ᴍɪʜɪᴛʜᴀ-𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓸𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷

chapter 57

                   Author's pov

In the soft morning light of Mihitha’s hospital room, Rudransh approached her bed with gentle determination, his heart full of quiet devotion. Each day, he took on the tasks of her care with a love and reverence that transformed even the smallest moments into acts of healing.

He started each morning by preparing her bath. Though nurses offered their assistance, he gently declined, wanting to be the one to care for her in her most vulnerable moments. He filled a basin with warm water, testing it with his hand to ensure it was just right. With a soft washcloth, he began to bathe her, moving slowly and gently. His touch was tender, as though he feared she might break under his hands, yet filled with purpose as he carefully washed each part of her, whispering to her in a soft, steady tone.

“Mihitha,” he murmured, his voice a blend of love and longing, “I know you’re still with us. I’m here, every day, waiting for you.” He gently washed her hands, her arms, her face, as though hoping to stir her back to life with each touch.

After her bath, he moved on to dressing her. He had selected a gown from home, soft and comfortable, something he knew she’d like. As he slid her arms into the sleeves, he spoke to her, hoping his voice would seep into her consciousness. “Remember this dress?” he asked, smoothing the fabric over her shoulders. “You wore it on our last holiday. Nila and I, we’re here for you.” His voice was steady, but his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Once she was dressed, he took up the soft-bristled brush he had chosen for her hair. This part had become one of the most sacred parts of his morning routine, a way to bring back the beauty she’d once embodied. He combed her hair slowly, carefully, letting each stroke carry a silent prayer that she would open her eyes to him. With each motion, he remembered the countless times she had laughed as he tried to braid her hair, and he couldn’t help but smile softly at the memory. “We’re going to make you look beautiful, Mihitha,” he whispered. “Just as you always are.”

The room filled with the quiet rhythm of his movements, a steady heartbeat of love and hope. And though she remained silent, he took solace in each small motion, in the connection he felt through his hands. Her hair fell smoothly over her shoulders when he was done, and he paused, cupping her face gently. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as he whispered, “I’m here, and I’m not leaving. Not until you come back to us.”

Once she was settled back into her bed, Nila would bound in, her youthful energy filling the room with warmth. She climbed onto the bed, sitting close to her mother, her tiny hands resting on Mihitha’s arm. “Mama, you look so pretty today,” she chirped, eyes shining with unshakable hope. “Papa made sure of it!”

Rudransh watched his daughter with a soft smile, marveling at her resilience. Nila leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her mother’s cheek. “When you wake up, Mama, I’m going to show you all my drawings. And we’ll go for walks and have so much fun.”

Nila’s innocent words of encouragement brought a quiet strength to Rudransh, renewing his determination. He continued his daily routine, moving her gently through stretches that the doctors recommended, guiding her arms in small circles, all the while murmuring reassurances. “We’re in this together, Mihitha. You’re getting stronger every day.”

These simple acts of care became a rhythm, each one reinforcing his commitment to her recovery. Days passed, and though her progress was slow, he began to notice small signs—an occasional twitch in her fingers, a faint sigh in response to his touch. These moments, however small, filled him with hope, enough to carry him through another day.

One morning, as he was brushing her hair, he felt the faintest squeeze from her hand resting in his. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked down at her with renewed hope. “Mihitha,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, “are you with me?” Her hand responded with another gentle squeeze, and he felt a rush of joy, as though he was seeing the sun rise after a long, dark night.

In the days that followed, she continued to show small signs of awareness—her eyes fluttering open more often, her hand seeking his in response to his touch. He greeted each sign with gratitude, his heart swelling as he helped her take each small step back to him.

And then, one morning, as he finished dressing her, he noticed her eyes open fully, meeting his gaze for the first time in weeks. His breath caught, and he felt his eyes welling up. “Welcome back, my love,” he murmured, holding her gaze with a mixture of joy and relief. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Nila, who had been watching from the side, broke into a wide smile and clapped her hands. “Mama! You’re really looking at us!” She leaned in, wrapping her tiny arms around Mihitha as best she could, whispering in her ear, “We never left you, Mama.”

As Rudransh watched his daughter’s joyful reunion with her mother, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace. Each act of care, each whispered word, had brought them to this moment, and he knew they would face the rest together. Holding Mihitha’s hand, he whispered a promise he intended to keep for the rest of his life “I’m here, Mihitha. We’re here. And we’re not going anywhere.”