____30____

Aaravika
___________

The room was colder than I remembered, though perhaps it was the aftermath of the storm downstairs. My cheeks still burned from his words, "Happy married life," spoken with a smirk that could rival the devil's. How he said it so convincingly, as if we weren’t neck-deep in chaos, was beyond me. Yet, I couldn’t dwell on it.

Dragging myself to the sofa, I folded my legs beneath me and reached for the heavy book I’d lugged upstairs earlier. If I didn’t secure the top marks, God knows what would happen. My father’s taunts still rang in my ears, his handprint like a phantom reminder of my failures. I buried the memory, determined to block it out.

The headache that had been clawing at me all day was now a full-blown roar in my skull, but I ignored it. The words on the page blurred as exhaustion weighed me down. Still, I kept going. Giving up wasn’t an option. My eyes drooped, and before I knew it, the book slipped from my fingers, my body slumping awkwardly on the sofa.

_________

Vayran
_________

The storm outside had calmed, but the storm within me raged on. I pushed open the door to our room, intent on dragging her downstairs for dinner. Her drama had gone far enough, and her skipping meals wasn’t something I’d tolerate.

But the sight that greeted me stopped me cold. Aaravika was sprawled on the sofa, her body twisted in an uncomfortable position, the massive book abandoned on her lap. Her face was pale, her hair a disheveled mess, and something about the way she lay there set me on edge.

I walked closer and called her name, first softly, then louder. When she didn’t stir, I cursed under my breath and knelt beside her. Gently, I tapped her cheek. Her skin was burning.

I pressed the back of my hand to her forehead, and my jaw tightened. She was running a fever, and it wasn’t mild. Damn it.

“Wake up,” I commanded, shaking her shoulder lightly. Nothing. Not even a flinch. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. She wasn’t just feverish—she’d passed out.

Scooping her into my arms, I carried her to the bed and laid her down carefully. Her weight was featherlight, far too light. As anger mixed with worry, I barked orders to the staff to call the doctor immediately.

Minutes felt like hours before the doctor arrived, followed closely by Dadasa, Tanvik, and Shrivanya. They hovered anxiously as the doctor examined her.

“She’s severely dehydrated and has a high fever,” the doctor said grimly. “It seems she’s been skipping meals and taking on too much stress. If the fever doesn’t go down soon, we’ll need to run some tests. For now, I’ll set up an IV drip and prescribe medication. Make sure she’s monitored and given proper care.”

I nodded curtly, my fists clenched at my sides. As the doctor packed up, I handed the prescription to Tanvik, who hurried out to get the medicines. Shrivanya followed, casting one last worried glance at Aaravika before disappearing. Dadasa stayed a moment longer, his expression grave.

“I’ll stay if you need help,” he offered.

“No,” I said firmly. “You should rest. I’ll handle this.”

Reluctantly, he left.

When the nurse arrived with the IV drip, I supervised as she set it up, my gaze never leaving Aaravika’s pale face. Her usually sharp tongue was silent now, and it unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

Once the nurse finished and left, I called for Mrs. Murali and the other maids. They filed in, their faces a mix of fear and guilt as they stood in a line before me.

“Who was responsible for her meals?” I demanded, my voice icy.

Mrs. Murali stepped forward, her hands trembling. “I—I was, sir.”

“And yet she hasn’t been eating,” I said, my tone dropping dangerously. “Did you not notice? Or did you simply choose to ignore it?”

“I… I didn’t realize she was skipping, sir,” she stammered.

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the tense silence. “You didn’t realize? That’s your excuse?”

The other maids shifted nervously, avoiding my gaze. My fury simmered, threatening to boil over. “If I find out that any of you neglected her again, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” they murmured in unison.

“Get out,” I snapped.

They scrambled to leave, and I turned back to Aaravika. Her breathing was shallow but steady, her face still flushed with fever. I sat down beside her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

What are you doing to yourself, Aaravika?

I stayed there, watching over her as the night stretched on. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered that this wasn’t just anger or obligation anymore. It was something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name.

The hours dragged on, but sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I sat beside her, my back rigid, watching her fragile frame on the bed. Her fever hadn’t broken yet, and every time she shifted or murmured incoherently, a fresh wave of unease clawed at me.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, broken only by the soft sound of her breathing and the faint rustle of fabric as I moved.

I got up, heading to the bathroom. Wetting a cloth under cold water, I wrung it out and returned to her side. Carefully, I pressed the damp cloth to her forehead, hoping to bring the fever down. Her skin was still too hot, like fire under my touch.

“You’re a stubborn little thing,” I muttered under my breath. “You’d rather break yourself than ask for help, wouldn’t you?”

Of course, she didn’t answer. The silence only deepened the knot of frustration and worry in my chest. I repeated the process, soaking and wringing out the cloth, cooling her burning skin as much as I could.

Every now and then, her lips would part as if to say something, but no sound came. I found myself leaning closer, listening, even though I knew it was pointless.

“Why do you push yourself so hard?” I asked softly yet cold, though the question wasn’t meant for her to answer.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and for a moment, I thought she might wake. But her breathing evened out again, and she sank deeper into sleep.

As I sat back in the chair, exhaustion began to creep in. The weight of the day, the tension, her condition—it all pressed down on me. But I refused to close my eyes.

I studied her face in the dim light. Even now, with fever flushing her cheeks and her features drawn with exhaustion, there was something maddeningly captivating about her. Her stubbornness, her fire—it all made me want to strangle her and shield her in equal measure.

The wet cloth in my hand had warmed again. I stood, repeating the ritual like a man possessed. Anything to avoid the gnawing helplessness that came with seeing her like this.

The night stretched on, but I stayed awake. Watching. Waiting. Taking care of her in silence, as if it was a battle only I could fight.

The faintest stir caught my attention. Her lashes fluttered, and I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing as her eyelids slowly lifted. Those familiar, defiant eyes met mine, though they were dull and weighed down by exhaustion.

“Awake, are we?” I drawled, my tone laced with sarcasm. “You had quite the dramatic entry into unconsciousness, Aaravika. Should I be impressed or concerned?”

Her brows furrowed, and her lips parted as if to bite back with one of her sharp replies. But the sound that came out was barely a croak. She winced, bringing her hand to her throat.

“Ah, what’s this? The great Aaravika rendered speechless?” I couldn’t resist the jab, though the tightness in my chest betrayed my attempt at detachment.

Her glare was weak but present, and I couldn’t help the slight smirk that tugged at my lips. Despite everything, she still had fire. But as much as I enjoyed her defiance, her discomfort gnawed at me.

“Don’t strain yourself,” I said, slight soft tone just enough to surprise even myself. I reached behind me, grabbing the glass of warm water I’d placed on the table earlier. “Here, drink this.”

I slid my arm behind her back, carefully lifting her to a sitting position. Her body was limp, her weight leaning against me as she tried to adjust. She looked up at me, her gaze questioning and wary.

“What? You think I’m going to poison you now?” I muttered, holding the glass to her lips. “Just drink, Aaravika.”

She hesitated for a moment before obeying, her lips touching the rim of the glass. She drank slowly, her throat working against the soreness. When she’d had enough, I set the glass aside and eased her back onto the pillows.

Turning toward the door, I called out sharply for a maid. A few seconds later, one appeared, her face pale and anxious.

“Prepare some soup for her. Light, easy to digest, and fast,” I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, sir,” she stammered, rushing off.

I turned back to Aaravika, who was watching me with a mix of suspicion and confusion. “Don’t look at me like that,” I said flatly. “You’ll eat, take your medicine, and rest. This isn’t a negotiation.”

Her lips twitched as if she wanted to retort, but she remained silent. I placed a hand on her forehead again, frowning at the heat still radiating from her skin.

Her temperature hadn’t gone down. The thought churned uneasily in my mind. Without wasting another second, I grabbed my phone and called the doctor.

“She’s still burning up,” I said curtly when the call connected. “I want another check-up, and I need blood tests done. Now.”

The doctor assured me he’d be there within the hour. By the time he arrived with his team, the maid had brought up the soup.

I sat down beside Aaravika, holding the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. She blinked at me, her confusion deepening.

“What?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not strong enough to feed yourself right now, and I’m not in the mood to argue. Open your mouth.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and I could see the protests forming on her tongue. But her body betrayed her, too weak to resist. She opened her mouth reluctantly, and I fed her the first spoonful.

The soup was warm and fragrant, steam curling into the air between us. She ate in silence, her gaze flickering between the bowl and my face.

“Shocked, are you?” I muttered, my tone somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You didn’t think I was capable of basic human decency, did you?”

She didn’t respond, but the faintest flicker of something—gratitude, perhaps?—passed over her face.

Once she’d finished eating, the doctor returned with the test results. His face was grave as he set the papers down on the table.

“What is it?” I asked, my patience fraying.

“She has typhoid,” the doctor said, his tone careful. “The fever and fatigue are symptoms, and it seems she’s been ignoring her health for some time. She’ll need rest, hydration, and proper nutrition. We’ll administer antibiotics, but recovery will take time.”

Typhoid. The word landed like a weight in the room, heavy and suffocating. I clenched my fists, my gaze shifting to Aaravika, who looked both exhausted and resigned.

“Make sure she gets everything she needs,” I said coldly, directing my words at the doctor but meaning them for everyone in the house. “If anything worsens, I’ll hold you accountable.”

The doctor nodded, quickly making arrangements for further treatment before leaving.

As the nurse set up another IV drip, I sat back in the chair beside Aaravika’s bed. Her eyes fluttered shut, her body surrendering to rest once more.

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, staring at her. She was reckless, infuriating, and maddeningly stubborn. And yet, as I watched her chest rise and fall with each breath, I couldn’t deny the knot of protectiveness tightening in my chest.

“You’re going to drive me insane, Aaravika,” I murmured under my breath. “But I’ll be damned if I let you fall apart.”

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