13. Hurt.

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13. Hurt.

[A/N: Translations are available.]

I carefully descended the stairs, trying to keep my movements light despite the splint still strapped to my leg

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I carefully descended the stairs, trying to keep my movements light despite the splint still strapped to my leg. It felt oddly freeing to move without the crutches, even if every step sent a dull ache as a reminder.

"Please, just get better soon." I silently prayed, stealing a glance at my bandaged leg.

Reaching the bottom, I paused, taking in the sight before me. Aunty was bustling around the living room, her brows furrowed in focus as she straightened cushions, adjusted flower vases, and gave hurried instructions to Bhola Bhaiya. She moved with a kind of stubborn determination, completely ignoring her own health. 

“Aunty, guests are coming?” I asked, leaning lightly against the railing. My tone was casual, but my eyes scanned her, noticing how she pressed a hand to her lower back when she thought no one was looking.

God, this woman. She should be resting, not overworking herself like this.

“Yes,” she replied curtly, her voice laced with annoyance. “Door ke rishtedaar hain.” She barely glanced at me before turning to adjust the curtains. 

(Distant relatives. 💀)

[A/N: Idk how to translate that.]

“Can I help you with something?” I offered, stepping closer despite the slight throb in my leg. 

She turned to face me, shaking her head firmly. “No, beta, you relax. Don’t put stress on your feet,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. 

I frowned, noticing the crease between her brows and the tension in her jaw. Something was clearly bothering her. She didn’t look like her usual warm, cheerful self. 

“Aunty,” I said gently, tilting my head to catch her eyes, “what’s wrong? You don’t look good today.” 

“It’s nothing,” she said, but her tone betrayed her. She hesitated for a moment before adding, “It’s just... we don’t like them. None of us do.” 

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