It never goes away, the fear, resurrected with every action that gave birth to it.

Ayaan sat on the sofa, the laptop on his lap, pretending to be absorbed in work. But his mind was far from the emails and articles that lay before him. He watched as Sarah sliced the apple, her delicate fingers working swiftly yet gracefully with the knife. Two halves fell back on the wooden chopping board, and she reached for another apple. Then another.

It was a peaceful Sunday morning, the kind that Ayaan used to dream of when he was younger. He used to imagine himself sitting on a sofa with his wife, both of them lost in their own worlds yet still connected, like two parallel lines that never intersect but run alongside each other for eternity. But now, reality had taken a different turn. Sarah was busy most of the time, being the editor of the town's famous magazine. And Ayaan was left to face the darkness in their life alone.

On Sundays, he cherished the rare moments when Sarah was exclusively his. He observed her graceful movements as she attended to household tasks with a sense of duty, or retreated to their cozy study where she delved into books on macabre historical events—a subject he found utterly distasteful. It was during these quiet hours that Sarah's focus seemed to drift away from her husband, shifting towards her own interests and pursuits.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of relief as he observed Sarah effortlessly slipping back into her daily routine. Her familiar tasks seemed to bring her comfort, and he found solace in the semblance of normalcy that surrounded her. Despite his calm exterior, beneath the surface, he remained vigilant, wary of any potential resurgence of her episodes. The therapist's paperwork lay untouched on his cluttered desk, a reminder of the unresolved issues that lingered between them.

Ayaan took a sip of his coffee, savoring the rich aroma and bitter taste. He had always been a coffee person, unlike Sarah who preferred tea. She would often make him coffee in the mornings before she left for work, and he would sit at the kitchen counter, silently watching her move around the kitchen. It had become a ritual of sorts, one that Ayaan cherished.

But now, as he watched her from the living room while pretending to work on his laptop, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness. The apple slicing routine was something Sarah used to do every morning for him. No matter what darkness consumed her mind, she still took care of his diet and almost everything about him.

The ordinary scene suddenly became jarring as his eyes locked onto the drops of blood on the cutting board. A knife rested against her wrist and her jaw was tightly clenched. Lines of agony etched her forehead, but she made no sound. All of his worst fears had materialized into a horrifying reality before him.

Ayaan sprinted across the room, his laptop tumbling off his lap and landing with a resounding clatter on the floor. Panic surged through him, nearly halting his heart as he swiftly intercepted her hand mid-air, sending the knife spinning away. With a fierce grip on both her wrists, he drew her close against him, immobilizing her against his chest with unyielding strength.

"Sarah!" His voice pierced the tense silence, filled with a mix of shock and anger. His grip tightened as he demanded answers. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you putting yourself through this?"

Sarah met his gaze with a bewildered expression, her eyes searching for understanding as she struggled against his hold, trying to break free. "What do you mean? What am I doing?"

He gazed at her delicate hand, the apple still intact in her grasp, its flesh unmarred by any blade. Releasing her abruptly, he recoiled, his chest rising and falling erratically as he exhaled heavily, swiping away the beads of perspiration on his brow. The seeds of her paranoia had stealthily taken hold in his own thoughts.

"Nothing, I thought..." His words died in his throat as he saw the hurt and disappointment shrouding her face. No matter how many times he had tried to make her feel accepted, the truth was Ayaan was tired of acting normal when he knew everything was dark and hazy.

"You thought that I'm getting another manic attack, didn't you?" She completed him, her face twisting in hurt. "You think I'm mad, that I'm insane. Is that what you think?" She gave him a broken look.

"No, I just.." Ayaan couldn't understand what was happening to him. He was so scared of losing Sarah that he couldn't help himself imagining her hurting herself again.

He watched with his back against the fridge as she kept the apple back on the counter and stomped out of the kitchen pushing him aside.

Their lives had become a fucking horror show going on a loop in his mind, and he couldn't hit a pause button which was worse.

***

He found her sleeping, far away from his side of the bed. A bottle of pills laid sideways beside the half-empty glass of water. It wasn't getting better between us. Ayaan had thought the reason he was so obsessed with saving her was that the secrets she was hiding from him were leaving him hungry for knowledge. He thought if she was close to him, that would make her open up to him, but now he wasn't so sure of that either.

She seemed as distant as the first time he met her. Sarah fed him only those bits of her mind and heart which she wanted him to have, but the truth was that it wasn't enough anymore. Having her as his wife and having her in his bed wasn't enough. He wanted to be part of her mind too, and connect with her soul too.

But back to her secrets. Ayaan was hungry for them. He went to sleep thinking about them, obsessing over the worst possible scenarios and woke up with a paranoia of Sarah hurting herself. He told himself, that's why he had to be around her all the time. However, that did not explain why he had to watch her while she slept, as if he was afraid she would never wake up again.

Afraid was a small word, but fear filled him with every bit of helplessness she woke up inside him. But what was he afraid of? Not just her past. The fear came from the realization that he wasn't saving her. She didn't need him anymore. The more he came closer to the conclusion, the more he knew he had messed up.

It made the hair rise on the back of his neck just to think how he might have done the exact same thing she had needed saving from. Had he read the pleadings wrong and it had started surfacing now making him disgusted by his own behavior?

Sarah shifted onto her back and that was enough. She was wearing his shirt, the one he wore to work last night. For some reason the thought of his scent surrounding her skin made him stir with so much need and desire. The shades were open, the afternoon light filtering in enough that he could make out beautiful little details of her sleeping form. She shivered in sleep, and Ayaan realized how the shirt barely covered her upper body and the smooth expanse of her legs was bare to the low temperature of the room.

He walked over to the bed and covered her with the sheet. She released a sigh, her face relaxed as he used his fingers to smooth out the lines of a frown on her forehead. It had almost become his ritual, to watch her sleep, to show her affection when she wasn't flinching away from it. He took her hand into his, turning it to reveal her wrist. No fresh cuts, just the scars from the previous. Ayaan stroked the tender skin over the skin and brought it close to his lips, kissing her scars. Even then she didn't stir. The bloody, sleeping pills.

His throat suddenly felt heavy and so did his heart. If there was one thing that he really wanted in his life, it was being with her. But it didn't matter anymore. All he wanted now was to let go of the fear surrounding his soul.

And for that, he had to let her go.