Riya

I walked towards the cafe. The smell of the wet earth permeated the air. The corner of my black short kurta was still wet, and so were my jeans. I was pretty sure I was going to get sick. It rained heavily this morning, and I couldn't bring my umbrella. My parents were still in our village. Their stay kept getting extended. I did ask them to send Aarush back. The culprit who broke my umbrella.

I was just five steps away from the cafe when my phone rang. I stopped and fumbled through my collection of notebooks to find it. Pulling it out, I looked at the caller, and it was Abhay. My heart skipped a bit, and my irritation at my partially wet clothes subsided a bit.

My mind was made last night about me drawing boundaries, even after his emphasized see you tomorrow. Was there any intention behind his words? A stupid part of me wished he was calling for that.

"Hello." I started.

"Riya," His strained voice replied. "It's Dhruv. He's...been in an accident. Call his parents and come to the Sanjeevani Hospital."

The concrete floor of the college walkway I stood on suddenly tilted, and my knees became wobbly. For a second, all I could hear was static in my ears.

"Riya?" He said when I didn't reply.

"H-what happened?" I asked, my voice shaky.

"A bike accident," He sighed. "He's stable, but you need to come." His voice was strangely calm.

"Did you inform his parents?" I asked, clearing my throat to stop myself from bawling my eyes out. 

"I don't have the number, and his phone has been smashed." I had so many questions I wanted answered, but I also wanted to be there this instant.

"I'm coming," I said instead.

I turned back in a haze, my feet picked up speed, and I ran. I needed to calm myself down before calling them. I couldn't break down and terrify them. He said Dhruv was stable. No one used the word stable for a small accident. A sob erupted from my throat at the thought. My last conversation with Dhruv kept repeating in my mind. Oh god!

Catching an auto, I sat down. My hands shook as I dialed Dhruv's father. After giving them the news, I sat frozen, my hands gripping the seat. The images of Dhruv lying with broken bones and bleeding hit me. As the images flooded my mind, the rest of the ride blurred.

"Madam, we're here." The sound of the auto driver jolted me out. I got out and fumbled in my bag for some cash to pay. I didn't miss the look of pity in his eyes.

When I stepped into the hospital, the smell of the antiseptic and the frantic buzz overloaded my senses, and I felt like vomiting. I hated hospitals.

I ran towards the reception, "I'm here for Dhruv Sharma." I said.

"Second floor, room 209." She replied, not even looking up from her laptop.

I ran towards the stairs, taking two at times as the elevator was taking too long. All the way, I prayed for his recovery, hoping it was just some scratches and nothing more.

My heart raced faster with each step, my sweaty hands trembling as I pushed open the door to the waiting room.

Abhay was there.

He sat in a chair, his elbows resting on his knees, head bent. The sight of him, so calm amidst the chaos, filled me with equal parts relief and irritation.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped before I could stop myself.

He looked up, his sharp features softening for just a moment when he saw me. He stood up slowly as I approached him.

"I was listed as his emergency contact," he said, his voice steady. "They called me first."

My chest tightened. "Why didn't they call me or his parents?" I was sure he would've kept us as an emergency contact, right? I didn't ask it out loud because deep down I knew the answer.

He walked closer to me. "Does it matter right now? He's stable, Riya. That's what's important."

I wanted to argue, to throw his calmness back in his face, but the tension in my chest wouldn't let me. Instead, I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. The word stable made my world spiral, and my eyes teared up.

"Is it that bad?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. His jaw tightened. His palms flexed as if to reach out, then he kept them in his pockets instead.

He was quiet for a moment, "It could've been worse."

"That's not an answer."

"That's all I know for now." He said, his eyes searching mine. "Where are his parents?"

"They're on their way. I told them to take a cab." I was sure it was going to take around an hour or so.

"Did they ask for money?" I asked, already planning on the means for it. I needed to inform my parents. We did have some money kept aside for emergencies. I wasn't sure that would have been enough.

"I handled it." He said calmly. "Please sit down."

"What do you mean you handled it?"

"Riya, please. I know it's tough. Let's sit down." he said so gently that it made me want to cry it all out. But I needed to hold it together. Dhruv's parents couldn't see me like that.

I sank into the cushioned chair, waiting for the doctor's verdict.

The doctor's explanation was clinical and detached, each word cutting deeper than the last. My world fell apart with each of his words as he narrated Dhruv's injuries with a straight face. I wanted to be like him. Straight-faced and detached. But I couldn't. Dhruv had suffered a mild concussion, a broken arm, and several bruises. The car accident had been caused by a lapse in judgment–driving under the influence.

"He'll recover fully with rest and rehabilitation," the doctor said. "But someone needs to ensure he follows through with the care plan."

The weight of those words pressed down on me. I knew it, didn't I? The signs of his drinking, the erratic behavior. Why didn't I do something? Why didn't I try harder?

Twenty minutes passed in the waiting room after the doctor's declaration. I sank deeper and deeper into my guilt. Nurses came and went, murmuring updates about Dhruv's vitals. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the silence between Abhay and me. I didn't realize in the frenzy that this was a pretty costly hospital. I looked around, taking respite from cursing my inability to take care of my own family.

The door to the waiting room opened again, and Dhruv's parents rushed in. Aunty's face was pale, her hands gripping her bag so tightly her knuckles were white. Uncle, usually the calm anchor of our family, looked visibly shaken. And I tried not to tear up again.

"Riya," she said, her voice trembling as she hurried to me. "How is he? Is he..."

"He's stable," I said quickly, standing to meet her. "The doctor said he'll recover, but..." My voice faltered, thinking about it again. "He was drinking." I had hidden a lot of things. Right now was not the time to do so.

Her expression crumpled, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. My uncle put a hand on her shoulder, his jaw tight as he tried to process the news.

"We'll handle it," he said, though his voice was strained. He looked leaner than usual as if hearing about the accident aged him in minutes. The glasses rested on his nose as he studied us. "Right now, we just need to be there for him."

My aunt nodded, wiping her tears as she turned to Abhay. "Thank you for being here," she said softly. "I don't know what we..." Her voice broke.

"It's nothing," Abhay said, his voice gentle but measured. "I'm just glad he's okay."

I sat in the quiet corner of the hospital waiting room, the distant murmurs of doctors and the quiet walls a low backdrop to my racing thoughts. My hands gripped the fabric of my kurta tightly, my knuckles turning white. My kurta was dry now I noticed. How long had it been?

Across from me, Dhruv's parents whispered to each other, their faces pale and etched with worry. My uncle had his arm around my aunt, gently rubbing her shoulder in comfort.

I glanced up as Abhay returned, two steaming cups of chai in hand. He handed one to me without a word, his expression calm but his eyes filled with unspoken concern. I hesitated, my fingers brushing against his as I took the cup. My eyes took in my uncle and aunt who each held a cup of tea as they quietly discussed among themselves. I wanted to say thank you, but the words caught in my throat.

I was grateful. Grateful that he was here, handling everything. Till now, the only worry I had was my brother and not the medical bills or the paperwork. Although, I needed to get the bill so we could return it later.

Abhay didn't sit. Instead, he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me. "Have you eaten anything?" he asked finally. I blinked.

I didn't even know what time it was. The last time I checked my phone was to inform Sam about my absence. He, in turn, informed Angie, who panicked and called me to ask for details. I had to calm her down and promise to call her as soon as he woke up.

I shook my head. "I'm not hungry," I said, my voice a whisper.

"You should eat something. Skipping meals won't help Dhruv," he said, his tone neutral, though I caught the faint hint of frustration.

"Don't tell me what to do," I shot back, though there was little venom in my words. The guilt and exhaustion weighed too heavily to muster more.

He sighed, pushing off the wall. "Fine. But at least drink the chai. You'll feel better." He moved to sit a few seats away, giving me space but still close enough that his presence was grounding and maddening.

I sipped the chai reluctantly, the warmth spreading through my chest. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. It did help. I stole a glance at him, his jaw tight and his gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance. He looked calm, but I knew better. Beneath that exterior, he was just as tense as I was.

"You don't have to stay," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," he replied, meeting my eyes for the first time. "But I'm here anyway."

Something in his tone made my chest tighten. It wasn't just the words but the quiet conviction behind them. I wanted to push him away, to tell him I didn't need his help, but the truth was I did.

"I should've stopped him," I said, tearing up again. "I should've done more."

"Riya," he said, frustrated, "stop it. Not everything is your responsibility. You can not stop people from making wrong decisions."

The room fell into silence again, the weight of his words settling between us. My uncle and aunt had moved closer to Dhruv's room, their hushed conversation now replaced by quiet prayers.

"But-" I started, my tea forgotten.

"No. You couldn't have done anything more." He said, firmly. His words made sense, but I was in a spiral.

"If you want to help, just talk to him. After all of this, sit down and talk." He added.

"Like you're one to talk." It slipped out before I could think. We both froze and shame engulfed me.

"I'm so sorry." I hastily added, closing my eyes in shame. The silence around us felt biting.

Abhay let out a soft, humorless chuckle, breaking the tension. "You're not wrong," he said. "I'm not exactly the poster child for open communication."

I glanced at him, surprised by his response. He wasn't looking at me but instead staring down at his cup, his fingers tapping against its side.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't try," I said cautiously, unsure if I was crossing a line. Why was I even bringing it up at this time?

He tilted his head toward me, his dark eyes locking with mine. "Maybe I will," he said, and the simplicity of his answer caught me off guard.

Silence settled between us again, but this time, it felt less suffocating. I sipped my chai, the warmth doing little to soothe the ache in my chest.

"I didn't mean what I said," I mumbled, breaking the silence. "About you not talking. It wasn't fair."

Abhay shook his head. "It's fine. Sometimes, the truth stings." He leaned back, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they studied me. "You're allowed to be upset, Riya. You don't have to carry all this guilt."

His words were too kind, too understanding, and I hated how they made my throat tighten. It was too much. I wanted him to become the Abhay that I didn't know.

"It's not guilt," I lied. "It's just...he's my brother."

"And you love him," Abhay said simply. "That's enough. You're here, doing everything you can. That's what matters."

I stared at him, the lump in my throat growing. "How are you always so calm?" I asked, more to distract myself than anything else.

His expression shifted, the faintest shadow passing over his features. "I'm not," he admitted. "I just... know how to hide it better."

The honesty in his tone disarmed me. For the first time, I saw a crack in his demeanor. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind me that beneath all his composure, Abhay was just as human as the rest of us. He too was concerned about his best friend. I was too self-absorbed to even see that.

"I'll see what I can get for dinner from the canteen. Your uncle and aunt need to eat." He said, looking at them. I nodded, finally giving in.

"I should've done that. Taking care of them." I said to no one in particular. It was my job as the eldest child. To take care of things. That's what everyone used to say.

"You don't have to. I'm here." He replied softly.

"Family of Dhruv Sharma?" the nurse called, glancing around.

My uncle and aunt rushed forward, and I stood too, my heart pounding. Abhay was right behind me, his hand brushing against my arm in a silent gesture of support. I knew I was supposed to pull away, but I couldn't find it in myself to do so.

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