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The sound of Aaravika's irritated huffs echoed in the room as Vayran crouched beside her, holding the bowl of soup like it was some sacred offering. She glared at him with a mixture of defiance and exhaustion, her pale face betraying her illness. The IV drips hung beside her bed, a stark reminder of her fragility, though her fiery temper remained intact.

"I'm not drinking it," Aaravika declared, her voice hoarse but stubborn.

"You don’t have a choice," Vayran said flatly, his eyes narrowing. "Unless you’d like to faint again. Or is that your new hobby?"

Her lips curled in a weak but defiant smirk. "I’d rather faint than eat anything you touch. Who knows what poison you’ve laced this with?"

Vayran scoffed, settling the bowl on the side table. "Poison? Don’t flatter yourself. If I wanted you dead, Aaravika, you’d be gone before your next tantrum."

"Great. So why not do it already and spare me from drinking this disaster you call soup?" she shot back, crossing her arms.

He leaned closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. His dark, sharp gaze locked with hers, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Because your suffering is far more entertaining than your death."

Aaravika rolled her eyes, though the proximity sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "And here I thought you were just obsessed with playing nurse. Got a fetish for helpless women, do you?"

"Helpless?" His smirk was cruel, his voice dripping with mockery. "You? Helpless? Aaravika, you’re the only patient I’ve ever seen who can vomit soup and still argue like it’s a debate championship."

She clutched the blanket, glaring at him. "I wouldn’t have vomited if you knew how to cook! What is this, poison disguised as soup?"

Vayran raised an eyebrow. "First poison, now bad cooking? Make up your mind, chhoti maharani. Or are you just stalling because you’re scared of a little broth?"

"Scared?" Aaravika let out a breathy laugh. "You think I’m scared of you or your broth? You wish. I’ve faced scarier things than you, Vayran Singh Chandravansh."

His jaw clenched slightly at her use of his full name, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he picked up the spoon, scooping up a small amount of soup. "Then prove it. Open your mouth, drink it, and stop whining like a spoiled brat."

Aaravika pushed his hand away, sending the spoon clattering onto the tray. "I said no."

"And I said yes," he growled, his patience wearing thin. "You’ll drink this soup if I have to hold your nose and pour it down your throat."

She smirked despite herself, her tone laced with mock sweetness. "Oh, so you’re into force-feeding now? What’s next, Vayran? Tying me to the bed?"

His gaze darkened, and the room seemed to chill. "Don’t tempt me, Aaravika."

A beat of silence passed, heavy with tension, before she spoke again, her voice softer but no less cutting. "You can’t force me to heal, Vayran. I’ll do it in my own time, not on your terms."

His grip on the tray tightened, but instead of lashing out, he stepped back, his expression unreadable. "Fine. Starve, then. But don’t come crying to me when you faint again."

As he turned to leave, her voice stopped him. "Vayran."

He paused but didn’t look back.

"You could’ve just said you cared," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I don’t care, Aaravika. I just like winning. And in this game, I always win."

Their eyes locked in a silent battle, the air thick with unspoken words. As he walked away, she slumped back against the pillows, muttering under her breath, "Arrogant jerk."

From outside the room, his voice floated back, laced with amusement. "I heard that."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

As soon as Vayran walked out, Aaravika let out a relieved sigh, sinking into the pillows. The room felt emptier without his overbearing presence, but her stomach growled, betraying her defiance. She cursed under her breath.

Moments later, the door creaked open again, and she shot a glare toward it, expecting a nurse. Instead, Vayran strolled back in, his gait deliberate, carrying the same tray of soup. He didn’t say a word as he sat back beside her bed, placing the tray firmly on the side table.

"I thought you left," she muttered, crossing her arms.

"I did," he replied flatly, picking up the spoon again. "And now I’m back. Open your mouth."

Her glare intensified. "I’m not a child you can just boss around, Vayran."

"No, you’re worse," he said, dipping the spoon into the bowl. "A child would’ve finished this soup by now without a tantrum. Now, are you going to drink this willingly, or do I need to summon the force-feeding plan?"

Aaravika’s eyes narrowed. "I’ll drink it, but only because I’m tired of your face hovering over mine." She opened her mouth slightly, and he took the opportunity to slide the spoon in.

"Good girl," he said smugly, and she nearly choked on the soup.

"Don’t call me that," she snapped once she swallowed.

"Why? Does it make you feel flustered?" His voice was a low purr, and she rolled her eyes.

"Flustered? You’re delusional. And for the record, this soup still tastes awful."

Vayran smirked. "You’re welcome to vomit again if it’ll make you feel better about insulting my nonexistent cooking skills."

Her brows furrowed. "Wait… you made this?"

He leaned back, his expression unreadable. "No."

Her head snapped up, eyes widening slightly. "Then who—?"

"The cook," he said, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Did you really think I’d waste my time in the kitchen for you?"

She exhaled sharply, her shoulders relaxing. "Oh, thank God. For a moment, I thought I’d have to give you a compliment, and that would’ve ruined my day."

Vayran chuckled darkly, scooping another spoonful of soup. "Careful, Aaravika. Your gratitude is showing."

"Gratitude?" she shot back, a hint of fire returning to her voice. "I’m tolerating you, not thanking you. There’s a difference."

He raised an eyebrow, holding the spoon near her lips. "Tolerating me while you let me feed you? Quite the contradiction, don’t you think?"

"Shut up and feed me before I change my mind," she muttered, opening her mouth again.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, but he said nothing more. The room settled into a tense silence, broken only by the occasional sarcastic remark from Aaravika, which Vayran met with equal wit.

When she finished the last spoonful, he set the bowl aside, leaning back in his chair. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

She sighed dramatically. "It wasn’t your soup, so yeah, it wasn’t. Consider this my only act of mercy."

His lips curved into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Mercy? If this is mercy, Aaravika, remind me never to get on your good side."

"Good side?" She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You’ve never been anywhere near it, Vayran. You’re permanently stationed on my nerves."

"Good," he said, standing up and adjusting his sleeves. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."

As he walked out again.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

An hour later, the door to Aaravika’s room opened again, and she groaned internally, recognizing the heavy footsteps. Pretending to sleep, she pulled the blanket over her head. She didn’t want to deal with Vayran’s smug face or his relentless attempts to feed her medicine.

"Still pretending, Aaravika?" Vayran’s deep, mocking voice filled the room as he stepped inside, followed by the softer sound of heels clicking. "If you’re going to fake it, at least learn to breathe evenly."

Aaravika stiffened but didn’t respond, tightening her grip on the blanket.

Shrivanya, Vayran’s cousin, walked in behind him, her warm, chirpy voice cutting through the tension. "Bhai, stop teasing her. She’s unwell, not auditioning for a drama troupe."

Vayran snorted, folding his arms. "Unwell or not, she’s got enough energy to be stubborn. Watch." He strode to the bed and yanked the blanket down just enough to reveal her face.

Aaravika squinted her eyes and muttered, "Do you mind? I’m trying to sleep."

"Sure," he said dryly, holding up a strip of tablets. "Right after you take these."

Her eyes snapped open at the sight of the pills, and she glared at him. "I don’t need those. I’m fine."

Shrivanya chimed in, her voice soft and sweet. "Bhabhi, please. It’s just a couple of tablets. They’ll help you recover faster."

Aaravika’s features softened slightly at Shrivanya’s tone. She liked the girl—probably the only tolerable person in this madhouse. But her stubborn streak wasn’t ready to bow just yet. "I’ll recover fine without them. Tell your Bhai to stop micromanaging my health."

Vayran raised an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Micromanaging? That’s rich, coming from someone who can’t even keep soup down without a fight."

Aaravika shot him a withering glare. "I didn’t ask you to do all these, Vayran, I didn’t ask for you at all."

"Believe me," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t so skilled at fainting. So, either take these tablets, or I’ll make sure you regret it."

"Such a charmer," she muttered sarcastically, sitting up reluctantly. "Fine. Give me the stupid pills."

Vayran smirked, holding them out along with a glass of water. "Was that so hard?"

Ignoring him, she popped the tablets into her mouth and drank the water, her eyes never leaving his. "Happy now, doctor sahib?"

"Ecstatic," he replied smoothly. "You’ve been a delight to handle, Aaravika. Really, you’re a patient anyone would pray for."

Shrivanya stifled a laugh, stepping forward as the nurse entered and began changing the IV drip. "Didi, you two fight like cats and dogs."

Aaravika sighed, flopping back against the pillows. "He starts it. Every time."

"And I finish it too," Vayran said with a smirk, his gaze sharp.

Shrivanya looked between them, a playful smile on her face. "I think you’re both too proud to admit you care about each other."

Both Vayran and Aaravika stiffened at that, their gazes snapping to Shrivanya. Aaravika was the first to recover, snorting. "Care? About him? I’d rather care for a cactus."

"And I’d rather care for a feral cat," Vayran added, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Shrivanya shook her head, laughing softly. "You two are impossible."

The nurse finished changing the IV drip, and Shrivanya helped settle Aaravika back into bed. As Vayran turned to leave, Aaravika’s voice stopped him.

"Next time, send Shrivanya alone. At least she doesn’t threaten me every five minutes."

Vayran glanced over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Where’s the fun in that?"

With that, he walked out, leaving Aaravika grumbling under her breath while Shrivanya tried to stifle her laughter.

Shrivanya sat beside her and asked me about her studies and they had a good talk.

Next day,

The early morning sun filtered weakly through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Aaravika stirred in her sleep, her body still heavy from the fever’s grip. A sudden cool sensation on her face made her eyes flutter open, and for a moment, she froze.

Vayran sat on the edge of her bed, holding a damp cloth. His movements were firm yet deliberate as he wiped her face, his expression unreadable. Her gaze traveled down to find him gently cleaning her hands and then her legs.

"What the hell are you doing?" she croaked, her voice thick with sleep and irritation.

He glanced at her briefly, his eyes calm yet sharp. "Cleaning you up. You look like a disaster."

She immediately yanked her leg back, glaring at him. "Excuse me? Who gave you permission to touch me?"

"You were sweating all night," he said matter-of-factly, dipping the cloth into a bowl of water beside him. "You’d stink up the room if I left you like this. You should be thanking me."

Aaravika sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t stink!"

He smirked, raising an eyebrow as he wrung out the cloth. "Want me to prove you wrong? I could call in Shrivanya for a second opinion."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You wouldn’t dare."

"Oh, I would," he said, his voice dropping into that familiar, infuriatingly low tone that always made her bristle. "But lucky for you, I don’t want to traumatize her with your... state."

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. "I don’t need your charity, Vayran. I can clean myself."

"Really?" he said, his tone dripping with mockery as he leaned closer, his dark eyes locking with hers. "Because the last time I left you alone, you managed to vomit soup and faint. Should I let you try again?"

Her jaw tightened, but she refused to back down. "I wasn’t fainting. I was resting. Something you wouldn’t understand since you’re too busy being a control freak."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Resting? You were unconscious. You’re as stubborn as a mule, Aaravika. A mule with no self-preservation instinct."

"And you’re as arrogant as they come," she shot back. "Why are you even here? Don’t you have empires to run, people to terrorize?"

"I’m here," he said, his voice low and steady, "because you’re too much of a headache to leave alone. If I don’t do this, you’ll probably end up killing yourself with your pride."

Her fists clenched under the blanket. "I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you. Stop acting like you’re some savior."

He leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers. "And yet, here I am, cleaning up your mess. Funny how that works, isn’t it?"

Aaravika’s breath hitched at the intensity in his gaze, but she quickly masked it with defiance. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Playing the hero, pretending to care."

His smirk faded slightly, replaced by something darker. "I don’t care, Aaravika. Don’t mistake my actions for compassion. I’m here because I don’t lose. Not to you, not to your stubbornness, and certainly not to your fever."

Her throat tightened at his words, and she hated how his presence always managed to unnerve her. "You think this is a game? That’s all I am to you, isn’t it? Some pawn in your twisted little game."

"Call it whatever you want," he said, his voice like steel. "But you’ll drink your medicine, eat your food, and get better. Whether you like it or not."

"God, you’re unbearable," she muttered, pulling the blanket over her head.

He tugged it back down with a sharp motion, his smirk returning. "And you’re impossible. But here we are."

Before she could fire back another insult, he gently wiped her forehead one last time and stood up, tossing the cloth into the bowl. She expected him to walk away, but instead, he leaned down, his voice a low whisper near her ear.

"You want to know why I’m doing this?" he asked, his tone unexpectedly soft yet laced with something dangerous.

She swallowed hard, unable to muster a reply.

"Because whether you like it or not," he continued, his gaze burning into hers, "you’re mine to deal with, Aaravika. And no one—no one—walks away from what’s mine."

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