Luke remained by the door for a moment, watching her.
Then he walked toward the bed.
He didn't call her name. He simply pulled the chair closer and sat beside her, his eyes settling on her tightly clenched hand.
"Naila," he said softly.
She didn't respond.
He waited.
Her breathing was shallow, and tears continued to slip silently toward the pillow. Luke's expression changed as he took in the sight of her, but he made no attempt to question her.
After a moment, he reached for her hand.
Her fingers were rigid with tension. He carefully eased his hand around hers, not forcing them open, just holding on.
Naila's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.
"How long have you been lying here?" he asked quietly.
Nothing.
Luke glanced at her face, then at the damp pillow.
He didn't ask again.
He stayed where he was, letting the silence settle between them.
Eventually, Naila's gaze shifted toward him.
Luke met her eyes.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then her expression crumpled slightly, and she turned her face away.
Luke remained beside her, his hand still around hers, saying nothing.
Naila felt embarrassed. She couldn't even remember when the tears had started.
Her mind kept returning to Sony's words, replaying them in fragments. It wasn't only what Sony had said or done. It was what it seemed to prove.
Maybe this is what people are really like.
The thought came quietly, almost matter-of-factly.
She had spent so much of herself trying to be the good girl, the patient, understanding, useful person to everyone around her. She had kept giving people the benefit of the doubt, even when they hurt her. She had convinced herself that kindness had to mean something eventually.
But lying there now, she couldn't find the evidence of it.
Instead, she felt tired.
Not the kind of tiredness that sleep could fix. It was deeper than that, a weariness that seemed to have settled into her bones. She was tired of explaining herself. Tired of trying to understand everyone else. Tired of picking herself up whenever something knocked her down.
And suddenly, even the thought of doing it one more time felt unbearable.
What's the point?
Her eyes burned.
She didn't want to be angry. She didn't even have the energy for anger anymore. What she felt was something emptier, a terrible sense of futility.
No matter how carefully she tried to live, something always seemed to remind her that she could still be hurt. That doing the right thing didn't protect her. That giving people kindness didn't mean they would handle her heart with the same care.
Her throat tightened.
Maybe I'm the fool for expecting anything different.
Her left hand curled into itself until the pressure in her palm became sharp. It was one of the few sensations she could actually register.
Everything else felt distant. The room. The bed beneath her. The sounds outside. Even her own body. For a terrifying moment, she couldn't imagine a version of her life that felt different. Not happier. Not perfect. Just lighter.
Something inside her seemed to whisper that perhaps this heaviness was simply what her life was going to feel like from now on.
And that thought frightened her more than anything else.
Because somewhere beneath all the exhaustion, beneath the hopelessness and the numbness, there was still a small part of her that desperately wanted things to feel different. That wanted to fly, that wanted to be cared, loved, and be desired.
She just didn't know how to reach it anymore.
When Luke called her name again, it woke her.
"Naila," his gentle voice made her want to cry.
She knew she has to answer him now.
She fought hard to get up and pretend to be fine. "Oh yes," she managed to answer.
"Naila, let's have dinner," instead of asking about what just happened, he talked about food.
"I'm hungry," she lied.
"Come on then," he helped her up. "I made something. I hope you will like it," he expressed.
"You cooked?" She asked in a surprised tone ans he nodded. She picked up the tissue from the table and wiped her face. "Give me sec," she said and walked to the washroom.
Luke waited for couple of seconds and then left the room. He set the table and waited for her.
"Luke," Naila called out.
Luke rushed back to her room. "Yes," he answered.
"Thank you," she said. She stopped with it. Luke exhaled and bit his lower lip. He put his hands in his pockets looking to his left. He then scratched his head. He did not know what to say. He nodded.
"No problem," he said and smiled. "Come," he called her.
The two settled on the table again. The bowl of ramen looked so pretty.
"You have done a pretty good job I see," she appreciated him.
"Wait till you taste other things," he told her. Naila smiled.
"Oh I see," she replied. "Will try then," she agreed. "You should have had early before it got all soggy," she added then, out of habit.
"Why would I have food alone when I have someone with me?" Luke asked back, placing the spoon and chopstick down.
"Men like their food served hot don't they, and do not bother about anything," Naika said casually.
"I like my food served hot indeed but I'm not selfish enough to eat alone. I don't like eating alone when I have someone I'm comfortable with around me. I would love to dine with them," he cleared her doubt effortlessly. Naila was surprised. Danish had never done it. Her father had never waited for her mother. Neither he in laws. It was unusual but she liked it. Just like she always hoped for it. The reassurance felt good. Naila smiled again and digged.
"What kind pathetic men did you live with? Is that hoe your husband treats you?" Luke asked jokingly.
"Let's not go there," Naila stopped him and the two enjoyed the dinner together chatting a lot about his cooking skills. 'Why do I feel relieved to have company?' She asked herself as she watched him speak. It felt good.