay? Why haven't you answered my calls… or texted me back?"
The softness in his tone made Ayan's breath hitch.
"I'm fine, Senior… don't worry," he replied with a calm smile.
"Ayan… could you please let me in? I need to see you."
The request was quiet, urgent without force.
Confusion flickered in Ayan's tired mind. "You… you're here?"
"I'm on the balcony."
The words rippled through him, scattering his hesitation.
Slowly, he pushed the blanket aside, each movement weighed down by fever and dizziness.
At the curtains, his fingers curled into the fabric, his pulse quickening. He drew them back—
And there he was again.
Aarav, standing under the dim light, posture calm yet carrying a quiet intensity. His gaze never left Ayan, patient and steady, as if he knew he needed time.
Ayan's grip tightened on the curtain. Aarav was here. Waiting.
He unlocked the door.
The moment it opened, Aarav stepped in—breath unsteady, as if he'd been holding it for far too long—and pulled Ayan into his arms.
The embrace was firm, desperate, yet careful, a silent rush of relief and protection.
Aarav's face pressed into his shoulder, his arms tightening, saying everything words couldn't.
For a moment, Ayan stood still.
Then, with trembling hands, he reached up, wrapping his arms weakly around Aarav's back. His cheek rested against his chest, listening to the unsteady heartbeat that was—at last—close.
When Aarav finally pulled back, his hands lingered on Ayan's arms, eyes scanning him.
The warmth of fever still clung to his skin, his complexion pale, his body swaying faintly.
"What happened? You don't look fine. Is something wrong?"
Ayan gave a small, tired smile. "It's just a fever, Senior."
Aarav's jaw tightened.
Without a word, he guided him back to the bed and knelt before him.
His hands rested lightly over Ayan's.
"Ayan… I never want you to keep anything that hurts you… to yourself… Please."
The plea in his voice loosened something in Ayan. His vision blurred. The past crept in, unwanted. His lips trembled.
"I got scared, Senior… I don't want to lose you. I don't want to become like them… like the people who killed my mother."
Aarav's eyes narrowed—not in pity, but in pain. Deep. Hurting.
"Who were they? What happened?"
The question broke him.
Ayan's composure shattered, tears spilling freely.
"I don't know… I don't remember… just a man with a gun… and my mother… she died protecting me."
Aarav's chest ached. He couldn't see Ayan like that. He cupped Ayan's face, his thumb brushing away tears.
"I can't take away your pain… but I'll do everything I can to help you heal." Aarav whispered soft and slow.
Something in Ayan gave way.
He leaned forward, hugging him—this time not out of weakness, but choice.
Aarav's arms closed around him instantly, shielding him from every shadow of the past.
Aarav softly kissed his shoulders. It almost felt like an eternal promise that he would never leave him. Never.
---
[Meanwhile, In the Hallway]
Outside Ayan's room, a servant approached quietly, a tray full of food in hand, ready to knock.
Before her knuckles could touch the wood, Arun stepped into view.
"Don't disturb him... I will ask later if he needs something," he said softly, his voice low but firm.
The servant nodded, retreating without a word.
For a moment, Arun's gaze lingered on the closed door.
Something about the stillness seemed to hold him there, a faint knowing glimmering in his eyes.
Then, with a quiet breath, he turned away and walked toward his own room.
...
[Mansion's Courtyard]
Abhi stood behind a tree in the back courtyard, the glow of the mansion's windows casting wavering shadows.
The front was busy with servants, but here—silence.
He shifted, phone in hand, scrolling.
The darkness pressed around him, thick and restless. A faint rustle from the hedges made his shoulders tense, his grip tightening on the phone.
But a thought distracted him when his gaze drifted upward to a certain balcony.
The lights were on, and a shadow strolled around.
"What's that young master doing?" Abhi muttered slowly to himself.
And suddenly—
Arun stepped out.
His movements were unhurried, his posture relaxed. He gripped the railing, face tilted to the moon. In the silver light, his features softened, and then—
A smile.
Not a smirk. Not the polite mask. A real smile—quiet, unguarded, breathtaking.
Something in Abhi shifted—an unfamiliar warmth, quick and startling, blooming beneath his ribs. He didn't name it, but it lingered, unsettling and magnetic all at once.
The air between them felt charged, as if the night itself had noticed.
Then Arun's head turned, scanning the shadows. Like he felt someone's presence.
Abhi jerked back, pressing against the tree, breath unsteady. Heat prickled his skin despite the cool night. He felt something… and that scared him more than the darkness.
Arun lingered, gaze narrowed… then turned back to the moon. That same soft smile returned, as if it belonged only to the darkness.
---
[Meanwhile, Ayan's Room]
Ayan, still in Aarav's arms, drifted into peaceful sleep.
Aarav stayed a while, watching the tension fade from his face.
Gently, he laid him down, replacing his warmth with a pillow. His fingers brushed over his cheek before pressing a tender kiss to his forehead.
But the moment he straightened, unease stirred.
As much as his body begged him to stay, he knew—Abhi was still out there. Waiting. Alone.
And he have to go back.