He thought that every thing was good as Lena eat, and smile but it wasn't.
Later in night he truly get to know what's it felt like when your world is crumbling down and you can not do anything.
He felt like crying but he also has to stay strong for her.
Dylan whispers assurance to her as Lena closes her eyes. Out side the world outside kept moving—but not inside the house
Within its walls, time slowed to match the fragile rhythm of Lena's breath.
She lay in his bed, surrounded by plush pillows, wrapped in the softest layers of linen and warmth that smelled faintly of vanilla and lavender. The curtains remained half drawn, letting just enough light seep through to reassure her it wasn't night again. Lena hated the dark now. Her body flinched every time thunder rolled, every time a door clicked too hard.
Dylan never left her side.
Not even for a moment.
He sat beside her as she slept. He helped her sit up when the pain in her ribs ached too much. He fed her when her fingers trembled too hard to hold the spoon. He ran warm baths for her, every night Dylan plays the cartoon that once she cried laughing out and shouting how ridiculous they were.
But she wasn't laughing these days.
She was quiet.
Distant.
And lost in thoughts.
Her gaze would drift to nowhere, and her eyes would water without blinking.
And still, he stayed.
When she cried in her sleep—he woke instantly, pulling her to his chest.
When she woke and couldn't speak—he stroked her hair until her breathing steadied.
When she whispered, "Am I safe? Are you the same Dylan" in the middle of pouring tea—he stopped everything and whispered against her forehead, "It's me, Lena's Dylan and You are Safe. I'm here."
He was always there as he promised.
But the world outside hadn't paused.
It hadn't forgotten what had been done.
Neither had Dylan.
The days passed like a blur, wrapped in too many layers of silence.
Lena barely spoke. Her eyes, once luminous and warm, now wandered blankly. She walked slowly through the his estate like a ghost unsure of her place in the world, her fingers often brushing the air, as if reaching for something that had long vanished.
Dylan watched her from the corners of rooms. Quietly. Carefully.
He didn't speak much either—not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know how to break the silence that cocooned them both.
She no longer waited in the doorway.
She no longer ran into his arms.
Instead, she just sat on the porch at dusk, wrapped in a shawl, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes fixed on nothing.
The vibrant, fiery girl who used to light up his life had gone somewhere inside herself—and he didn't know how to reach her.
Not yet.
It was one evening, five days after the incident, when it broke him.
She was sitting in the reading nook by the window, staring out at the Snow. Her hair fell loosely around her face, her frame thinner than before. She hadn't spoken since morning. Not a word. Not a smile.
Dylan came in and stood silently, watching her, willing her to turn and look at him.
She didn't.
He kneeled before her, slowly, like a man surrendering his pride.
"Hey Lena ... say something," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Still, she said nothing.
He took her hand. It was cold. Unmoved.
And then, something broke inside him.
He bowed his head to her lap and—without any pretense, without any mask—he cried.
Silently, but deeply.
The kind of cry that only comes from a man who has reached the edge of his strength.
Her hand twitched.
His shoulders shook.
And finally, finally, her fingers moved again—this time, to touch his hair.
Her touch was featherlight, unsure at first, as if she was remembering what it meant to feel him again.
And then it strengthened.
"Lena …" he said brokenly, raising his face to her. "Come back to me. Please... just come back."
Her eyes were wet now. She blinked, as if waking from a long sleep.
"You… cried ?" she asked in a whisper, like she didn't believe it.
"I cry because of you," he admitted, brushing a tear from her cheek. "You're my soul, and you were almost gone Lena, far behind my reach. "
Lema slowly reached up, cupping his cheek.
The silence between them shattered—not with words, but with the soft sound of two hearts breaking and slowly finding each other again.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I was lost, Dylan. I was lost In thoughts. I didn't go anywhere."
He wrapped his arms around her then, tightly, not letting go.
"You can be lost, Lens. But don't go alone. Take me with you. We'll carry it together."
That night, for the first time in many days, she let herself cry again. Not in silence, not alone—but in his arms.
Her sobs filled their room, her pain poured out, and he held her through all of it.
Lena told him each and every thing that happens on that day. And it did frightens him to know that something unknown was happening to both of them. He wishes he was only one.
He stayed awake long after she fell asleep in his arms, her breath uneven but finally real again.
And in that quiet moment, he knew she had come back to him—not whole, not healed, but herself again.
It was a beginning.
A fragile, precious beginning.
His phone screen lit up with a notification.
Dylan slowly reaches out for his phone and read the mail send to him.
And the end of it was not that far away anymore.
After a long time, the house felt peace,
Time no longer delayed to match her rhythm, it echoes with laughter that were of past but not bounded by time to come back again.
The robots were back to their usual mode.
Being cute and sassy.
Style moving back and forth between Q series.
Peace... Finally...it was peace...
Finally they can prepare for the last festival.