I remember that morning too well.
Vihaan teasing me.
Vihaan kissing my forehead like it was nothing.
Vihaan smirking at me before walking out the door.
"I'll be back before you miss me."
I should have stopped him.
I should have held him back.
Because the next time I saw him—
He wasn't smirking anymore.
The TV was on.
Some random show playing. I wasn't even watching.
I was still on the couch, wearing his hoodie, scrolling through my phone.
Waiting.
For a text.
For a stupid "told you I wouldn't crash" message.
For anything.
But instead—
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I frowned. "Hello?"
A deep breath.
Then—a voice that instantly made my stomach drop.
"Are you a relative of Vihaan Malhotra?"
My heart stopped.
I sat up. "What?"
"He's been in an accident. We need you to—"
I didn't hear the rest.
I was already grabbing my keys.
Already running out the door.
The drive to the hospital was a blur.
I don't even remember how I got there.
Just the way my hands were shaking on the wheel.
The way my chest felt too tight.
The way my mind kept repeating his name over and over.
Vihaan.
Vihaan.
Vihaan.
By the time I parked, I could barely breathe.
I ran through the doors, eyes scanning wildly for someone—anyone—who could tell me he was okay.
The receptionist looked up. "Sir, do you need—"
"Vihaan Malhotra." My voice wasn't steady. "Where is he?"
Her expression shifted.
And right then—I knew.
It was bad.
The nurse led me down the hall.
Every step felt heavier.
Then—I saw him.
And my world stopped.
Vihaan.
On the hospital bed.
Unconscious.
His arm? Wrapped in thick bandages.
His forehead? Bruised.
His breathing? Too slow.
I swallowed hard.
Because this wasn't him.
Vihaan wasn't supposed to be this still.
Vihaan wasn't supposed to be this pale.
Vihaan wasn't supposed to be lying in a hospital bed, looking like he might never wake up.
I stepped closer.
Reached out—then stopped.
Because I didn't know if I could touch him without breaking.
I clenched my jaw. "You idiot."
My voice was barely there.
"You promised."
A sharp breath.
I sat down beside him, gripping the edge of the bed like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
Then—softly, brokenly—
"Come back to me."
Because if he didn't—
I didn't know how I was supposed to survive this.