It happened quietly.
Like everything else in her new life.
No dramatic confession.
No storm of tears.
Just a simple moment that changed everything.
Hena had been feeling unwell since morning.
A mild fever. A dull headache.
She tried to ignore it.
She didn't want to seem weak.
Didn't want to be a burden.
But by evening, she could barely stand.
Naim noticed.
Of course he did.
"You're not okay," he said gently.
"I'm fine," she replied automatically.
He didn't argue.
He simply brought medicine.
Checked her temperature.
Sat beside the bed.
When she tried to sit up, he supported her back without hesitation.
"You don't have to pretend here," he said softly.
That sentence hit deeper than he realized.
You don't have to pretend.
Because she had been pretending for months.
Pretending she was strong.
Pretending she wasn't healing.
Pretending she didn't feel anything.
Her eyes stung.
"I'm not pretending," she whispered.
But her voice betrayed her.
He didn't push.
Didn't question.
He just adjusted her pillow and said,
"Sleep. I'm here."
Sometime past midnight, she woke up.
The fever had lessened.
The room was dimly lit.
And Naim was still sitting on the chair beside her.
Half asleep.
Uncomfortable.
But there.
He hadn't moved.
He hadn't left.
Her chest tightened in a way that felt different from pain.
She watched him for a long moment.
No one had ever stayed like that for her.
Not out of duty.
Not out of control.
But out of care.
She slowly sat up.
"Naim…"
He woke instantly.
"Are you okay?"
The first thing he asked.
Not about himself.
Not about sleep.
About her.
And something inside her finally broke—
Not in sadness.
In surrender.
"I'm okay," she said softly.
Then after a pause—
"Thank you."
It was such a small phrase.
But it carried everything.
Gratitude.
Recognition.
Choice.
He looked at her quietly.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do," she replied.
"Because… you never make me feel alone."
The words hung between them.
Heavy.
Honest.
He didn't smile widely.
He didn't celebrate.
He just looked at her with something deeper than happiness.
Relief.
Because for the first time—
She wasn't just surviving beside him.
She was choosing to stay.
Meanwhile, miles away, Arif stood on the rooftop of his building.
The city lights flickered below.
He had started his new job.
Life was moving.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But forward.
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time—
He didn't imagine her coming back.
He imagined her being happy.
And instead of breaking—
He felt… calm.
Some loves aren't meant to be kept.
They're meant to be remembered.
And then released.
He whispered into the night,
"Be happy, Hena."
And this time—
He meant it.
Back in her room, Hena lay down again.
But she didn't turn away from Naim.
She moved slightly closer.
Not fully.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for him to notice.
Enough for him to understand.
He didn't say anything.
Because he knew—
Love is not proven in loud moments.
It is proven in quiet choices.
And tonight—
She had made one.