The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and warm tea.
Aarvi stood near the window, arms folded, watching her mother sleep. Machines hummed softly, steady and indifferent to the fear sitting in her chest.
This room had always been hers to face alone.
Until today.
The door opened quietly.
She didn't turn immediately.
She didn't need to.
She felt him.
Riyan stepped inside, holding two cups of tea, his expression calm but alert — like someone who knew this wasn't a place for words, only presence.
"I got ginger," he said softly. "The nurse said it helps."
Aarvi nodded, her throat tight.
"Thank you."
---
He didn't take over
He didn't speak to doctors without her.
Didn't ask questions she hadn't thought to ask yet.
Didn't stand in front of her like a shield.
He stood beside her.
When the doctor arrived, Riyan listened while Aarvi spoke.
When paperwork came, he waited until she asked for help.
When numbers were discussed, he watched her face — not the file.
That's when she understood.
Staying wasn't about fixing everything.
It was about not making someone invisible while they struggled.
---
The moment that broke her guard
Later, when her mother woke briefly and smiled weakly, Aarvi felt the familiar pressure behind her eyes.
She turned away quickly.
Riyan noticed.
He didn't follow her immediately.
He waited until her mother drifted back to sleep.
Then he spoke, low and careful.
"You don't have to be strong right now."
That was all.
No advice.
No reassurance.
Just permission.
Aarvi's breath shook.
She stepped into the hallway, pressing her palm against the cool wall.
Riyan stood close enough to be felt — not close enough to crowd.
"I hate that this never gets easier," she whispered.
"I know," he replied.
"You don't," she said, voice breaking. "You don't know what it's like to carry this for years."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he said something unexpected.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I don't know that kind of weight."
She looked at him.
"But I know what it's like to watch someone carry it alone," he continued.
"And I don't want to be the person who lets that happen when I can help."
Her chest tightened painfully.
---
The kind of staying that matters
He didn't pull her into a hug.
He didn't touch her at all.
He just stayed where he was.
Steady.
Present.
Unmoving.
And that — that broke her.
Aarvi covered her face as tears finally spilled.
Riyan didn't rush her.
He didn't tell her it would be okay.
He simply stayed until her breathing slowed.
Until the tears passed.
Until she straightened again.
---
What she learned in that room
Later, when they sat quietly beside her mother's bed, Aarvi realized something profound.
Staying wasn't loud.
It wasn't protective gestures or grand promises.
It was sitting in an uncomfortable room, in an uncomfortable silence, and not leaving.
It was choosing presence over control.
And for the first time, she let herself believe something she'd always been afraid to hope:
Riyan didn't stay because he was afraid to lose her.
He stayed because he respected her enough not to leave.
That night, as the hospital lights dimmed, Aarvi felt something settle deep inside her.
Not relief.
Not certainty.
But trust.