*Samaira's pov*

Advait left for his room without a word. The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed felt almost suffocating. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. The events of the day—everything—felt too much to process all at once. My mind was racing, but my body had already succumbed to the exhaustion of it all.

I quickly freshened up, the cold water from the sink helping to clear my thoughts, if only a little. The reflection in the mirror was a stranger’s face—tired eyes, pale skin, as though the weight of all the unspoken things between Advait and me was slowly beginning to show.

By the time I made my way downstairs, breakfast was already prepared, but there was no warmth to the atmosphere. It was as if the house itself had become just as empty as the space between us. Advait was already sitting at the table, his eyes scanning over something on his phone, the same detached expression on his face as always. He didn’t look up as I entered, but I could feel his awareness of my presence.

I sat down quietly, the weight of the silence pressing down on me again. We both ate without a word, the clink of our silverware the only sound breaking through the heavy air. The silence stretched on, each second more suffocating than the last.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I cleared my throat and broke the quiet.

“I’m joining the hospital as an official neurosurgeon today,” I said, my voice quiet but steady. “I’ve been working there for three years, but now... now it’s official.”

Advait looked up at me then, his expression still unreadable, but his eyes softened just a touch. He nodded, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“That’s good,” he said, his voice calm, almost distant. “I’m sure you’ve earned it.”

I swallowed the words I wanted to say—things about how it felt to finally be recognized, about how it wasn’t just a job to me. It was everything I’d worked for. But there was no use in speaking it aloud. It wasn’t like he would understand.

“I’ll drop you off on my way to the office,” Advait continued, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “You can come back with the driver later.”

I nodded, not bothering to argue. It wasn’t like I had a choice, after all. I didn’t speak again as we finished our meal in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. As I stood to leave, Advait’s eyes followed me for a split second before he turned back to whatever was on his phone.

The next few days continued in the same way—silent, almost mechanical. We would meet at the breakfast table in the mornings, our conversations limited to the bare minimum. We ate, we worked, and we returned to the same house. And every evening, it was as though we were two strangers sharing the same space, not even pretending to make an effort to connect.

But then, a few days later, Advait asked me a question.

“How’s it going?” he asked, his voice breaking the monotony of the silence one evening. “Working as a neurosurgeon. Not as an intern anymore.”

I was surprised he’d even remembered. For a second, I wasn’t sure how to answer. His question felt like a crack in the wall between us, a small opening where something might slip through.

“It’s... pleasant,” I said slowly, taking a moment to choose my words carefully. “It’s more responsibility than I expected, but it feels good. It’s different. But I’m adjusting.”

He nodded, though his gaze didn’t leave me. I could tell he was listening more intently than he usually did.

“Tomorrow, I’ll be having my first surgery as an official neurosurgeon,” I said, my voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I’m... nervous. But also excited.”

He gave me a reassuring smile. “You’ve worked hard for this. The patient you’re assigned to is in good hands.”

For a moment, I felt something stir inside me, something that resembled pride—pride in my work, pride in the fact that Advait believed in me. It was strange, how little things like that could still matter, even after everything that had happened between us.

“I’ll pick you up from the hospital tomorrow,” he continued, his voice steady. “There aren’t many meetings scheduled, so I’ll be free.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. His words felt like an anchor, something grounding me in a sea of uncertainty.

“Thank you,” I said softly, though the gratitude was mixed with confusion. He had been so distant, and yet, now he was offering to pick me up, to be there for me in a way that felt so different from how he had been before.

The days passed, the silence between us growing more pronounced. But there were these moments, these small gestures that reminded me that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as broken as I thought.