The Wrong Woman

8. Dhruv

a/n: things are gonna change in the next chapterrr!

***

After my jog the next evening, I went back to see a mug resting on the surface of the coffee table in the living room. It was cold and remaining coffee stained the bottom—she was here. Earlier than usual for having worked overtime, I thought as I switched on the lights. I squinted, trying to get used to the damned light blinding me.

I headed up the stairs, shrugging off my denim jacket and opened my bedroom door to see Rani knocked out. She was laying horizontally on the bed, with her feet sticking out and her hair sprawled out from under her. A part of me wanted to lift her up and situate her properly in bed so she was comfortable. From experience, touching her when she was sleeping, especially being a light-sleeper, meant bad news.

Guess I'm on the couch tonight, I thought, yawning. I tip-toed over, grabbed my pillow and went to head out when she groaned. And then groaned again. Like she was in pain. I frowned and leaned over her, hand reaching out to touch her forehead when I retracted it.

No, she's fine. If she wakes up, she won't be able to sleep again, I told myself. With that in mind, I went to leave when she groaned again. I tilted my head back and shut my eyes tightly, trying not to groan myself. It was like she was unconsciously trying to test me because, of course I wasn't going to leave her alone when she was writhing in pain.

I licked my lips and leaned over again, resting my palm against her damp and extremely hot forehead. "Shit," I mumbled. She had a fever. I guess I was going to have to kiss, not just the bed, but the couch, goodbye.

And honestly, the longer I was kept away from dwelling on my thoughts about what I was going to do about Rani and my situation, the better.