I carefully lift her foot, my hands steady despite the storm raging inside me.
Her ankle is already swelling, the skin angry and bruised, purple blooming beneath the surface.
Anger flares sharp and sudden in my chest—not at her, never at her, but at the situation. At the fact that she’s been hurting in ways I didn’t see. At myself for not noticing sooner.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, even though the answer is obvious.
She nods. “A lot.”
That’s it.
That’s all it takes.
I slide one arm under her knees and the other around her back and lift her up.
She gasps. “Dhruv—wait—”
Her arms automatically wrap around my neck, light but instinctive.
“I’ve got you,” I say firmly, standing up. “Hold on.”
“I’m heavy,” she protests weakly, embarrassment creeping into her tone. “You don’t have to—”
I stop mid-step.
Slowly, deliberately, I look down at her.
Her eyes flicker with uncertainty, as if she’s bracing herself for something. A joke. A comment. Anything.
What she sees instead must shock her, because her brows knit together.
The anger inside me is dangerous now. Controlled, but sharp-edged.
“Don’t,” I say quietly. “Don’t ever say that about yourself. Not to me. Not like this.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again.
“You are not heavy,” I continue, my voice low and steady. “And even if you were, I would still carry you without thinking twice.”
Her eyes shimmer.
“I mean it,” I add, softer now. “You’re not a burden, Sitara. Not to me. Not ever.”
She swallows, nodding once, and rests her forehead against my shoulder.
I don’t trust myself to say anything else.
I carry her out of the gym, my grip secure, my steps careful. Every part of me is focused on one thing: getting her somewhere safe.
Back in our room, I settle her gently on the bed, propping her leg up with pillows. She hisses when her ankle shifts, and I flinch as if the pain is my own.
“I’ll call the doctor,” I say immediately, already reaching for my phone.
She nods, exhausted, eyes slipping closed.
The doctor arrives quickly—too quickly for my liking, because it means time passed without me realizing it. He examines her ankle, presses gently, asks questions.
“She needs rest,” he says finally. “Ice and elevate.Pain medication if necessary. No strain for a few days.”
