CHAPTER XL
I don't know why…
Why in that moment, Mon didn't say the words I was silently waiting to hear.
Why she didn't look at me and ask—
"Why don't you see me, Sam? Why don't you really see me anymore?"
Her silence was louder than any scream.
And her absence, as she walked away…
Felt heavier than the weight of every wound I carried.
Sometimes, we don't need apologies.
Sometimes, we don't want explanations.
Sometimes… we just want someone to fight for us.
But she didn't.
And yet, even as I pushed her away—words sharp, tone cold—
Somewhere deep inside, a part of me was screaming, aching, wishing she'd turn back and say:
"Can't you see?
You're the one I think about every night in my prayers…
The one I ask for without asking…
The one I never wanted to let go."
She could've said…
"Look at me, Sam.
Maybe I'm not perfect.
But maybe… just maybe…
I'm that color on your canvas that never fades.
That shade of feeling that climbs onto your soul and never washes away."
But she didn't.
And I?
I let her go.
Out of pride. Out of doubt. Out of fear that everything between us had been a lie.
But later, as I sat there in the quiet of that hospital room, with only the rhythmic beeping of machines for company…
Her words returned to me—not the ones she said, but the ones she didn't.
"Spend an evening with me…
Just one evening without defenses, without doubt.
And maybe… just maybe… you'll know who I really am."
I closed my eyes and whispered into the silence:
"Mon…
I see you now.
But I'm afraid it's too late."
And in that fear…
Was a grief I didn't know how to hold.
A day had passed.
The quiet of the hospital room was broken by soft laughter and the sudden click of the door opening. It was Mahi and Aarvi—they walked in together, their faces lit up with affection and concern. The moment they saw me awake, their expressions softened with relief.
Mahi was the first to speak.
"Sam," she said, walking over and sitting beside me, "what did you say to Mon?"
I blinked, taken aback. "…She told you?"
Mahi nodded, her voice a mix of disappointment and confusion. "She didn't have to say much. She was crying."
That one word hit me harder than I expected.
Crying?
"She cried?" I asked flatly. "Wow… so now even a little argument makes her cry? Was that the plan—make me look like the villain?"
Aarvi frowned deeply from the other side of the bed. "Sam, what's wrong with you? The injury's on your head, not your heart."
I looked away, guilt battling against my pride.
Something inside me was still cold. Still wounded. Still unsure of what was real.
But my voice softened when I finally said, "Send her. I want to talk to her."
Mahi and Aarvi exchanged a glance.
"She's gone home," Mahi said gently. "Her parents came to take her. There's a wedding in the family."
My heart sank. I didn't show it… but it sank.
"She left?" I asked, forcing a laugh that didn't feel like mine. "She left me like this? To attend a wedding?"
That old voice in my head—the one that doubted, the one that whispered the worst—came alive again. Maybe Ashwin was right… maybe she only came when it was convenient. Maybe her tears were just… convenient.
I turned away from them, hiding the quiet chaos inside me.
Mahi, trying to lighten the mood, pulled out her phone.
"Fine," she smiled. "Then at least smile for this selfie. We'll send it to her. Let her see that you're getting better."
I stared at her. "Why? If she can't even make time to visit, why should she get a picture of me?"
Mahi leaned in with a grin and tugged my cheek. "Maybe the meds are making you extra grumpy. Sam, you need rest—not drama."
Aarvi laughed softly beside her.
I let them take the picture, though I didn't smile fully.
Because my heart wasn't in it.
It was somewhere else… caught between pride and longing, between confusion and a voice that kept asking:
If she truly cared…
Why did she leave?
And beneath all that noise, something else whispered even louder:
Or… was I the one who pushed her away?
Days passed.
Slowly. Quietly. Heavily.
Each one melted into the next, like raindrops on a window — constant, soft, but painfully cold.
I was healing.
Physically, at least.
But some wounds don't show on the skin.
The doctors said I was recovering well. The nurses smiled when they saw me eat again. Mahi and Aarvi never left my side. Even Malvika came to visit, bringing flowers and soft words and a guilty smile.
Everyone came.
Everyone… except her.
Mon.
The one I had been waiting for the most.
Not a single text. Not a call. Not even a glimpse of her face through the window.
And then — the day of my discharge arrived.
My room was suddenly full of people — my parents, my friends, the nurses.
There were warm hugs and teary smiles, little reassurances that everything would be okay now.
But my eyes kept drifting to the door.
Hoping.
Waiting.
Silently begging the universe to let her walk in.
Even just for a second.
Even just to say nothing.
But she didn't come.
Not then.
Not even when the nurse handed me my discharge papers.
Not when my mother adjusted the scarf around my neck.
Not when my father gently took my bag and whispered, "Let's go home."
I wanted to go… and yet I didn't.
Because it felt incomplete — like a sentence without a period, a song without its final note.
Just before we left, the warden stepped in.
She looked at my parents and said with a reassuring calm,
> "Please don't worry. I'll take care of Sam from here."
My father hesitated.
He didn't want to leave me again.
He looked at me like he wanted to say something — anything — to make things better.
> "But… is it really safe?" he asked.
"There was an attack… she nearly…"
The warden placed a hand gently on my father's shoulder and nodded firmly.
> "The students responsible for the attack have been sent to jail.
There's no danger anymore. I've made sure of it.
And I promise… no child will go through what Sam did. Not on my watch."
Her words were strong.
Convincing.
Full of quiet fury.
And my father — perhaps out of hope, or perhaps just exhaustion — finally gave in.
He nodded slowly, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and said,
> "We'll visit soon. Be strong, beta."
And just like that… they left.
My mother.
My father.
Gone back to the world outside this madness.
And I… was taken back to the hostel.
A place that once felt like a second home —
now felt like a reminder of everything I had lost.
The halls looked the same.
The walls still had the same fading paint.
The room still carried my books, my pillow, my scent…
But something had changed.
Something was missing.
She was missing.
And no matter how many people told me I was safe now…
No matter how many times they said it was over…
My heart still asked the same question every time the door opened:
> "Is Mon coming?"
And every time… the answer was silence.
To be continued...