None of it had brought her any closer to what she truly wanted, and now it was all unraveling without her control.
She pressed the cool palm of her hand against her forehead, feeling the faint sting of the IV needle. The beeping of the machines was a steady reminder that she was still stuck in this place, physically recovering but mentally tangled in thoughts she couldn't untwangle.
A nurse walked in quietly, checking the monitors. "You okay, Ziva?" she asked softly.
Ziva forced a weak smile. "Yeah… just… thinking."
The nurse nodded, patting her arm. "Take your time. You've been through a lot."
When the nurse left, Ziva's eyes drifted to the window, where the city lights flickered like distant stars. She thought about Stellan—how his voice had always carried that confident edge, how he'd stood up to his father for Maya. A part of her, bruised and weary, wondered if she'd ever find that kind of resolve for herself.
She whispered to the empty room, "I didn't ruin anything… I just lost."
The words felt like an admission, a quiet surrender to the reality that she'd been fighting a battle that wasn't hers to win. The ache in her chest didn't disappear, but it shifted, becoming something more manageable—an acceptance that maybe, just maybe, she needed to let go of Pixel Tech, of Stellan, and start carving a path that was truly her own.
She closed her eyes, the faint hum of the hospital lulling her toward a restless sleep, where dreams of a different future waited.
The next morning, a soft knock echoed through Ziva's hospital room. The door opened slowly, revealing Maya, her eyes gentle but wary.
Maya slipped into the chair beside Ziva's bed, the soft hum of the hospital fading into background noise. She placed a gentle hand on Ziva's arm, careful to avoid the IV line.
"Hey," Maya said, voice warm but steady. "You don't have to pretend everything's okay. I'm here."
Ziva's eyes flickered, a mix of surprise and something softer breaking through the usual guard. She swallowed, the ache in her chest loosening just a fraction.
"I… I never wanted to hurt anyone," Ziva whispered, the words catching.
Maya nodded, eyes steady. "You didn't hurt anyone Ziva. My family— they wanted me to marry for alliances too. I ran, but I never stopped feeling the weight of it all."
Ziva's gaze sharpened. "You… you understand?"
"More than you know," Maya smiled faintly. "I left my arranged match because I wanted a choice. Stellan… he chose me because he wanted the same thing. It's not about winning or losing. It's about being honest with yourself."
A silence settled, comfortable, not empty. Ziva's shoulders relaxed a little.
"Maybe," Ziva said slowly, "I've been fighting the wrong battle."
Maya squeezed her hand gently. "You're not lost. You're finding a new path. You don't have to be the villain in anyone's story."
Ziva let out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Thank you," she said, voice barely audible. "For not judging me."
Maya's smile widened. "We all deserve a chance to rewrite our endings."
The two women sat together, the hospital lights dimming, a new, tentative connection forming—one built on understanding, not rivalry. Ziva felt the weight lift, not completely gone, but lighter. Maybe, just maybe, she could step out of the shadows and into her own story.
The next day, Maya arrived at the hospital with a small bundle of fresh clothes and a steaming cup of herbal tea. She placed the tea on the nightstand and gently unfolded a soft, pastel‑blue sweater, holding it up for Ziva to see.
"Thought you might want something comfy," Maya said with a warm smile. "The hospital gowns are… well, you know."
Ziva's eyes softened. "Thanks. That's… really thoughtful." She slipped the sweater on, the fabric warm against her skin, and felt a small, unexpected comfort settle in her chest.
Maya pulled a chair closer and sat down, her own cup of tea steaming beside her. "You mentioned your family's expectations… I've been thinking. My parents wanted me to marry for alliances, too. It's a heavy thing to carry, especially when you love someone else."
Ziva nodded, the words unlocking something inside her. "I never imagined I'd end up… like this. I thought I could force a different outcome, but I only hurt myself—and others."
Maya reached out, her hand finding Ziva's again, this time giving a reassuring squeeze. "Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let go of what you can't control. Not because you're weak, but because you're protecting yourself."
A quiet fell between them, broken only by the soft beeping of the monitors. Ziva stared at the ceiling, the harsh fluorescent light casting shadows that seemed to mirror her thoughts.
"Do you ever feel like you're just… playing a role someone else wrote for you?" Ziva asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Maya considered the question, eyes drifting to the window where the city lights flickered like distant possibilities. "All the time. But I also realized I can rewrite my lines—choose a different script. It's scary, but it's ours to write."
Ziva turned her head, meeting Maya's steady gaze. "What if I'm too broken to write anything new?"
Maya's smile was gentle, understanding. "We're all broken in some way. The pieces just need a new pattern. You have a story worth telling, Ziva—one that isn't defined by anyone else's expectations."
A tentative hope sparked in Ziva's chest. "Maybe… maybe I can start by forgiving myself. By letting go of the need to control everything."