WHAT CAN I DO
ADITHYA MENON
“How many times should I tell you not to put the wet towel on the bed?” I shouted from the kitchen, turning off the tap and scrubbing the plate harder than necessary.
“What is your problem with it? Nothing happened when I put the wet towel on the bed,” she shouted back from the room.
“I don’t like things when they are misplaced,” I replied, my voice firm.
“I don’t obey your house rules,” she snapped as she stormed out of the room.
I turned my head slightly, looking at her as she stood there, arms crossed, eyes glaring like this was a battlefield and not a house.
“Then don’t stay in my house,” I said flatly.
The words came out sharper than I intended.
“Fine,” she said, her voice suddenly calm.
She turned, her fingers tightening slightly around her phone as she walked toward the door, and just before stepping out, she paused and looked back at me.
“Go away, I don’t care,” I said, my voice steady with a confidence that came from the foolish certainty that she wouldn’t actually leave, that she would argue, shout, come back—like she always did.
“I will really go,” she said, her glare sharp, her words heavier than usual.
I didn’t look at her.
I kept my gaze fixed on the spoon in my hand, scrubbing it with dish soap like it demanded all my attention.
“Go, go… I’ll finally be in peace,” I muttered.
“I will not come back,” she said.
“Please don’t come back,” I replied, just as cold, just as careless.
The door opened.
And then—
Closed.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
For a few seconds, I stood there, still facing the sink, still holding the spoon, waiting for the inevitable—the sound of her footsteps returning.
But nothing came.
Seconds stretched into minutes, and the quiet around me began to feel unfamiliar, unsettling in a way that didn’t sit right in my chest.
My hand slowed under the running water, the rhythm breaking as a strange uneasiness crept in.
I turned off the tap, wiped my hands against my pants, and walked toward the door, my steps no longer confident.
I opened the door and stepped out, my eyes scanning the space in front of the house, expecting to find her standing somewhere nearby, leaning against a wall, sitting on the steps.
But she wasn’t there.
The space was empty.
A hollow feeling settled in my chest, sudden and sharp, as my gaze moved from one corner to another, searching, hoping I had just missed her somehow.
Did she actually leave?
Or was she hiding, waiting, testing me?
My chest tightened further, the air feeling heavier as my heartbeat began to rise, each thud louder than the last, echoing in my ears as a quiet fear crept in without permission.
I stepped further out, my eyes scanning the street again, faster this time, more desperate, as my hands trembled slightly at my sides.
“Viyana?” I called out, my voice no longer carrying that earlier confidence, now edged with something I didn’t want to name.
No answer.
I stepped further out until I reached the edge of the road, my eyes scanning every direction with a growing restlessness, and then—there she was, standing at the corner as if she had never left at all.
Relief washed through my chest so suddenly that it almost left me weak, and I dragged a hand down my face, trying to steady myself, trying to slow the way my heart had been racing just seconds ago.
She saw me.
And instead of looking guilty or even slightly apologetic, she grinned — bright, completely herself — as she started running toward me like nothing had happened.
“Someone said they don’t care if I go?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she stopped in front of me, her eyes searching mine with that same teasing spark.
“I hate you,” I said, turning away from her before she could see what that moment had actually done to me.
I walked back toward the house, biting my lower lip slightly as I tried to control the smile that kept creeping up without my permission.
“You were scared, right?” she asked, poking my hand as she followed me, then quickly stepping in front of me to block my path.
I stopped.
Looked anywhere but at her.
The ground.
The door.
The wall.
Anywhere except her face.
Because if I looked at her now, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it.
“I wasn’t,” I said, my voice low, trying to sound normal.
She leaned forward slightly, trying to catch my eyes.
“Liar,” she whispered, a grin playing on her lips.
I clenched my jaw lightly, turning my face to the side again, but it didn’t help—the smile still tugged at the corners of my lips, stubborn and impossible to hide.
“You literally came running,” she added, her tone softer now, less teasing, more… aware.
“I came to check if you actually left,” I muttered.
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
I exhaled slowly, shaking my head as I finally looked at her for a brief second before looking away again, the smile threatening to give me away completely.
“You talk too much,” I said.
“You are falling in love with me, aren’t you?” she asked, giggling softly.
My breath hitched before I could stop it, and I quickly looked away, the sudden heat rising to my face making it impossible to meet her eyes.
“Stop talking nonsense,” I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt.
She didn’t argue.
She just chuckled and stood there under the moonlight like she belonged to it, like the quiet had wrapped itself around her instead of pushing her away.
Something about that moment felt unreal.
I looked back at her.
And for a second, everything stilled.
The pale light traced her features gently, softening the edges, making her look like something distant, something I wasn’t supposed to reach, something that didn’t feel entirely mine to stand this close to.
She held my gaze.
And then she stepped closer.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t step back.
Didn’t break the distance.
Because just a few minutes without her had already felt too quiet, too empty, too suffocating in a way I hadn’t expected, and standing here now, with her right in front of me, I couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like when she was actually gone.
How am I supposed to live without you?
What can I do to keep you here, Viyana?
What can I possibly do?
The answer sat there, clear and cruel—
There was nothing I could do.
She stepped closer again, her eyes never leaving mine, closing the distance so slowly that it felt intentional, like she wanted me to notice every inch of it.
Before I could react, her hand lifted and then her fingers touched my cheek.
My breath hitched instantly, the air catching somewhere in my throat as my hands curled into fists at my sides, like I needed something to hold onto just to stay still.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t step back.
Didn’t stop her.
Her touch wasn’t teasing this time.
Not playful.
My eyes stayed on hers, but everything else — every sound, every thought —faded into the background.
There was only this moment.
Only her hand against my skin.
Only the way my heartbeat refused to slow down.
I swallowed, my jaw tightening slightly, but I still didn’t pull away.
She stepped closer, close enough for her presence to wrap around me completely, and I could feel her scent settle into the space between us, soft and familiar, easing something inside me without asking permission, loosening the tension in my nerves as my shoulders dropped slightly, like my body had finally found something it could rest against.
“You smell like antiseptic, Adithya,” she said, a soft chuckle slipping through her lips, her eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made them shine.
I let out a quiet breath, the corner of my lips twitching despite myself.
“Carrying it straight from the hospital,” I said.
She chuckled softly, the sound light against the quiet night, and her hand slowly slid down from my cheek to my neck, her fingers warm against my skin as she gently pulled me down to her level.
My breath faltered.
I bent slightly without resistance, my eyes still locked onto hers, my heartbeat uneven, louder than it should have been in a moment this still.
She was closer now.
Too close.
Close enough that I could feel her breath, steady against mine, close enough that the distance between us felt like something fragile, something that could disappear with the smallest movement.
She leaned a little closer, closing her eyes as she rested her forehead against mine.
I closed mine too.
And just stood there.
The world around us faded into something distant, something that didn’t matter anymore, as my breathing slowly steadied, falling into a rhythm that matched hers, calm in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I don’t want to leave her.
I don’t want to.
I don’t want to step away from this.
From her.
I want to stay here.
In this moment.
In this closeness.
In this strange, quiet peace she brings into my life without even trying.
I want her to stay.
With me.
But—
Reality didn’t disappear just because I closed my eyes.
It waited.
Right there.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Because she wasn’t something I could hold onto forever.
She wasn’t something that belonged to me completely.
And no matter how much I wanted to stay—
No matter how much I wanted her to stay—
There were things neither of us were saying.
Things that stood between us.
Things that would eventually pull us apart.
And standing this close to her now only made that truth hurt more.
The realization hit me all at once—hard, sharp, unforgiving—and I slowly pulled away from her, not completely, not enough to break the moment entirely, but just enough to remind myself where I stood.
I lifted my hand, hesitating for a moment before letting it hover over hers, the one still resting against my cheek, and then I held it—just a little tighter than I should have, like I was trying to memorize the warmth, the feel, the way her touch had settled into me so easily.
Slowly… reluctantly… I moved her hand away.
My gaze dropped, shifting away from her as if looking at her any longer would undo everything I was trying to control.
I looked back at her.
Her expression wasn’t the same.
Her brows were drawn together, her face tightening in a way that didn’t belong to the moment we just had, and before I could even process it, her hand moved to her chest.
“Viyana… what happened?” I asked quickly, stepping closer, the calm I had just forced into myself cracking instantly.
She didn’t answer immediately.
Her fingers pressed harder against her chest.
Her breathing—off.
Wrong.
“I… can’t breathe,” she said, her voice breaking between uneven breaths.