The hospital room was quiet.
Too quiet for a girl like her.
Vashti had always been the storm—loud, fearless, fire in her voice.
But now, she lay still, wrapped in wires and silence, her face pale beneath the oxygen mask.
Shabd stood at the door for a long time, just… watching.
He didn't know what to say.
What do you say to someone you ignored for years, who gave you her whole heart without ever asking for anything in return?
He walked in slowly, each step heavier than the last.
He sat beside her, his fingers barely brushing hers.
They were cold.
"Vashti," he whispered.
"I'm here."
No response.
"I should've seen you… really seen you. You were always there, weren't you? Arguing, laughing, fighting with the world like it was a game you planned to win."
He looked down at her bandaged hands.
"You told me once… the brain is like an engine. You said that in class. Everyone laughed. I didn't get it then. I do now."
He paused, eyes burning.
"I became a neurosurgeon. You became a racer.
We both reached our dreams. But I think… only one of us had the heart to chase love too."
He pulled a folded paper from his pocket. One of the letters.
Her friend had found them in her drawer—the letters she never sent.
He read the last one aloud, voice cracking.
"Shabd… I love you. And I think I always will."
His tears finally fell.
"You never gave up on me. But I… I never even tried."
He leaned closer, forehead against hers, breathing in the silence.
"Please, Vashti… wake up. Yell at me. Be Hitler again. Just… don't leave."
But she didn't move.
And for the first time in his life, Shabd Heer knew what regret truly felt like.
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