Morning didn't feel like morning.
The light came in—
but the warmth didn't.
Aarav woke slowly, his arm still slightly sore.
But something felt… wrong.
He turned his head.
Meher lay beside him.
Too still.
His brows frowned instantly.
"Meher…" he called softly.
No response.
His hand moved to her forehead.
And he froze.
Hot.
Too hot.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
"Meher, wake up."
She stirred slightly, her eyes barely opening.
"Aarav…" her voice was weak.
"Tumhe bukhaar hai," he said, his tone sharp with concern.
(You have a fever.)
"I'm fine…" she whispered.
"No, you're not."
For the first time—
there was no argument.
No dominance.
No control.
Just worry.
Within an hour—
a doctor arrived.
The room felt tense.
Aarav stood near the bed, his eyes fixed only on her.
"What is it?" he asked.
The doctor checked her temperature, pulse, and symptoms carefully.
Then finally—
"It's malaria."
Silence.
Aarav's jaw tightened.
"Is it serious?" he asked immediately.
"It's treatable, but she needs rest, medicines, and proper care."
That was enough.
"Do whatever is needed," Aarav said firmly.
The next few days—
changed everything.
Meher barely had the strength to move.
Her body felt weak.
Her head heavy.
But one thing stayed constant.
Him.
Aarav didn't leave her side.
Not once.
He gave her medicines on time.
Sat beside her during the night.
Checked her temperature every few hours.
Even when she slept—
he stayed awake.
Watching.
Making sure she was breathing normally.
Making sure she was okay.
"Medicine," he said one evening, holding the glass toward her.
She made a face.
"I hate this."
"Drink it."
"No."
Silence.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Don't start this."
She turned her face away.
"I'm not drinking it."
A pause.
Then—
he leaned closer.
"Ya main pilaun?" he said quietly.
(Or should I make you drink it?)
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Don't you dare."
A faint smirk appeared.
"Then drink it."
She glared at him—
then snatched the glass and drank it.
"Good," he said calmly.
"You're impossible," she muttered.
"And you're stubborn."
Silence.
But this silence—
was lighter.
Nights were harder.
Fever rising.
Cold chills.
Sometimes—
she would wake up restless.
And every time—
he was there.
"Shhh… it's okay," he would murmur.
His hand gently brushing her hair.
His presence steady.
Constant.
And slowly—
she began to rely on it.
One week later—
The fever finally broke.
Meher sat near the window, wrapped in a shawl, looking outside.
Her face still slightly pale.
But better.
"You look human again," Aarav said from behind.
She rolled her eyes.
"Thanks."
He walked closer.
"How are you feeling?"
"Alive."
"Good."
A small pause.
Then softly—
"Don't do that again."
She frowned.
"Do what?"
"Get sick."
She almost smiled.
Later that day—
she stood in front of the mirror.
This time—
wearing a mini dress.
Simple.
Elegant.
But definitely noticeable.
She turned slightly—
checking herself.
And just like before—
Aarav noticed.
From across the room.
His expression changed instantly.
"Again?" he said.
She sighed.
"Not this again…"
"Change it."
She turned toward him.
"No."
Silence.
"You just recovered," he said.
"And?"
"And you're not going out dressed like that."
She crossed her arms.
"Why?"
A pause.
"You know why."
She smirked slightly.
"Say it."
His eyes darkened.
"I don't like it."
"That's not my problem."
Silence.
He stepped closer.
"And it becomes one when it concerns you."
Her heartbeat picked up slightly.
"Still not changing."
Aarav stopped right in front of her.
Close.
Too close.
"Tumhe problem samajh nahi aati?" he murmured.
(You don't understand the problem?)
"Explain it."
A pause.
Then quietly—
"I don't like anyone else looking at you."
Her breath caught.
"That's your issue."
"And you're my issue."
Silence.
She tried to look away—
but couldn't.
Because his gaze—
was too intense.
"Fine," she whispered finally.
"I'll change."
A faint smirk appeared.
"Good."
But this time—
she didn't feel forced.
She understood.
At least a little.
And Aarav—
He watched her walk away.
His expression softer now.
Because something had changed.
Not just in her.
But in him too.
Because now—
it wasn't just about keeping her.
It was about not losing her.The room went quiet again after she walked away.
Aarav stood there for a moment.
Still.
Thinking.
Something about her agreeing so easily this time—
felt different.
Not forced.
Not argued.
Just… understood.
And that stayed with him.
A few minutes later—
the door opened again.
He turned.
And froze.
Meher stepped out—
wearing his shirt.
A plain black oversized T-shirt.
And loose trousers.
Her hair slightly messy.
Face still a little pale.
But softer.
Warmer.
More real.
Aarav's breath slowed.
Something inside him shifted.
This wasn't the same girl who challenged him every second.
This was someone who looked…
comfortable.
With him.
And that—
did something dangerous to him.
"Happy now?" she asked, adjusting the sleeve.
He didn't reply immediately.
He just looked at her.
Intently.
"Zyada," he murmured.
(More than happy.)
Her cheeks flushed slightly.
"Stop staring."
"Can't."
She rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smile.
But he saw it.
He always did.
She walked toward the couch and sat down slowly.
Still a little weak.
He noticed instantly.
"Careful," he said.
"I'm fine."
"You said that last time too."
She didn't argue.
Because this time—
she knew.
He wasn't controlling.
He was… caring.
A small silence passed.
Then suddenly—
"I want something," she said.
Aarav raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
She looked at him.
Directly.
"Ramen."
Silence.
"…what?"
"Ramen," she repeated.
He blinked.
"You're serious?"
She nodded.
"Very."
A pause.
"You just recovered from malaria and you want ramen?"
"Yes."
"Abhi?"
(Now?)
"Yes."
Silence.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Stubborn.
Determined.
"I don't think you understand," he said slowly.
"There's no ramen here."
"I don't care."
A pause.
"I want it."
Silence.
Aarav exhaled slowly.
Then—
he picked up his phone.
"Fine."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"You're serious?"
"I always am."
The next two hours—
were chaotic.
Calls.
Messages.
Instructions.
People running around.
Because when Aarav wanted something—
he got it.
No matter what.
And finally—
the door opened.
A box was placed on the table.
Hot.
Fresh.
Ramen.
Meher stared at it.
"You're insane," she whispered.
Aarav leaned slightly against the wall.
"I know."
She quickly opened it.
The aroma filled the room instantly.
Her eyes lit up.
And for the first time in days—
she looked genuinely happy.
She took a bite.
Closed her eyes.
"Perfect," she murmured.
Aarav watched her.
Silently.
Completely focused.
Because this—
this small moment—
felt bigger than anything else.
After finishing—
she looked at him.
"Thank you," she said softly.
A pause.
Then—
Aarav tilted his head slightly.
"Fees?"
She blinked.
"What?"
"You said thank you."
"So?"
"So I want fees."
Her lips curved slightly.
"Oh really?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
A pause.
His gaze softened slightly.
"Your choice."
Silence.
For a moment—
she hesitated.
Then—
she stood up slowly.
Walked toward him.
Step by step.
Her heartbeat picking up.
His eyes never leaving hers.
Until—
she stopped right in front of him.
And before she could overthink—
she leaned in—
and kissed his cheek.
Soft.
Quick.
But real.
Aarav froze.
Completely.
She stepped back instantly.
Her cheeks turning red.
"There," she said quickly. "Fees paid."
Silence.
A long silence.
Because Aarav—
hadn't moved.
Hadn't reacted.
At all.
His hand slowly lifted to his cheek.
Where she kissed him.
As if making sure—
it actually happened.
And something inside him—
shifted.
Deeply.
Dangerously.
Because for the first time—
this wasn't obsession.
This wasn't control.
This was something else.
Something he had never allowed himself to feel.
Something real.
And maybe—
something very close to love.
He looked at her again.
And this time—
his gaze wasn't intense.
It was… soft.
And that—
was far more powerful.
.
.
.
.
.
Hope you will like this