My aunt decided to sleep with my mother that night. Better for her, I thought. This is a vulnerable time for Ma, she needed her sister.

A small part of me screamed what about you? But I pushed it down, as far as I could away from me. I had to be strong—strong for her. Now was not the time to break down. Although, I felt like I could cry the entire volume of the Indian Ocean anytime. Miraculously, I was being able to hold back.

"Do you want me to stay?" said Andrew. I looked at him in the darkness, the moonlight caught in his wild hair. For some reason, I felt anger towards him—anger at the entire situation directed towards him. Anger at the truck driver who hit my father, angry with my father for not being careful enough, angry at the nurses and the doctors. Angry at the medical instruments which were not being able to heal my father, angry at Felix, angry at my dumb fucking leg which had been hurting the entire day.

But I knew I was wrong.

A deep sigh left me and I took a step towards Andrew, my head down, as if in shame. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lashed out at you."

"Hey. . ." He placed a hand on my cheek, his long fingers curling over my skin, almost reaching my eye. It took me great effort to not lean into his touch. "It's okay, Keighlah. Please don't apologise."

I shook my head. "The last few days have been stressful. I haven't been myself. And you're here with me, supporting me. You shouldn't be at the receiving end of my frustrations. I should be able to control them. I should–"

"Keighlah," Andrew stopped me. "If you don't stop apologising, I will scream."

Despite everything, I smiled.

I decided to let him stay. I was pretty sure I would get another nightmare, this time heightened by my father's accident. I had new tension coming up, our world tour. Andrew was right; it was our first world tour. So many new places, so many new people. So many tickets, so much money . . . all uncertain now.

"Should I sleep on the floor?" Andrew asked. I raised an eyebrow, smiling crookedly at him.

"Why are you acting all cultured now? It's not like we haven't shared the same bed before."

Two red dots appeared on his cheeks. With a muted gasp, I realised Andrew was blushing. I'd never seen him blush before.

"No, I mean . . . it's your bedroom, your childhood."

"So?"

"Ah," he seemed to have given up. "Nevermind."

He crawled up my bed. Maybe I should have let him sleep on the floor. This bed was not at all built for two, fully grown adults. We were completely pressed up against each other. Everytime his hand brushed my body, a jolt travelled down my spine. It confused me.

Somehow, we got comfortable. I laid my head on his bicep as his hand rested awkwardly on my waist.

"What do you think, Andrew?" I whispered into the darkness. "Will my father die?"

His reply came late. "I don't know." Naked honesty. I didn't say anything, my eyes pricking with unshed tears.

"But whatever happens," Andrew said. "You're going to be okay."

"I'm not worried about me," I said, my voice cracking. "I'm worried about Ma."

His reply came so late, I assumed he did not hear me. "She's going to be okay too."

My body was shaking. I could feel it. I was trembling like a leaf. A wave of exhaustion passed over me, containing everything in it–Felix, my leg, my Dad. Andrew had tied a fresh bandage on my leg before we retired to bed, and I was grateful. It had nearly healed, but still throbbed from time to time.

Andrew felt me trembling. I sensed it by the way his arms tightened around me. I bit on my lip hard, almost drawing blood, trying to stop myself, but failing. A delicate hand slid up my neck and landed tenderly on my cheek, turning my face upwards and towards Andrew. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. I had to strain my ears to hear him, but I did.

"Let go," he said, and that was my undoing.

My own little Indian Ocean flowed down my cheeks onto his t-shirt, creating a wet patch the size of my palm.

I sniffled loudly. "I'm sorry, I wet your shirt." I'm sorry I failed you, father.

"Shhh . . ." Andrew gathered me in his arms and kissed my forehead with such tenderness, it made me sob more. What had I done to deserve him?

* * *

Keighlah seemed to have fallen asleep. But to Andrew, sleep seemed like a distant memory. He had held her tightly to him till the last sob had dissipated from her body. Even then, he didn't let go, holding Keighlah adamantly like a child refusing to let go of his favourite toy.

Keighlah, he thought. His strong Keighlah.

The thought of Felix's hands on her body made Andrew go dizzy with rage. Everytime sometime bright happened in her life, a moment later some other thing was waiting in the corner to snatch it away.

He remembered the look on Keighlah's face when she told him that her father had called, he heard their songs. He could not have been happier for her. The fact that her father alway rejected her idea of being a singer ate her away, Andrew knew. Everything is coming back on track, the way it should've been, Andrew had thought. He had a plan, he was ready to finally tell her–tell her how he felt, tell her about what they could be.

But then she ran into the house, wet and bloody, having another man's mark on her.

The rage Andrew had felt when Keighlah told him about what had happened with that asshole had nearly stunned him. He was on the edge already, and that was his tip-over. He wanted to kill Felix. He probably would have, if not for Keighlah. But Keighlah was brave, so brave. She had fought back and escaped. In that moment, the respect he felt for her was overwhelming.

And then came the news of her father's accident. God, how much will you make her suffer, he had thought the moment he had walked into his room, when he saw Keighlah's horrified eyes, her phone lying on the floor, a crack across the screen.

Andrew's heart gave out to her. She always stood with her back straight, but Andrew had already seen the cracks on her mask. He knew she was on the edge. She was trembling in his arms, and it was making him mad. Her crying on his shoulders was a much needed relief for her. You could only carry so much on your back.

Andrew knew that even if things were normal, and he expressed his feelings to Keighlah, she would still reject him, scream at him, or maybe turn a cold shoulder. Slap him maybe, not talk to him for days. Keighlah had always been that way; cold, away from boys. She was afraid of commitment, Andrew had concluded at last. Although he would never admit it in front of her. Still, his heart, and his body, ached for his Keighlah.

Not yours, a voice spoke inside his mind. Not yet.

Not yet. But soon, Andrew promised himself, almost selfishly.

The thought made him shiver, and he drew her closer, trying to catch some sleep.

• • •

Thou shalt not close this page without telling me whether thine likest this chapter.

*coughs* for I need to know if Andrew's POV was nice or not heh.

So he is COMPLETELY IMMERSED IN HIS KEIGHLAH, ISN'T HE? WHO'S SURPRISED? NOT ME.

Also, only a few more chapters left.... :(

Next chapter - next Saturday at 10pm IST.