Advait’s POV

I’ve seen Samaira in a thousand different states—angry, sarcastic, cold, defiant—but this… this was something entirely new. Something raw. Vulnerable. My usual confidence faltered as I watched her tremble in the corner of the room, her body tense, her hands shaking. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps, every sound amplifying her fear. She wasn’t the woman I knew.

She was broken.

The lights had gone out suddenly, just like before, and when I’d first seen her, I hadn’t thought much of it. It was just a power outage. But then I saw the look in her eyes—wide with terror. A fear I hadn’t seen in her before. I remembered something. She hadn’t always been like this. Samaira didn’t fear the dark. She’d told me once that it was nothing compared to the darkness she carried inside, a darkness forged by the brutal events of her past. The fear she’d left behind long ago. Yet now, as I watched her cowering against the wall, muttering to herself as if to convince herself she was fine, I knew something had changed. The darkness had crept back in.

I moved closer to her, but the distance between us felt vast. I’d dealt with fear before, with people trembling in my presence, but Samaira wasn’t like those people. She wasn’t afraid of me—she was afraid of something else. I wasn’t sure how to approach her, how to fix this. She was unraveling, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“Samaira?” My voice was soft but steady, trying not to startle her.

She didn’t look up at me. She kept her eyes on the floor, her hands clutched tightly against her chest, and her breath still rapid. The silence between us was suffocating, pressing in from all sides.

I moved closer again, slowly, but she flinched when my hand hovered near her back. I cursed under my breath. This wasn’t working. She wasn’t responding to me like she normally would. She wasn’t the fierce, witty woman who could outsmart anyone. She was… just scared. And that was a feeling I hadn’t seen her display, not like this.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, the sound almost deafening in the silence of the room. Her breaths were shallow, her pulse quickening. I could feel the panic radiating off her in waves.

I took a deep breath and did something I’d never done before. I reached out, gently wrapping my arms around her, pulling her into me. I expected her to push me away, to pull back and scold me for getting too close, but she didn’t.

Instead, she froze for a moment, then softened into my embrace, her body relaxing against mine. Her hands, still trembling, clutched at the fabric of my shirt like a lifeline, as though my presence was the only thing grounding her to reality.

I felt her heart pounding in my chest, and I realized how much fear she was carrying, how heavy it was.

“Please… don’t leave me,” she whispered, the words barely audible, but they tore through me like a blade. I could hear the desperation in her voice, the terror beneath the plea. She wasn’t asking for me to hold her, to comfort her; she was asking me to stay. She was asking for safety. For reassurance.

I held her tighter, pressing my cheek against her hair, feeling her warm breath against my skin. I wasn’t sure if it was enough to calm her, but I needed to try.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered back, my voice steady, even though my heart felt like it was pounding too. “I’ll always be here for you, Samaira.”

She didn’t answer, but I felt her relax against me, the tension in her body beginning to ease. Her breath slowed, the frantic pace turning into a more regular rhythm, and I could feel her muscles loosen. But still, her hands clutched at my shirt, still desperate, still clinging to me like I was the only thing keeping her grounded.

I gently stroked her hair, my fingers running through the dark strands, trying to calm her, trying to make her feel safe again.

She was still holding onto me, but her body was no longer trembling, her breath no longer shallow. She was quiet now, and for a moment, I thought she had fallen asleep in my arms.

But she hadn’t.

Her breathing, though steady, was still quick, her body still tense with something I couldn’t identify. There was a deep, unspoken fear that lingered in the air, something I couldn’t touch but could feel.

I stayed like that for a while, just holding her, not knowing what else to do. I wasn’t used to being this… vulnerable. To being the one to give comfort rather than receive it. But for Samaira, I’d do anything. I wasn’t going to let her be alone, not now, not when she needed me.

After what felt like an eternity, I could feel her body relax even more, her breath evening out, the stress of the day finally taking its toll. I knew she needed sleep. She’d been through so much today, and the emotional weight of everything was probably more than she could handle.

Gently, I pulled away, my hands still lingering on her arms as I slowly lifted her up, cradling her in my arms. She didn’t stir, her head resting against my shoulder, her eyes closed, completely drained. I walked slowly over to the bed, carefully placing her down on the soft sheets. She sighed softly as I tucked the blanket around her, her face peaceful for the first time in hours.

I stood there for a moment, watching her, my chest tightening. She looked so fragile in that moment, so vulnerable, as though the world had worn her down to nothing. She deserved peace. She deserved to be free from the fear that haunted her.

But I knew that peace would take time. It wouldn’t come in a single night.

I turned to leave, but something inside me stopped me. She needed me. I couldn’t leave her alone like this, not when she was so vulnerable.

I walked to the couch in the corner of the room, pulling the blanket around me. My eyes kept drifting back to her, even as sleep tried to claim me. I wasn’t sure if I could sleep, but I would stay awake, just in case she woke up. In case the fear returned.

Because tonight, in the dark, she needed me more than she ever had.

Samaira’s POV

I heard advait's words, his assuring but nothing seemed to be working. I wanted to say something but neither my body nor my mind seemed to support me. All I could feel was like I was drowing and despite knowing how to swim, I didn't know how to save myself and worst that there was no one to help me. To save me. To carry me out from there.

And then, in his arms, I felt it—the quiet assurance that I wasn’t alone. He held me like a fragile little kitten, his hands warm and steady, anchoring me to the moment, to reality. His presence calmed me, made me feel safe.

His words, soft and steady, promised me something I hadn’t realized I needed: safety.

I clung to him, my body still trembling, but his embrace… It was everything. And when I said those words—"Please don’t leave me"—I wasn’t sure I was asking for him to stay because I didn’t want to be alone. I was asking because I realized, in that moment, I couldn’t do this by myself anymore. If there was some other situation I might never have said those words. But today...

I was too tired. Too scared.

But with him, I didn’t need to be strong. I didn’t need to pretend.

And when sleep finally came, it took me away into a dreamless peace, with his warmth still surrounding me. I wasn’t alone. Not tonight. And for once, I didn’t need to fear the darkness. Because, in his arms, I had found the only light I needed.