The cottage was still. I moved toward the open bedroom door.
There he was. Asleep. Or… not quite.
He was lying on the bed, shirt clinging to his damp skin, forehead flushed. Shivering.
Shit.
I rushed to his side. “Manav… hey…” I placed my hand on his forehead. Burning. His breathing was shallow, skin was clammy.
Guilt hit me like a wave. This was my fault. I pulled the duvet over him, then darted to the kitchen for a towel and cold water. For the next half hour, I sat by his bed, dabbing his forehead, whispering nonsense to fill the silence.
Of all the things I’ve ever done wrong, this might top the list. Eventually, his breathing evened out, the shivers stopped, and I dared to hope.
I didn’t sleep. Just watched. Just stayed.
Morning came. I must’ve dozed off because I woke to the soft rustle of sheets.
Carefully, I reached out to check his forehead, brushing my fingers lightly against his skin. A wave of relief washed over me—thankfully, the fever was gone.
Before I could pull my hand away, his fingers gently wrapped around mine. My breath hitched. His eyes remained closed, but his grip was firm, his brow furrowing deeply, as though he was lost in a dream or fighting some unseen battle.
Is he awake?
Just as I started to pull my hand away, Manav slowly opened his eyes, looking at me while still holding on.
“Hi…” I whispered.
His frown eased a bit as he blinked, clearly trying to process everything. He didn’t let go of my hand. He didn’t reply; he just kept looking at me, his brows furrowed as if trying to figure something out. His fingers—warm now—curled gently around mine.
“Fever’s down,” I murmured.
Still no reply. Just the quiet weight of his gaze, like he was trying to figure out why I was still here.
I stood. “I made breakfast—soup, croissants.”
He nodded faintly, not letting go of my hand.
“You scared me,” I added before I could stop myself.
Then he released my hand.
Silence again.
I turned and walked to the dining table, grabbing a plate with croissants and soup. When I came back, he was sitting up in bed now, his expression still unreadable. I handed him the plate, and though he accepted it, it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about it. His face looked drained, his eyes weary.
I placed the medicines on the side table. He blinked slowly, avoiding my gaze, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles along the spoon’s handle, like he was trying to ground himself in silence.
Is he angry?But beyond that, there was something else—he looked…troubled.
____________
The soothing sound of seagulls outside had stirred me from my sleep. I hadn’t even realized when I’d drifted off in my room. It was already evening. My head felt heavy, and my stomach was growling.
As I entered the kitchen, Elena found me, her usual warm smile in place. “Ma’am, your food is ready. Shall I serve you?”
“My food?” I blinked.
“Yes, Manav sir prepared it for you and just left,” she replied with a warm smile.
