14.CONDITION
VEERANSH:
The house felt too quiet after she left. Too still. Too... heavy. I ignored it. Ignored the faint echo of her broken voice. Ignored the way her knees trembled as she walked out.
Ignored the sting of something unfamiliar scraping against the inside of my chest. Weakness. Waste of time. Useless sentiment. I forced myself back into the files, contracts, numbers, signatures. Something solid. Predictable. Obedient.
Unlike her. Minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. The silence in the house shifted. Became thicker. Weighted. My pen paused over the document, though I didn't understand why.
Then a sharp voice cut through the corridor. "VEER!" My mother. But not her usual tone, not irritation or scolding. This was panic. Raw, jagged panic.
My pulse tightened. I stood. Before I could reach the door, her voice screamed again, louder, breaking. "VEER! COME HERE! NOW!" The sound of it hit something inside me I didn't want to name.
I stepped into the hallway, fast, controlled, but not calm, and found her at the far end, kneeling on the floor outside Aarohi's room. Her hands were shaking. Her breathing ragged.
"Maa-"
She didn't even let me finish. "Veer, she... she collapsed... she's not waking up..." My chest went tight in a way I didn't expect. I moved past her, into the room.
And froze. Aarohi was on the floor. Not sitting. Not curled. Collapsed. Her hair spilled around her like a broken halo.
Her skin was drenched in sweat, her lips pale, her body trembling uncontrollably. But the worst part was the faint trail of blood running from her left temple. My mother's voice trembled behind me.
"I found her like this. I... I think she hit her head when she fell. Veer, she's burning hot. She's not responding. Call the doctor. CALL HER NOW!"
My throat tightened painfully. I knelt beside Aarohi, my hand hovering over her shoulder but not touching. She wasn't conscious. Her breaths were shallow, uneven, almost like she was struggling for each one.
My jaw clenched so hard the muscle throbbed. This wasn't normal weakness. This wasn't disobedience. This wasn't fear. This was collapse. Physical collapse. From exhaustion, hunger, pain, and from me.
My mother's hands shook as she grabbed my arm. "Veer, do something!" For the first time in years, I didn't know what the hell to do. A pulse hammered behind my ribs. Hard. Fast. Uncontrolled.
I reached out and lifted her from the floor. Her head fell limply against my shoulder, her body terrifyingly light, too light, like she had nothing holding her together. Her skin was burning hot. Fever.
I felt my heart slam once, violently, against my ribs. "Maa," I said, voice low, strained, "call the doctor. Now." She ran out instantly. My fingers tightened around Aarohi's shoulder.
Her head lolled weakly to the side, eyes closed, lashes wet from tears that must've fallen before she fainted. Something fierce twisted in my throat. Anger. Not at her.
But at the sight of her like this. At the situation. At myself. Her lips moved faintly, air escaping in the shape of a word she couldn't form. Maybe "mumma." Maybe nothing.
I wasn't sure which was worse. Her breathing stuttered. My pulse spiked. I lifted her carefully, holding her closer than I intended, carrying her to the bed. Her small, feverish hand slid against my shirt.
It felt wrong. Too soft. Too cold. Too still. My jaw locked. The doctor's footsteps rushed up the hallway. But before she arrived, before anyone could take her from my arms, Aarohi's body jerked with a sharp tremor.
A faint cry escaped her swollen throat. And something inside me snapped. The doctor entered breathlessly, her bag clutched tight, eyes widening when she saw Aarohi sprawled motionless against the pillows.
"She fell," my mother said shakily. "Her temple... look at her temple..." The doctor moved fast, professional, pushing past her panic with trained calm. I stepped aside only enough to give her space, but not far enough to detach.
I couldn't detach. Not now. Not while Aarohi's skin still burned through the sheets. The doctor gently lifted the hair from Aarohi's wound. A smear of dried blood stained her left temple, just above her brow.
Her brows tightened. "She hit something hard," the doctor muttered, reaching for her penlight. "I need to check her dilation." She opened one eyelid. Aarohi didn't flinch. Didn't move. Didn't respond.
My mother clasped her hands to her mouth. "How bad is it?" I asked, voice low and sharper than intended. The doctor exhaled. "The impact isn't deep. No fracture." A pause.
"But there's swelling. She hit a solid surface, maybe the corner of furniture or the wall. She won't need stitches, but..." There it was. The word she hesitated over.
"But what?" I demanded.
"But it likely caused a mild concussion," she said. "Her brain needs time. She may remain unconscious for several hours... maybe a full day." My pulse hammered. Hard. Dangerously unsteady.
A full day. "She will wake?" my mother whispered. The doctor nodded slowly. "Yes. But she'll be extremely weak when she does." My throat tightened.
I looked at Aarohi again, her eyelashes still wet, her breathing shallow, her cheeks flushed from fever. The doctor prepared an injection. "What is that?" I asked.
"To stabilise the pain," she said. "Her throat is already inflamed. Her fever is high. If she wakes up in this state, she'll be in severe pain. This will help her rest without suffering."
My mother nodded furiously. "Give it. Give her whatever she needs." The doctor swabbed Aarohi's arm and injected the medicine. Within seconds, her expression softened. Her trembling stopped. Her brows relaxed.
She looked... still. Too still. "She's dangerously dehydrated," the doctor added. "If she hadn't collapsed now, she might have slipped into full shock within hours."
A cold, razor-thin line formed down my spine. Shock. Because she didn't eat. Because she didn't drink. Because she kept trying to speak. Because she kept trying to...
The words replayed in my mind. "If you want to meet your mother, then speak." My jaw clenched until pain shot up the side of my face.
"Give her a glucose drip," I ordered.
The doctor nodded. "Yes. She needs it immediately." She connected the IV line to Aarohi's thin wrist. The sight of it, her hand limp, her veins too visible, made something twist in my chest.
A discomfort. Sharp. Unwanted. "She needs complete rest for at least two days," the doctor said. "No stress. No pressure. No raised voice. Absolutely no force on her throat. If she tries to speak, her condition will worsen."
My mother shot me a look. Not angry. Just... disappointed. It burned more than anger ever could. The doctor packed her kit and stood.
"I'll return tomorrow morning," she said. "Please ensure she's watched. Call me if anything changes." I nodded stiffly. When she left, only me and my mother remained.
Aarohi lay between us, small, fragile, almost unrecognisable as the girl who stood begging in my study an hour ago. "She is suffering, Veer," my mother whispered. "This isn't discipline anymore."
I didn't answer. Because I didn't trust the sound my voice might make. She shook her head with a grief-tired sigh and walked out, leaving me alone in the room.
I sat on the edge of the bed. Aarohi's hand was inches from mine. I didn't touch it. But I didn't move away either. Her breathing trembled. Then steadied.
Faint. Fragile. Alive. The injection had pulled her deep into pain-free sleep. But the image of her collapsing on the floor, blood on her forehead, body shaking, wouldn't leave.
My fingers flexed once. Agitated. Restless. Something ugly grew inside me. Not guilt. I didn't believe in guilt.
But anger. Raw, viciously directed anger. At myself for letting her get this far. For letting her break enough to fall. For letting her...
For letting anything happen to what was mine. I leaned back, jaw tight, gaze fixed on her unconscious form. "Wake up," I muttered under my breath.
A command. A demand. A frustration. But she didn't. She looked lost in a world that didn't include me. And for the first time since she entered my life, I didn't like it.