Aryan's hands, still weak, trembled violently as he unfolded the main letter. The two words on the note slip, "SORRY ARYAN," had already cracked the fragile shell of his recovery.
He read Ayra's script—the familiar, beautiful handwriting—but the words were alien, cruel, and absolute.
'''
Aryan,
I know how much you loved me. I know you dreamt a beautiful life with me. But I am deeply sorry that I never thought about loving you and never even imagined you as my life partner. That is the truth I've carried for seven years.
When you first proposed, I was perplexed. I genuinely believed that, given time, you would see me merely as a friend and stop discussing love. Yet, your dedication only intensified, reaching impossible peaks.
My decision will hurt you profoundly, and for that, I am truly sorry. Please, forgive me. You deserve a far better person than me. I am not the perfect match for the Aryan you've become.
You are right; the way you love could convince anyone to accept you. But I was not convinced. Did you ever wonder why? I realized I had to tell you this now, before you drove yourself mad over me. When I heard the news of your accident, I was devastated. If I had lost you, I would forever live in guilt for not telling you the most important truth of my life. You are my best friend, the person who loved and understood me most. To whom else could I possibly confess this personal failure?
I can't say this to your face. When Runa told me you had responded and would recover, I saw my window to write this. I don't know when you will read it, but please try to understand.
Aryan, the truth is... I loved a person. I cannot share his name right now; please forgive my secrecy. When we reunited after all these years, I actually thought about telling you, but Ina stopped me. I later understood why: she saw your deep feelings for me. Both Ina and I hoped your crush would fade, but it never did.
When your friends asked me about proposing to you before the accident, I lied to them. I told them I would propose the next day, simply to get them off my back. I was preparing myself to tell you the truth, but then the accident happened. The thought of losing you—my dearest friend—was crushing, and I realized I couldn't risk losing that friendship forever.
I am happy now that you finally know. Aryan, this is the only reason I rejected your love. If this wasn't true, I might have loved you.
I am leaving for a job abroad. Please do not try to search for me. I cannot face you anymore.
You loved me with everything you had. Please try to forget and forgive me. If you have true love for me, please do not try to contact me again, because I don't want myself to be disturbed again because of you. The thing I truly loved, more than any person, was my own attitude of not falling in love. My devotion to that attitude exceeded even my feelings for you.
Wishing you a speedy recovery.
Good Bye...
Yours lovingly,
Ayra
'''
The Shattering
The letter fell from Aryan's limp fingers onto the white sheet. The words didn't just hurt; they were a physical violation. He had fought death, enduring brutal surgery, fueled by the memory of her face and the sound of her voice crying his name. He had risked everything for the hope she represented.
And the reward? A calculated lie.
She loved someone else. She used me. She lied to Jay and Aneesh. The gravity of her caring was an act of friendship, not love.
The worst cut was the final sentence: "If you have true love for me, please do not try to contact me again..." She was demanding his sacrifice—his very absence—as the ultimate proof of his devotion.
He felt the fragile scaffolding of his recovery collapse. The searing pain in his chest had nothing to do with fractured ribs; it was his heart, compressed, crushed by the realization that his seven-year quest—the entire foundation of his career and ambition—had been built upon a colossal misunderstanding.
He was the star, the topper, the orator. Yet, he was the fool.
A strangled cry escaped his throat, a sound of absolute anguish. The nurse rushed in, but it was too late. The emotional devastation was immediate. His heart rate monitor screamed a warning, his oxygen levels plunged, and the color drained from his face.
The medical team, Runa among them, sprinted into the room.
"The letter!" Runa yelled, seeing the crumpled paper on the bed. "What did I tell you? You shouldn't have given it to him!"
Aryan's body went into seizure-like spasms. Runa grabbed his arm, fear masking her professionalism. "Aryan, fight! You promised! You promised me you wouldn't get depressed! You are stronger than this! 'I love my life because you are there in my life...' You wrote those words! Fight, Aryan!"
But Aryan was gone, sinking back into the darkness. His body, already pushed to the brink by the operation, could not withstand the sudden, lethal injection of emotional shock.
The machines monitoring his vital signs flatlined, filling the room with a dreadful, continuous tone. The fight against death, which he had successfully won only hours before, was instantly lost to the betrayal of love.