Chapter 22: The Hidden Truth

The moon hung low that night, casting a quiet glow over the city skyline. Zain sat alone on the rooftop of his penthouse, the wind brushing gently against his face as he stared at the blinking lights far below. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the small envelope in his hand, the medical report inside weighing heavier than it should.

Terminal. The word echoed in his head like a curse.

He had always lived with strength, with fire in his chest. But this? This was a quiet war inside his body, slowly consuming him. It was genetic, inherited from a father he never knew. The doctor said he had maybe a year, if he was lucky.

But he couldn't tell Elena. Not now. Not yet.

The next morning, Elena arrived at Zain's place, cheerful as always. Her laughter filled the space like sunlight. She carried a small paper bag with their favourite pastries, still warm from the bakery.

"You didn't answer my calls last night," she said, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Were you hiding from me, Mr. CEO?"

Zain managed a smile. "Just needed some air."

"You okay?" she asked, more serious now, reading something subtle in his eyes.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Just tired."

They sat by the window, watching the world below. Zain reached for her hand, squeezing it gently, as if memorizing the feeling.

Days turned into weeks. Zain began to disappear more often, sometimes not replying to Elena's messages for hours. He would return pale, exhausted, his shirt sticking to his back from cold sweat. Elena started noticing the change.

One night, after dinner at her father's house, Elena pulled him aside.

"Zain," she said softly, her brows furrowed, "something's wrong. You think I can't see it? You're hiding something from me."

He looked away.

"Please... talk to me. I'm not just anyone, you know? I'm yours."

Zain exhaled shakily. He wanted to lie. He wanted to say it was just work. But when he looked into her eyes—those eyes that trusted him so deeply—he broke.

He turned away from her, leaning against the wall, his head bowed.

"I didn't want you to know," he said, voice cracking. "I didn't want you to look at me like... like I was already gone."

"Gone? What are you saying?"

He turned, and there were tears in his eyes. "I'm sick, Elena. Very sick. I didn't know until recently. It's... it's terminal."

Her world stopped. The colour drained from her face.

"No..." she whispered, taking a step closer.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want you to pity me. I wanted to love you without the shadow of death hanging over us."

She reached out, placing her hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. "Zain... why would you ever think I would pity you? I love you. With everything in me. Do you think I would leave just because of this?"

He swallowed hard. "I didn't want to be a burden."

"You're not a burden. You're the reason I smile. You changed my life, Zain. If you only have one year, then I'll make sure every day of that year is filled with love."

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she embraced him tightly, pressing her face into his chest.

"I'm scared," he admitted, voice barely a whisper.

"Then let me be your strength," she replied.

That night, they stayed together in silence. Elena fell asleep in his arms, her breathing soft, her hand clutching his. Zain stared at the ceiling, his heart torn between fear and the comfort of her presence.

In the following days, Elena changed her schedule just to be with him more. She cooked for him, laughed with him, cried with him.

One evening, as the sun set behind the hills, painting the sky in soft orange, Elena brought out a small box.

"What's this?" Zain asked, smiling.

"A journal," she said. "We're going to fill it. Every day, one memory. So no matter what happens, we will have our love written down."

He opened the first page. It was already filled.

"Day 1: You told me the truth. And I chose to stay. Because love... real love, never runs away."

Zain held the journal close to his chest, then looked at Elena, his eyes full of gratitude.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She leaned in, kissing his forehead. "We still have time. And I'll make sure it's the best time of your life."

And in that quiet moment, with the world fading beyond the balcony, Zain allowed himself to believe that even in the shadow of death, love could still be the brightest light.