The next morning felt heavier than usual.
Zoya stood outside her professor's cabin, her fingers tightening slightly around the file she held. The corridor was quiet, but her thoughts weren't.
They kept circling back.
That moment.
That face.
That voice.
"Zoya…"
She closed her eyes for a second, steadying herself.
Then—
she knocked.
"Come in."
She stepped inside slowly.
"Sir… I wanted to request something."
Her professor looked up from his desk, adjusting his glasses slightly. "Yes?"
Zoya hesitated.
Her grip on the file tightened.
"Can you… assign someone else for the home visit case?"
A brief silence followed.
The professor leaned back slightly, studying her.
"Why?" he asked, clearly confused. "Everything was going well. And this internship—"
He paused, then added,
"—will give you extra marks. Even better pay."
Zoya lowered her gaze.
"I know, sir… but…"
Her words faded.
For a second, she couldn't continue.
Her mother's face appeared in her mind.
The hospital.
The doctor's voice.
The word surgery.
Her chest tightened slightly.
She swallowed.
"I just… can't continue."
The professor watched her for a moment longer.
Something felt off.
But he didn't press.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll inform them."
Zoya nodded faintly.
"Thank you, sir."
She turned—
and walked out.
But before the silence could settle—
the professor picked up his phone.
Meanwhile—
Armaan stood near the window, his hands resting loosely by his sides, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the glass.
But he wasn't seeing the city.
He was seeing her.
The way she stood.
The way she avoided looking at him.
The way she said—
"We were classmates."
His jaw tightened slightly.
Just then—
his phone rang.
He answered almost immediately.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Armaan," the professor's voice came, "the student assisting the doctor… she wants to withdraw."
Armaan's expression changed instantly.
"What?"
"We'll assign someone else."
For a second—
he didn't respond.
The silence stretched.
Then quietly—
"No."
A pause.
"I mean…" he corrected himself quickly, forcing control into his voice, "if possible, let her continue."
"She requested personally," the professor replied.
Armaan closed his eyes briefly.
A breath left him slowly.
"Please," he said, softer now, "just… ask her once more."
There was something in his tone.
Something unspoken.
Something the professor didn't question.
"I'll see what I can do," he said before ending the call.
Evening came.
Zoya stood outside the same house again.
The gate in front of her.
The same place.
But nothing felt the same anymore.
She didn't know why she had come.
Maybe it was duty.
Maybe habit.
Maybe something she didn't want to name.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her bag.
She took a breath.
And stepped inside.
The moment she entered—
he was already there.
Armaan.
This time—
he didn't stay still.
He didn't wait.
He walked toward her.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if afraid that even one wrong step would make her disappear again.
"Zoya…"
Her name.
After five years.
It landed softly—
but it shook something deep inside her.
She froze.
Just for a second.
But she didn't turn fully.
"I…" his voice faltered.
"I need to say something."
Zoya stayed silent.
Her expression unreadable.
And then—
something unexpected happened.
Armaan stepped forward—
and dropped to his knees.
Zoya's eyes widened instantly.
Her breath caught.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm really… really sorry."
The words came out broken.
Unsteady.
Raw.
Tears slipped down before he could stop them.
"I didn't understand anything back then… I was stupid… careless…"
Each word felt heavier than the last.
"But you weren't," he continued, looking up at her, his eyes filled with something he couldn't hide anymore. "You were real… and I—"
His voice failed him.
For a moment, he couldn't continue.
"I hurt you," he whispered. "And I know I don't deserve anything from you…"
Silence filled the space between them.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Zoya's fingers tightened slightly.
Her heart—
unsteady.
For a brief second—
the past tried to return.
Memories.
Feelings.
Everything she had locked away.
But she stopped it.
Forced it back.
Slowly—
she turned to face him.
Her expression calm.
Controlled.
Distant.
"…Mr. Armaan," she said quietly, "let's keep this professional."
Simple words.
But they drew a clear line.
A boundary he couldn't cross.
She didn't wait for his response.
Didn't give him a chance to say anything else.
She walked past him—
her steps steady—
toward the room.
Armaan remained there.
Still on his knees.
Not because he chose to—
but because he couldn't move.
Couldn't process.
Couldn't accept how far things had gone.
Just then—
the door opened.
His father stepped inside.
"Armaan?" he said, confused. "What are you doing?"
Armaan stood up immediately, wiping his face quickly.
"Nothing," he muttered.
Without another word—
he walked away.
Straight to his room.
The door closing behind him.
His father looked around, still trying to understand what had just happened.
A few moments later—
Zoya stepped out.
"I've kept the new medicines," she said gently. "Please take them on time."
He nodded slowly.
Still confused.
Still silent.
Zoya gave a small, polite smile—
the kind that didn't reach her eyes—
and turned.
This time—
she didn't stop.
Didn't hesitate.
She walked out.
And once again—
the house fell silent.