“ Main hoon, ” he replied. “ Na. ”
He didn’t rush to hug her. He didn’t say everything will be okay . He simply took off his jacket—wet, torn, useless—and laid it over her shoulders.
“You can’t know.”
“Then I’ll carry the ‘can’t’ for both of us. Until you can borrow some back.”
“What if I can’t?” she whispered.
The silence stretched. A train horn moaned in the distance. Somewhere, a cat screamed. Life continued its brutal, beautiful rhythm.
Main hoon. Na. — I am here. Period. Don’t argue. main hoon. na
The rain started again. Soft this time. Not as an enemy, but as a witness. And on that terrace, at 2:33 a.m., two broken people did not fix each other. They simply chose, for ten seconds at a time, to exist in the same broken world together.