His Burden, His Blessing

His Personal Heater

I was panicking. My heart pounded in my chest, my hands trembling as I clutched the phone. It was 10 a.m., and Zeyansh still hadn't returned. He had left at four in the evening and hadn't told me where he was going. I had called Varun, desperate for any news.

"Zeyansh? He's with—uh, I don't know! But I'll call him and check. I'll tell you if I find something," Varun said hesitantly.

I could sense the words he wasn't saying, the unease behind his voice, but I pushed it aside. My mind couldn't focus on that. All I could think about was Zeyansh, my husband, somewhere out there, unreachable.

Rain poured outside in sheets, drumming against the windows. The storm mirrored the chaos inside me. I had called Zeyansh countless times. His phone was switched off. Every ring that went unanswered tightened a knot in my chest.

"I can't, bhai," I said, voice breaking, sinking onto the couch. My knees pulled up to my chest as tears streamed down my face. "I'm scared."

"I've been giving him the silent treatment since the party. I've been rude and... and bitchy to him. What if—what if something happened because of me? What if—oh God—I get a call saying my husband's been in an accident? I don't even know where he is. He could be lying somewhere, hurt, alone, and I wouldn't know!" I sobbed, clutching my chest as though I could hold my fears in my hands. "I just want to hear his voice, just to know he's alright. I just want my husband back, bhai. I promise I'll forget that night. I'll stop holding a grudge. I'll be the wife he deserves. Please... please bring him home."

Natasha's voice came through the phone, soft but firm. "Oh God, Ishaani, stop crying. He's fine. He'll come home soon."

"I hope so, didi. I hope so," I whispered, my tears soaking the cushions as I ended the call. I tried Zeyansh again. The robotic voice told me his phone was still off. Frustration and fear made me hurl the phone across the room.

I slid to the floor, knees pulled tight to my chest. My imagination ran wild. I saw him lying in a ditch, bloodied, alone. I imagined the white sheet covering him in a morgue. The images were relentless. I prayed, my voice trembling, words half-choked with tears. Please, God... just bring him back safely. Please let him come home in one piece.

Hours crawled by. My body was exhausted from pacing, my mind frayed from worry. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the sky remained gray, mirroring my fear. I tried distracting myself, tidying up the living room, checking the news, anything—but nothing worked. Every creak of the floor, every gust of wind against the window made my heart jump.

And then—Ding dong!

I bolted to the door, hope blooming in my chest. I prayed silently as I swung it open. Relief and panic collided when I saw him, soaked from head to toe, hair plastered to his forehead, clothes clinging to his body. My chest heaved, and without thinking, I flung myself into his arms.

"My God, Zeyansh! I was so worried!" I cried, fingers digging into his drenched shirt, pulling him closer.

"I'm sorry! I should have told you where I was going. I should have called," he murmured, voice hoarse, shivering violently. He wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back as if our embrace could undo the last few hours of fear.

"You're an asshole! Do you even know how worried I was? I was praying I wouldn't get a call from the hospital saying you'd been in an accident!" I sobbed into his chest, feeling the tight coil of panic finally begin to unwind.

"Hush... I'm here now," he whispered. "The car broke down. I had to wait for a tow truck, then stand in the rain until I could grab an auto."

I released a shaky breath, my hands moving to brush the wet hair from his forehead. He looked pale, shivering violently. I stepped back slightly, worried he might catch a cold. "Come inside. Get changed," I instructed, guiding him to the bedroom.

I prepared masala chai, my hands trembling slightly from residual panic. Every clink of the kettle against the counter echoed my relief that he was finally home. I carried the steaming cup to the bedroom, where he sat wrapped in a towel, still shivering.

"Here... your chai," I said softly, placing it on the bedside table.

When I touched him, he was ice-cold. My heart squeezed. "Oh my God, Zeyansh... you're freezing!" I exclaimed, rushing to turn off the fan and grab extra blankets.

As I wrapped him in layers, his lips had already started turning blue. I felt a surge of panic, the earlier fear flaring up again. I googled fever and hypothermia remedies in my head, hands fumbling to find anything that would help him warm up. Boiling water, hot towels, rubbing his body, it all became a frantic blur.

Then I remembered one thing: me. I was always warm. My body heat could help. My face flushed at the thought, hesitation flashing through me but seeing him shivering, vulnerable, utterly cold, made that hesitation vanish.

I stripped out of my wet clothes, ignoring the blush rising to my cheeks. He needed warmth, and I wouldn't let pride stop me. I laid out the blankets and pulled him close, pressing my body against his.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he stammered, voice hoarse.

"Giving you my body heat," I replied firmly. "Wrap your hands around me. You're huge, I can't cover you fully otherwise."

His lips parted in a small, shaky laugh. Despite the situation, my heart skipped at the sound. And then he sneezed - right into my chest.

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed, but there was no anger, only disbelief. "You better be happy your adorableness is keeping me from being mad at you. Can't believe you sneezed on me!"

"I'm sorry," he muttered, sniffling, embarrassment coloring his pale face.

I handed him a tissue and helped him blow his nose, the absurdity of the situation mingling with the intense relief I felt just having him safe.

After that, I pulled him closer again, rubbing his back in long, soothing strokes. My body radiated heat, and I hoped it was enough to chase away the shivers. I whispered reassurances, telling him everything was okay, my fingers threading into his now dry hair, my body pressed tightly against his.

The room smelled of rain and chai, of damp clothes and hot blankets. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. He was here. Alive. Safe.

All the anger, the silent treatment, the weeks of frustration, all of it melted into the relief of his presence. I held him until the shivering subsided, until his breaths grew steady, until the storm outside seemed to soften in comparison to the warmth I hoped he felt against me.

Finally, I allowed myself to exhale fully. I buried my face in his shoulder, whispering a silent prayer of thanks. Please... don't ever scare me like this again.

And as he leaned into me, exhausted, finally safe, I realized just how fragile my control had been, the quiet heartache, the withheld affection, the distance I'd maintained. None of it mattered anymore. All that mattered was him, here, with me.