The ambulance roared through the streets, siren cutting the night apart.
Inside, everything smelled of blood and antiseptic.
Rayen lay on the stretcher, oxygen mask fogging faintly, machines beeping unevenly. His shirt was cut open, wounds being pressed, hands moving fast around him.
Sneha sat on the narrow bench, Ansh crushed to her chest, one arm wrapped around him so tightly it was as if she could merge him into her body and keep him safe forever.
Her other hand never left Rayen.
Not for a second.
She leaned over him, forehead almost touching his, lips trembling as words spilled out—broken, desperate, unfiltered.
"Do you remember why you brought me here?" she whispered shakily.
"You brought me because Ansh needed a mother… not because you needed a wife."
Her voice cracked, but she didn't stop.
"If something happens to you… where will I search for a father for him, Rayen?"
"Tell me… where?"
Tears dropped onto his blood-stained skin.
she sobbed.
" Are you trying to make a point to prove how helpless you feel when Ridhima died ?… because that day you were helpless just like I am now."
Her grip tightened.
"That's why you let me feel this helpless… this scared… this empty."
A medic tried to gently move her hand.
She snapped, without looking up.
"Don't touch me ."
Her voice softened again immediately, breaking into pieces.
"But Rayen… you're the one bleeding."
"You're the one lying here."
She bent closer, lips brushing his ear.
"Please stay conscious."
"Please don't close your eyes."
Her breath hitched violently.
"I love you."
The words came out before she could stop them—raw, naked, irreversible.
"I know you never asked for my love."
"I know you never promised me anything."
Her tears soaked his collar.
"But I can't lose you."
"I won't survive that."
Ansh stirred in her arms, crying softly.
"Papa…" he whimpered.
Sneha kissed his hair again and again, rocking him while still talking to Rayen, voice shaking, overlapping, nonsensical—like if she stopped speaking, he would slip away.
"Ansh needs you."
"I need you."
"Please… just stay."
For a moment—just one—
Rayen's fingers twitched.
Barely.
But Sneha felt it.
Her eyes widened in terror and hope all at once.
"Rayen?" she cried, squeezing his hand.
"Rayen, look at me."
His eyelids fluttered.
Blood loss had made him pale, weak—but he heard her.
He heard everything.
The ambulance doors burst open as they reached the hospital.
Doctors rushed in, pulling the stretcher away.
Sneha stood frozen for half a second—until Ansh clutched her neck and cried harder.
She followed, running despite her own injury, despite the pain, despite the dizziness.
As Rayen was wheeled into the operation theatre, his hand slipped from hers.
But not before his fingers tightened weakly—
just once—
as if answering her confession.
And in that brief, fragile moment, Sneha realized something terrifying and irreversible:
She didn't just love him.
She had already lost herself to him.
And if he didn't survive—
She didn't know who she would become.