We stayed on the rooftop for a long time after that.
No words at first.
Just the sound of the wind, the distant noise of the city, and our uneven breathing. My body still felt weak, like it hadn't fully realized I was safe yet. Maira sat beside me not touching, not leaving either. Just staying.
That mattered.
After a while, she slowly held out a water bottle.
"Drink," she said softly. "Please."
I took it with shaking hands and drank a little. The cold water helped me breathe again.
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly.
I looked at her.
"For what?" I asked quietly.
"For staying silent," she replied. "For seeing you hurt and not knowing how to reach you. I thought if I stayed quiet, I wouldn't make things worse. But all I did was make you feel alone."
She swallowed hard.
"I was scared," she continued. "Scared that if I said how I felt, you'd pull away. Scared that I'd lose you."
I looked down at my hands.
"My mom left," I said slowly. "One day she was there… the next day she was gone. No warning. No explanation that made sense."
My chest tightened.
"I hear my dad cry at night. My brother keeps asking me when she'll come back. And at school, people talk like my pain is something they can use against me."
I let out a broken laugh.
"Do you know what hurts the most?" I asked. "Not the rumors. Not Hema. It's the feeling that no matter how hard I try, everyone leaves."
Maira turned toward me fully now.
"That's why I stayed quiet," she admitted. "Because I didn't want to become another person who hurts you. But when I saw you standing there…" Her voice broke. "I realized losing you would hurt more than any fear I have."
She took a breath.
"I love you, Aruna. Not in a perfect way. Not in a brave way. But in a real way."I love you And I don't know how to fix your pain but I want to stay and try."
Tears slipped down my face.
"I remember something," I whispered.
She listened.
"When I was little, my mom tucked me into bed during a storm. I asked her if she'd ever leave us." My throat tightened. "She smiled and said, 'Never. I'll always be here.'"
I laughed bitterly.
"I believed her. That's why promises scare me now."
Maira nodded slowly.
"I can't promise forever," she said honestly. "But I can promise this"
She reached for my hand, holding it firmly.
"I'll stay as long as you're here. Even when you're quiet. Even when you push me away. Even when things get hard."
I hesitated.
"What if one day," I asked softly, "I get so tired that I don't want to wake up anymore?"
The words scared me as soon as I said them.
Maira didn't panic.
She squeezed my hand gently.
"Then I'll sit with you in that tiredness," she said. "I won't tell you to be strong. I won't leave you alone. And if it gets too heavy we'll ask for help together."
I nodded slowly.
"I don't know how to promise anything," I admitted.
"You don't have to," she replied. "Just promise me you'll tell me when it hurts.
The sky had darkened by the time we finally stood up.
"Ready?" she asked.
I nodded.
We walked down from the rooftop together, step by step. My legs still felt weak, but Maira stayed close, her hand grounding me.
Then we stopped.
Someone was standing on the stairs.
Hema.
She leaned against the railing, arms crossed, a slow smile spreading across her face as her eyes moved between us.
"Well," she said lightly. "Look at this."
My stomach dropped.
"I didn't expect such a dramatic scene," she continued. "But don't worry."
Her smile sharpened.
"This isn't over," she said quietly. "Now… look what I do."
Maira stepped slightly in front of me, her grip tightening.
"Stay away from her," she said firmly.
Hema laughed softly and walked past us.
"We'll see," she said over her shoulder.
As she disappeared down the stairs, a chill ran through me.
Something bad was coming.
But as we continued walking down together, I knew one thing
Whatever happens next, I won't face it alone.