"Do you want proof of my love, babybird?" he whispered.
"Do you want to know what I see when I can't sleep?"
The screen turned black.A video started playing.
I gasped.I wanted to scream. But no sound came.
It was us.
That night.Our first time.
Tear...
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SULTAN
I woke up to the stale scent of antiseptic. Bright white light. The dull beep of machines that refused to let me die in peace.
My skull felt wrapped like a gift no one wanted. But the pain? It didn’t register. Not because it wasn’t there—because I didn’t care.
I lifted my hand, the IV tugging at my vein like a leash. Fingers brushed over the bandages around my head.
“How long till I’m fine?” I asked, voice as dry as my throat.
The doctor blinked, confused. “If everything goes well… four to six weeks?”
I stared at him. “Make it six months.”
He frowned. “I—I don’t understand.”
I looked straight into his eyes. “I want you to say I need full-time care. Around the clock. That I’m too weak to be left alone. Say it.”
“Sir, I can’t just—”
“Forget your ethics,” I said, voice sharp as broken glass. “Do what I’m telling you. Or I’ll make sure the rest of your life is spent regretting this conversation.”
He went pale.
Right on cue, the door burst open.
In came a flood of loud voices and worried gasps. Ammijaan in her usual dramatic glory. And behind her—her.
Eyes swollen. Nose red. Lips chewed raw like she’d been biting them all night. Her dupatta was twisted between trembling fingers. She looked at me once and I saw her break all over again.
“Sultan!” my madre shouted, her hand landing hard on my arm. “Are you mad?! What were you thinking?! Are you a toddler?! Playing with your life like this!”
I didn’t answer. Let her yell. Let the others stare. I was too busy watching the one girl in the room who hadn’t said a word.
The doctor cleared his throat. “He’s in a fragile state. No stress, no tension. He needs full care for... three months at least.”
I glanced at him. My eyes said it all.
He blinked, then stuttered out, “Maybe six... six months.”
Eventually, they all left. One by one. Ammijaan shouting something about nazar and prayers. The rest trailing behind her like sheep.
Everyone... except her.Fingers still twisting nervously.
“You can go,” I said without looking at her. “Why stay for a half-dead husband?”
She flinched like my words had teeth,eyes swollen.“Don’t say that…”
She walked over slowly. Sat beside me.Gently adjusted my pillow. Brushed my hair away from my forehead.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice cracking. “What if something serious had happened?”
