Aidi woke to the sound of distant rain pattering against the roof. The muted rhythm was soothing, a temporary reprieve from the turmoil in her mind. The room was dim, bathed in the soft gray light of an overcast morning. She remained still, staring at the wooden beams above her, trying to piece together the fragments of her emotions from the night before.
Hetri's words lingered, stubbornly refusing to fade no matter how much she tried to shake them off. "I hope you'll give me a chance." The vulnerability in his voice had caught her off guard, stirring something she wasn't ready to confront.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Before she could answer, the door creaked open slightly, and a familiar voice spoke.
"Are you awake?" Hetri's tone was quieter than usual, almost uncertain.
Aidi didn't respond immediately, debating whether to pretend she was still asleep. But the weight of his presence was undeniable, and she reluctantly turned her head to face him. He stood in the doorway, looking oddly hesitant, a tray of tea and what appeared to be soup in his hands.
"I thought you might need this," he said, stepping inside without waiting for permission.
Aidi pushed herself up against the headboard, her expression guarded. "You really have a thing for showing up uninvited."
"Old habits," Hetri said with a small shrug, setting the tray on the bedside table. He glanced at her briefly, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. "How are you feeling?"
She didn't answer right away, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why do you care?"
Hetri sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because you're here. And because…" He paused, as if weighing his words. "Because I owe you better than what I've given you so far."
Aidi scoffed, crossing her arms. "That's rich coming from someone who locked me in a cell."
"I know," Hetri admitted, his voice low. "And I can't undo what I've done. But I'm trying to make it right."
She studied him for a moment, searching for cracks in his sincerity. "Why now?" she asked, her tone sharper than she intended. "Why not leave me in that cell and move on with your plans?"
Hetri's jaw tightened, and he took a step closer. "Because you're more than just some piece in a game, Aidi. You always have been."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken between them. Aidi felt her chest tighten, her defenses scrambling to build walls she wasn't sure she could maintain.
"Don't do that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't act like you care just because it suits you."
"It's not an act," Hetri said, his tone firm. "I care because...because I see something in you I can't ignore. You're stronger than anyone I've ever met, but you carry the weight of it alone. And I've been where you are—angry, alone, ready to take on the world because I didn't trust anyone else to stand by me."
Aidi's lips parted slightly, stunned by his confession. For the first time, Hetri's mask of confidence seemed to slip, revealing something raw and real beneath it.
She shook her head, her voice trembling with anger. "You don't get to make this about you. You don't get to act like you understand me."
"I'm not," Hetri said, his voice soft but resolute. "I'm trying to understand. And I'm trying to show you that you don't have to go through this alone."
Aidi turned away, her throat tight with emotion she didn't want to acknowledge. "You can't just fix this, Hetri. You can't fix me."
"I'm not trying to fix you," he said quietly. "I'm just trying to be here."
---
The rain had eased by the time evening rolled around, replaced by a cool, damp breeze that drifted through the open window. Aidi sat in silence, staring out at the darkening sky. She could hear the faint hum of conversation from elsewhere in the house—likely the doctor and nurse Hetri had insisted stay nearby in case her condition worsened.
She hated how much better she felt, hated that she couldn't deny the care Hetri had shown her. But that didn't change the fact that she still despised him, despised the power he had over her and the tangled mess of emotions he seemed to provoke.
As if on cue, Hetri appeared in the doorway again. This time, he didn't bring a tray or offer some half-hearted attempt at small talk. He simply stood there, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud.
"What do you want now?" Aidi asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice.
Hetri leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "I wanted to check on you."
"I'm fine," she said curtly.
"You're a terrible liar," he replied, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.
Aidi glared at him but didn't respond. She turned back to the window, her fingers gripping the blanket draped over her lap.
Hetri stepped further into the room, his footsteps soft against the wooden floor. "You don't have to talk to me, Aidi. But I'm not going anywhere."
She clenched her jaw, refusing to look at him. "Why? So you can keep pretending you care?"
"I'm not pretending," Hetri said firmly. "And whether you believe me or not, I'll be here."
The sincerity in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she hated how much it affected her. She wanted to scream at him, to push him away and shut him out. But deep down, a small, treacherous part of her didn't want to be alone anymore.
"I don't need you," she said finally, her voice barely audible.
"I know," Hetri said softly. "But that doesn't mean I'll stop trying."
For the first time, Aidi didn't have a retort. She stared out at the night sky, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions she couldn't begin to untangle. And as Hetri settled into the chair by her bed, silent but unwavering, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he meant it.