“You’re an idiot,” I whisper.
“I wanted to feel close to you.” His voice is barely audible. “I want to talk to you, Aditi…”
He says my name like it hurts. My heart aches. He put himself in jeopardy so that he could feel closer to me? He really is insane.
My heart twists painfully. But I can’t. Not now.
“We can do that tomorrow,” I say and end the call before I lose my nerve. Before I say something I can’t take back.
But the silence creeps back, and it’s worse now. My mind replays the conversation in fragments—his cough, his voice, the way he said my name. I glance at the clock. 12:47 AM. He must be in pain, although he’s a full 31-year-old man who can definitely take care of himself. I still feel restless. There’s this urge to see him right now and make sure he’s alright. I sigh.
Screw it. When did I start to second-guess anything?
I send a quick message to Anika letting her know I’m going for a drive and not to worry. I know she’ll be half-asleep and won’t think twice. I grab my car keys, tie my hair back, slip on my hoodie and sneakers, and tiptoe out the front door.
The drive to the resort is quiet. Jaipur looks different at night—emptier, softer. The roads feel longer and my thoughts louder. I keep one hand on the wheel and the other curled around my phone, just in case.
When I reach the resort, it’s darker than usual. The guard recognizes me from yesterday and waves me through without question. I park the car and quietly take the elevator. As the door opens at the third floor, I get out and walk towards the room he booked for us.
I knock once. Then twice.
The door opens slowly.
Abhimaan stands there, leaning against the frame. And he looks… terrible.
His skin is pale, sweat clinging to his forehead. His eyes are dull and glassy. His hair is a mess, and his hoodie hangs loose on his frame.
“Hi,” he whispers, his eyes widening a bit.
My breath catches.
He doesn’t look okay.
“Oh my god,” I breathe, stepping forward, instinctively. “You look awful.”
He tries to smirk. “Thanks. Always a boost to my self-esteem.”
“Shut up,” I snap, pressing the back of my hand to his forehead.
He flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away. He’s burning up.
“Why the hell are you standing?” I scold. “You should be in bed.”
“You knocked, you know.” He raises an eyebrow as if trying to make a point.
We stare at each other for a moment, and for the first time today, I let myself really see him. Not as my mentor, not as the man who broke my trust—but just as him. And he’s not okay. Not even close.
“I’m not leaving you like this,” I say firmly. “You’re coming home with me.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“You’re not spending the night alone in this condition. You need rest. You need medicine. You need someone to scold you for eating ice cream like a fool.”
“I don’t think your family will—”
“I don’t care,” I interrupt. “You’re coming. That’s final.”
He sighs but doesn’t argue. Probably because he is tired. I help him walk to the car, his body heavy against mine, and something inside me aches at how easily he leans into me, like it’s the most natural thing.
