Page 17 of Protect my Heart

“I said I’m fine.”

“Anika, stop being difficult.”

My head jerks toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He crosses his arms, eyes locked on mine. “You’re sick. You’re clearly miserable. But instead of letting someone help you, you’d rather play martyr and make yourself worse?”

I blink at him. “You’re the one barging in and acting like Florence Nightingale all of a sudden.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Right. Because clearly, trying to help is such a crime.”

“Why do you even care?” I snap. “Out of guilt? Obligation? What is it?”

He looks at me, really looks at me, and for a second, I see a flicker of something—hurt, maybe. Or disappointment. “Maybe I care because I do,” he says so quietly as if it wasn’t meant for me to hear. Maybe it wasn’t, but I heard it anyways.

I fall silent. It’s too much. Everything’s too much.

He sighs again, rubbing a hand down his face. “Just take the damn medicine, Anika. You don’t have to let me hold your hand or tuck you in. Just take the pills and go back to pretending I’m not here.”

The worst part is—he says it like he means it. Like he’s willing to be invisible just so I’ll feel a little better.

I reach for the glass wordlessly, swallowing the tablet before leaning back into the pillow. He watches me, then turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” I ask the question out before I can stop it.

He pauses in the doorway. “To get a wet cloth. You’re sweating.”

“I said I’m fine—”

“And I said stop being difficult.” His voice is sharper now, less patient.

I glare at him, but I don’t argue again.

A moment later, he’s back with a damp cloth and a bowl of cool water. He kneels beside the bed, eyes flicking to mine for permission. I don’t say anything, but I don’t stop him either. He dabs my forehead, movements gentle, the cloth cool and soothing against my burning skin.

“You’re still bossy,” I murmur, my voice raspier now.

He doesn’t look up. “And you’re still impossible.”

I close my eyes, the tension in my shoulders slowly unraveling. For a moment, we’re not bickering. We’re just two tired people, sitting in the aftermath of something neither of us fully understands.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says. “But I’m here anyway.”

And somehow, that makes me feel warmer than the blanket ever could.

CHAPTER 10

AARAV

I sit on the edge of my mother’s bed, my heart weighed down by guilt. She’s sitting up against the headboard, arms crossed, her eyes filled with a mix of hurt and disappointment. The silence between us is thick—too loud to ignore, too painful to escape.

She looks at me, and I can feel the way my chest tightens further. My heart’s pounding so hard—it’s all I can hear. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself for what’s coming.

“Please forgive me, Maa. I’m really sorry.” I whisper as a lump forms in my throat, barely able to get the words out.

She stares at me for a second, maybe two. Then her eyes narrow slightly, her tone sharp when she finally speaks. “You could’ve at least told me. Called me. Anything before you went ahead and did something that big.”