The transition from the hallway to the ICU was like stepping into another dimension. The air was colder here, vibrating with the mechanical pulse of life-support systems.
Rohan stood by the door for a long minute, scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand. He couldn't go in there with tear-stained cheeks. He couldn't let her see the pity. If Asha was a woman who hated being a burden, then seeing his grief would be a second stabbing.
"Rohan," Roy whispered, standing just behind him. His voice was steady, but his eyes were hollow. "We need to decide. Now. Do we tell her the truth, or do we give her the 'beautiful life' she hoped for?"
Rohan stared through the glass at the girl on the bed. She looked like a fallen sparrow—pale, bruised, and impossibly small.
"We give her the life," Rohan said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "The doctor said months. If she knows she's dying, those months will be a funeral. I want her to wake up and think she won. I want her to think she's finally safe."
Roy hesitated. "It's a big lie, Rohan."
"It's not a lie," Rohan countered, turning to look at his friend. "It's a shield. For once, let someone else carry the weight for her."
Roy looked at the floor, then gave a slow, somber nod. "Then we act. No tears. No cracking."
They entered the room together.
The smell of ozone and iodine was sharp. Asha's eyes were closed, her lashes casting long, feathery shadows against her translucent skin. The steady beep... beep... beep of the monitor was the only thing proving she was still with them.
Then, her fingers twitched.
Rohan felt his heart lurch. He stepped closer, reaching out instinctively before pulling his hand back, afraid his touch—still rough and shaking—would break her.
Asha's eyes fluttered. They opened slowly, struggling against the harsh clinical light. For a moment, they were vacant, lost in the fog of anesthesia. Then, they landed on Rohan.
The recognition was instant. And with it, came the fear.
"The... the man..." she wheezed, her voice barely a breath. Her hand moved as if to shield herself.
"He's gone, Asha," Rohan said quickly, leaning over her. He forced his face into a mask of arrogance, the old "Rohan Malhotra" smirk appearing like a ghost of his former self. "Security handled him. You're in the hospital. You're safe. And honestly? You're a lot of trouble for one designer."
A small, weak frown touched her lips. "Rohan?"
"I'm here," he said, his voice softening despite his best efforts.
She looked past him to Roy, who offered a gentle, reassuring smile. "You're going to be okay, Asha. The doctors fixed the wound. You just need to rest now."
Asha closed her eyes, a single tear escaping the corner of her lid. "I thought... I thought it was over."
"It's just beginning," Rohan whispered, though the words tasted like ash in his mouth.
He watched her as she drifted back into a shallow sleep. She didn't know about the cells betraying her. She didn't know about the expiration date the doctor had stamped on her file. She only knew that for the first time in her life, she had woken up and someone was standing guard.
Rohan looked at Roy across the bed. The pact was sealed. They were going to give her a masterpiece of a life, even if the canvas was already burning.