Dons of Punjab: Fluke of Reality✔️

Chapter 36

Prabhneet Kaur Aulakh

The doctor's voice was calm but serious as he explained my mother's condition. "She's stable, but she's in pain," he said. "She'll need physical therapy to recover fully."

For a moment, I forgot to breathe. My hands tightened around the arms of the chair as his words settled in. It wasn't the worst news, but it wasn't easy to hear either. I looked at Aman, my husband, searching his face for reassurance.

"She's going to be okay," Aman said softly, placing a comforting hand over mine. His grip was warm, steady.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, with time and proper care, she will improve."

I let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension in my chest ease just a little. "Thank you, doctor," I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

After the doctor left, I turned to Aman. "I was so scared," I admitted, my voice trembling. "I thought... I thought we might lose her."

Aman reached up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "She's strong, Prabh," he said. "And so are you."

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the past few days had drained every ounce of strength I had left.

Hours passed in the waiting area, the steady hum of hospital machines filling the silence between us. Aman refused to leave my side, even when I urged him to go home and rest.

"You should sleep," I told him, my voice soft but insistent. "I know you haven't eaten much either."

He shook his head. "And leave you here alone? No chance."

I sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. His stubbornness was something I had always admired, but right now, it frustrated me just as much as it comforted me.

Aman suddenly stood up. "I'll be right back," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Where are you going?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"You'll see."

I watched him disappear through the hospital doors, curiosity gnawing at me. He was up to something.

When he returned, he was holding something in his hands—a small, worn-out teddy bear.

I gasped. "No way."

Aman grinned. "Recognize this?"

Of course, I did. It was the teddy bear he had given me five years ago, back when we were just best friends. The sight of it brought back a flood of memories—late-night talks, endless laughter, the way he had always been there for me.

"You still have it?" I asked, my voice full of disbelief.

"Of course," he said, placing it in my lap. "I knew you'd need it someday."

Tears burned my eyes as I clutched the soft toy. I had forgotten how comforting it felt. How much this small, silly bear had meant to me once.

"You're an idiot," I muttered, but I couldn't stop the small smile from forming on my lips.

Aman chuckled. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

I looked up at him then, really looked at him. My heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you," I whispered.

His eyes softened. "Always."

Later that night, the doctor called us into his office again. This time, he had a smile on his face.

"She's doing better," he announced. "She'll be in pain for a while, but with physical therapy, she'll recover."

A wave of relief crashed over me. My knees nearly buckled, and Aman caught me before I could stumble.

"Oh, thank God," I breathed, my hands shaking as I pressed them to my face.

Aman squeezed my shoulder. "See? I told you."

The doctor continued, "She'll need support, but with time, she'll get stronger."

"I'll do whatever it takes," I promised. "Anything she needs."

As we walked out of the office, I turned to Aman. "I don't know what I would've done without you."

He smiled. "You would've managed. You're stronger than you think."

I shook my head. "No, really. I haven't always been fair to you. But you... you never left my side."

Aman's expression grew serious. "That's because I love you, Prabh. And I always will."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but this time, they weren't from fear. They were from gratitude.

As we stepped out of the doctor's office, I felt like I could finally breathe again. The tight knot in my chest loosened, replaced by a sense of relief so strong that it nearly brought me to tears. My mother was going to be okay. It would take time, and she would need therapy, but she was going to heal. That was all that mattered.

I turned to Aman, ready to share my thoughts, but before I could say a word, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. It was such a simple gesture, but it made my heart stutter in a way that I didn't understand.

"See?" he said softly, his warm brown eyes filled with reassurance. "I told you she'd be okay. You just needed to have faith."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "I know... I just— I was so scared."

Aman sighed and took my hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't always have to be strong, Prabh. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to cry."

His words hit something deep inside me, and for the first time since my mother was rushed into surgery, I let myself lean into the comfort he was offering. My fingers curled around his, holding on tighter than I meant to.

"You stayed," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the hospital.

Aman frowned slightly, as if confused by my words. "Of course, I stayed. Where else would I be?"

I shook my head. "You haven't slept. You haven't eaten. You—"

"I'm fine," he interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. "You needed me here. That's all that matters."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died on my tongue. What was the point? He wouldn't leave, no matter how much I insisted. That was just who he was. Stubborn. Loyal. Unshakable.

A warmth spread through my chest, something unfamiliar yet comforting. I had always known Aman was my best friend, my biggest supporter. But standing here, watching the way he looked at me—with a patience and tenderness that made my heart ache—I felt something shift inside me. Something I wasn't ready to name yet.

I dropped my gaze, suddenly feeling shy under his steady stare. "You're impossible," I muttered, attempting to lighten the moment.

Aman grinned, squeezing my hand one last time before letting go. "And you love me for it," he teased.

My breath caught in my throat.

I forced a laugh, rolling my eyes. "Don't push your luck, Aman."

He chuckled, nudging my shoulder playfully. "Alright, alright. No confessions of love today. But you do owe me dinner. Since, you know, I basically kept you from losing your mind."

I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in days. "Fine. Dinner. But only because I don't want you to pass out from hunger."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he said with a wink.

I shook my head, but as we walked down the hospital hallway together, a realization settled quietly in my heart.

I needed Aman.

Not just as my best friend. Not just as my support system.

I needed him in a way I had never needed anyone before.

And that terrified me.