The drive back from the hospital was slower.
Not because of traffic —
but because neither of them was in a hurry to break the silence.
Aarvi watched the city pass by, her thoughts tangled and heavy. The hospital visit replayed in her mind again and again — the way Riyan asked questions, the way he stood beside her without taking over, the way he didn't look away when things got uncomfortable.
He hadn't tried to fix her life.
He had simply stood in it.
And somehow, that meant more.
Riyan kept his eyes on the road, but his mind wasn't there.
It was still in the hospital corridor, watching Aarvi shrink under the weight she carried so quietly.
He hated that she felt alone.
Hated that she thought asking for help meant losing dignity.
And somewhere between the doctor's words and the billing counter, something inside him had shifted into resolve.
---
She finally spoke
"Riyan," Aarvi said softly, breaking the silence.
He glanced at her. "Yes?"
"You didn't have to do all that today."
"I know."
She frowned. "Then why did you?"
He slowed the car slightly, choosing his words carefully.
"Because I wanted to," he said.
"And because watching you struggle without stepping in felt wrong."
Her fingers tightened in her lap.
"But what if I get used to it?" she whispered.
"To you being there?"
Riyan's jaw tightened.
"That's what scares you," he said quietly.
"Not dependence. Attachment."
Aarvi didn't deny it.
"I don't want to become someone who needs you," she said.
Her voice trembled. "I've spent my whole life learning how to survive on my own."
He pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to face her fully.
"You don't lose strength by letting someone stand beside you," he said.
"You lose it by convincing yourself you have to bleed alone."
Her eyes burned.
---
The promise slipped out
"I won't let you face this alone anymore."
The words left his mouth before he realized what he was saying.
Aarvi froze.
Riyan did too.
Because that wasn't a casual sentence.
It wasn't practical.
It wasn't professional.
It was a promise.
He inhaled sharply, realizing the weight of it.
"I didn't mean—" he started.
But Aarvi shook her head, tears spilling despite her efforts to stop them.
"No," she whispered.
"Please don't take it back."
That broke him.
He reached out — not to pull her close, not to cross another boundary — just to hold her hand, steady and warm.
"I'm not promising forever," he said quietly, honestly.
"I'm promising presence. Support. Honesty."
Her fingers tightened around his.
"That's enough," she whispered.
And in that moment, Riyan realized the truth he had been avoiding:
He wasn't falling in love with her because she was fragile.
He was falling in love with her because she was strong — and still allowed herself to feel.
---
Back at the office
When they returned, the building looked the same.
Glass walls.
Polished floors.
Professional distance.
But nothing inside either of them was unchanged.
Riyan parked the car and turned to her one last time.
"This doesn't change your job," he said.
"And it doesn't take away your choices."
Aarvi nodded.
"But," he added softly, "if you ever feel like you're drowning… you come to me."
She looked at him — really looked.
"I will," she said.
And this time, she meant it.
They stepped out of the car together.
Not as boss and secretary.
Not as something clearly defined.
But as two people walking forward with a fragile, unspoken promise between them —
One that would either save them…
or break them both.