INT. HOSPITAL – OUTSIDE ICU-3 – NIGHT
Mahi stands quietly near the ICU-3 entrance, arms crossed loosely over her chest. Mishri, elegant and composed as always, stands beside her — calm, unreadable.
A nurse walks out of the room, nodding at Mahi.
NURSE:
"Vitals stable. He's still unconscious. Visitors are allowed in pairs, but no crowding."
Mahi nods politely. The nurse walks away.
A moment passes. Silence settles.
MAHI (calmly):
"You can go in.
Five minutes."
MISHRI (surprised):
"Really? I thought—"
MAHI (cutting in):
"Just don't make it about me, Mishri.
He's your… whatever he is now.
Go."
Mahi doesn't look at her again. She turns slightly, pretending to focus on the nurse's station across the hall — but her eyes never leave the glass panel of the ICU door.
Mishri exhales dramatically, her face shifting quickly into a softened, emotional expression. She pushes open the ICU door and steps in, her heels tapping softly on the floor.
---
INT. ICU-3 – CONTINUOUS
The room is dim and quiet. Ahaan lies unconscious, bruised and bandaged, machines beeping steadily around him.
Mishri walks slowly to his bedside, reaching out with delicate fingers to brush a lock of hair off his forehead.
She lowers herself into the chair and leans forward, her voice low — but perfectly loud enough to carry outside the glass.
MISHRI (softly, tearfully):
"Ahaan… please wake up."
She lets a few seconds pass. Then, her eyes flick quickly toward the door's glass window — confirming that Mahi is watching.
Then she begins to cry.
But the tears come too easily.
Too perfectly.
As if practiced.
MISHRI (voice cracking):
"You can't leave me like this… not after everything we've been through.
Four years, Ahaan.
Four years of building something real… please… don't go."
She buries her face in her hands, shaking with silent sobs.
A trained performance.
Every breath choreographed.
---
EXT. ICU-3 – MAHI'S POV – CONTINUOUS
Through the glass, Mahi watches.
At first, her face is unreadable — blank and still. But slowly… something shifts.
Her jaw tightens.
Her hands ball into fists at her sides.
Her throat moves with a hard swallow.
She sees Mishri cry — the kind of cry Mahi herself never allowed.
And she wonders — Is it real?
Has he truly moved on?
Did I ever mean anything?
Her eyes burn, but she doesn't cry.
Not here.
Not again.
Just one tear escapes — sliding down her cheek without permission.
Because deep inside, she still hoped.
Even after everything.
She still hoped it wasn't true.