She turned to Maria again. “Did… did Karan hear me saying that?” she asked.
Maria nodded without hesitation. “Yes, Ma’am. He surely heard that as he was here all the time.”
Mishti’s fingers curled into the sheet beneath her. The thought of him hearing her murmur that word, over and over again, made her pulse race with nervousness.
What would he think?
That was when the door opened, and Karan walked in.
He was still in his formal workwear. A deep wine shade silk shirt, perfect against his broad shoulders, paired with dark brown tailored trousers that made the whole combination look quietly powerful and expensive without trying too hard.
The moment his eyes fell on her, awake and sitting up against the pillows, the tension he had been carrying since morning eased, just a little. His shoulders relaxed in a way he probably did not even realise himself.
Maria noticed it. Wanting to give them time to talk in private, she cleared her throat gently and smiled at Mishti. “I will get some hot soup for you, Ma’am,” she said, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Mishti instinctively leaned back against the pillows, using whatever strength she had left, gripping the comforter. Her heart pounded too loudly in her ears, and she could hardly meet his eyes.
She was in love with him.
She swallowed the thought as Karan walked closer and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached out, lifting his hand instinctively toward her neck, ready to check her temperature.
The moment his fingers were about to touch her skin, she flinched and pulled back.
Karan froze, his hand suspended mid-air. He glared at her in irritation, not because she had stopped him, but because he did not understand why.
Mishti dropped her gaze immediately. “Why are you home?” she asked, unable to look at him.
He knew that would be her first question, and he was prepared.
“So that people do not say that when my wife was sick, I was still busy making money at the office,” he replied flatly.
Mishti knew that was not the truth. Karan Wadhwa had never cared about what people said about him.Not once.
She lifted her chin slightly, just enough to look at him. “And since when did Karan Wadhwa turn into a people pleaser?” she asked.
Before she could say another word, he leaned in and pressed a finger gently against her lips. “Shh,” he said quietly. “The doctor has asked you to talk less and stop your mind from overworking.”
Her lips parted at the unexpected touch.
It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but he felt it. His finger lingered for a fraction longer than necessary, and his gaze dropped to her mouth before he could stop himself. The memory of the other night flashed before his eyes. The night he had claimed those lips, tasted them, sucked them to his heart's content. Even now, he remembered and felt that taste of her in his mouth, and the way she had responded to him.
He immediately pulled his finger away from her lips, coming back to his senses. Instead, he checked her temperature with the back of his palm now.
“You look fine now,” he said. “Drink the soup Maria makes for you, take the medicines, and get some rest.”
Mishti watched him without blinking. The way he cared for her so openly was really surprising.
She did not even realise when her lips curved into a smile.
Karan saw it.
It was different from the polite smiles she gave others. Different from the brave ones she wore when he hurt her with his words. This one was soft, genuine, meant only for him.
For the first time, he realised that her smile was because of him.He had earned it.
And just with that smile, once again, Mishti was drawing him into her web. And he had no idea how to deal with it.
He stood up from the bed, turned his back to her, and walked away. Going to the office felt like the only sensible choice. Work was his safest distraction.
