Ambivalence

Intimate encounter

Aaradhya's POV

I woke up to the familiar sound of my alarm, and as my eyes adjusted to the soft light filtering through the curtains, I found myself facing my husband. His features were softened in slumber, and the sunlight caressed his face, casting a gentle glow. My gaze naturally shifted to his hands, and I realized I was still holding them tightly.

In that quiet moment, a strange mixture of emotions washed over me. The realization of the connection formed by the simple act of holding hands surprised me. It felt like an unspoken bond, a thread linking us in the intimacy of the night. His hands, though strong and calloused, seemed delicate in that vulnerable state of sleep.

The warmth of his hand in mine created a subtle reassurance, a silent acknowledgment of our shared space in this unfamiliar territory.

As the alarm continued to buzz, I reluctantly let go of his hand, realizing the day ahead beckoned with its responsibilities.

A sense of concern swept over me as I observed my husband's unexpected condition. His face, usually composed and stoic, now displayed signs of discomfort and pain. The reddish tint on his cheeks heightened my worry, and the fact that he had groaned in pain heightened my concern.

Without a second thought, I reached out to touch his forehead, and the revelation struck me like a bolt of lightning – he was burning with a fever. The warmth emanating from his skin hinted at an elevated temperature, and the redness in his eyes mirrored the intensity of his ailment.

Questions swirled in my mind. How did he contract this fever? Was it due to his recent injury, or was it a separate health issue?

"Rana Sa, how are you feeling?" I inquired, concern lacing my words. He groaned in pain, his voice sounding throaty and hoarse. "Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled, attempting to sit up. His attempt to downplay his condition only fueled my determination to ensure he received the care he needed. When he made a move to leave the bed, my instincts kicked in, and I rushed to intercept him. Placing myself squarely in front of him, I gently but firmly guided him back onto the bed.

Taking swift action, I retrieved a thermometer and skillfully placed it in his mouth, earning a glare in response. After a tense minute, I removed the thermometer and read the display. "104 degrees. And you think it's fine," I exclaimed. 

Determination fueled my words as I continued, "Aap kahin nahi jaayenge, samjhe aap. Jab tak aap puri tarah thik nahi ho jaate, aap bistar se nahi utarenge."

(I won't let you go anywhere, understand? Until you are completely fine, you won't get out of bed.)

The authority in my voice left no room for negotiation. 

I fetched a bowl of cold water and a clean towel, placing the cool, damp cloth gently on his forehead. The relief from the soothing sensation brought a slight relaxation to his furrowed brows. I continued to tend to him, determined to alleviate his discomfort.

After half an hour, I brought him some soup and porridge, ensuring he had something nourishing to accompany his medicines. I watched him carefully, my concern growing as I fed him.

"Do you care for everyone like this or is it just for me—" 

As I heard his words, I retorted, "I would do it even for a dog, so don't think too highly of yourself." Cutting off any notion that there might be a special reason for my care. Even if I did care for him, I wouldn't admit it. I wanted to maintain a distance and not form any attachments with him. Taking care of a sick person was merely returning the favor he did for me when I was injured.

I was about to feed him another bite when he grabbed my wrist, stopping me. "I can swear, you just lied," he said, taking the bite and continuing, "But I won't force you to admit it yet."