Chapter 7: Falling Ill
397 Words
The change began quietly.
Ayaan started waking up tired. Not the usual exhaustion from long work hours — this was different. His limbs ached. His appetite faded. He lost weight without realizing. But he ignored it, blaming stress.
Zoya noticed.
She watched him pause on stairs, catch his breath during meetings, leave food untouched. When she asked gently, “Are you okay?” he brushed her off.
“I’m fine. Don’t overthink everything.”
But she knew.
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One night, he came home later than usual, his face pale, lips dry. He barely managed to reach the living room before collapsing onto the sofa. Zoya ran to him.
“Ayaan!” Her voice trembled.
His forehead burned. His hands were cold.
“I’m… fine,” he murmured.
“No, you’re not.”
She called Dr. Kabir Sheikh, a family physician and childhood friend of hers. He arrived quickly and examined Ayaan while Zoya stood nearby, clutching the edge of the curtain with white knuckles.
“He needs tests immediately,” Kabir said grimly. “This could be serious.”
Ayaan tried to argue, but even his pride was too weak to rise.
Zoya didn’t sleep that night. She sat by his side, pressing a cool cloth to his forehead, praying silently, whispering small comforts into the night.
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The tests came back days later.
Ayaan sat in the clinic, Zoya by his side. Kabir’s face was solemn.
“It’s an autoimmune condition,” he said softly. “Not life-threatening if treated early, but it will drain you. Weakness. Pain. Fatigue. You need rest, therapy, and consistent care.”
Ayaan said nothing. Zoya gripped his hand. He didn’t pull away.
---
Back at home, Zoya began caring for him more openly. She set reminders for medication. Adjusted his diet. Massaged his aching joints gently each night, never asking for thanks.
Ayaan watched her one evening as she adjusted his blanket and smoothed his hair.
“Why do you still care?” he asked hoarsely.
She looked into his eyes.
“Because I made a promise — not just at the wedding, but to myself. To love you, even when you couldn’t love me back.”
Ayaan looked away, something tightening in his chest.
He couldn’t say it.
Not yet.
But a part of him — the part that once fought love — was now afraid of losing it.
- Writer
