"The only thing we have to be careful about is not letting him pressurize his brain and let the time and medication do its magic."
His words kept ringing in my ears till now as I was travelling towards Dave’s apartment, or should I say his freaking penthouse.
It’s been two days since Dave was admitted to the hospital. Though Dave’s mental health was stable, they still kept him for one day under observation. Today, he will be discharged.
When the news reached Mom and Dad, they were on the seventh sky.
Not because their daughter has sorted out her life, but their deal will remain intact as before. There was no point in arguing with them, so I hung up and let them live in their dreamland.
In these two days, I did not go to the hospital to meet him. I only talked to Grandpa over the phone, asking about his health.
Knowing that for a while I would have to stay with him, it seemed good to take these two days to make myself ready.
Both physically and mentally.
Knowing the full effect of our proximity, I decided to stay at least a foot away from him. Moreover, I have made a list of every kind of excuse that could save me from being alone with him.
As I kept repeating all the rules, the cab halted.
Looking outside the window, I realized the apartment was here. Paying the fare to the driver, I got out with a small bag.
I had only two to three pairs of clothes as I did not get the chance to get my other clothes, and going back to his place did not feel right, so I let it stay there only.
The guard, already recognizing greeted me as I greeted him back. Walking into the building, I pushed the button for the elevator.
As the elevator doors slid open, I stepped inside and pressed the button for the 12th floor.
My reflection stared back at me from the polished elevator walls—tired eyes, a stiff expression, and lips pressed together like I was walking into a battlefield rather than an apartment...a home. Maybe. Or maybe not. I could not decipher.
For three years, I stayed in that big, luxurious but cold house just like its owner. He barely stayed there while I stayed at his house. His house.
Of course, it was never ours. There was nothing that could be considered ours. I sighed as I internally tried to make a mental note not to get too emotional, which was a difficult task for sure.
Each floor passed like a slow countdown. With every ding, my heart pounded louder. I tried to remember the rules again.
No eye contact for more than five seconds.
No getting dragged into unnecessary conversations.
And absolutely no touching, no matter how much his cologne messes with my brain.
By the time I reached the 12th floor, I felt like I had mentally rehearsed a whole stage play. The doors opened, and there it was.
The same grand hallway with the same intimidating silence that somehow screamed money.
I walked up to the familiar door and paused.
For a second, I just stood there.
Maybe because I knew that once I crossed this line, everything would change again.
Taking a deep breath, I rang the bell.
No response. That’s when I realized that they might not have reached here yet.
My eyes drifted towards the black screen. As I moved my hand towards it and touched the screen, numbers appeared.
Was the passcode still the same?
My chest tightened as the familiar six digits echoed in my mind. I didn’t even have to think twice—they were etched into my memory like a scar.
Still, my hands trembled.
If he changed it, then maybe... maybe that was his way of saying things won’t go back to how they were. Not that I wanted them to, right?
I inhaled sharply and punched in the code.
1... 8... 0... 2... and the last two digits, which represented the year.
The day we got married. The one he somehow remembered. The one I had spent the last two days trying not to think about.
The screen blinked once, then turned green.
The door unlocked with a soft sound, but to me, it sounded like thunder in an empty cave.
I pushed the door slowly. The familiar scent hit me the moment I stepped inside.
Warm leather. Faint coffee. His cologne felt subtle but maddening, like it knew exactly what it did to me.
The lights were off. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting golden lines across the glossy floor. Everything looked the same.
Untouched, pristine, cold.
I closed the door gently behind me.
For a few seconds, I just stood there. Breathing.
Taking in the silence. Letting it sink in that I was back. Again.
I walked past the living room, dropped my bag on the couch, and noticed the layer of dust gathered around the corners. Of course, no one had bothered to clean.
A faint sound behind me made my heart leap, but it was just the AC turning on.
I rolled my eyes at myself. Why are people using such scary technology? I shook my head.
"Get a grip," I muttered under my breath, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.
Not wasting any more time, I made my way to the guest room, the one I had unofficially claimed long ago when sharing a bed became unbearable.
I pushed open the door.
Still neat, still untouched. Like it was waiting for me.
Dropping onto the edge of the bed, I finally let my shoulders fall.
For the next few minutes, I just sat there, letting the silence wrap around me like a tight blanket.
I didn’t even realize I’d closed my eyes until the vibration of my phone snapped me out of it.
It was Grandpa Albert. Not thinking much I picked up the call immediately.
"We just left the hospital," he said. "Should be there in thirty minutes."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Alright. I’m already here."
There was a pause. "You okay?"
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to lie like I always did. But my voice betrayed me.
"I don’t know," I whispered.
Another pause, softer this time. "Just be kind. To him. And to yourself."
My throat burned. I didn’t reply, just hummed, knowing he’d understand.
Just thirty minutes before the storm walks through that door wearing Dave’s face and my past. God!