Chapter Nineteen
1131 Words
Aanya's POV
The first thing Aanya felt was warmth.
Not the feverish, heavy heat that had consumed her the previous night—but a gentler warmth. Comforting. Safe. Like a thick blanket wrapped around her after a storm.
Her eyelids fluttered open, vision blurry at first. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the half-drawn curtains.
Then she saw him.
Ryan.
Sitting beside her bed. Head tilted slightly against the wall. Arms folded loosely. Eyes closed. His features unusually soft in sleep.
She stared.
And stared some more.
For a full minute, maybe more, she simply watched him—frozen in the space between sleep and disbelief.
Was this real? Was he… actually here?
Her heart beat a little faster. Her mouth opened just slightly in confusion. She rubbed her eyes and looked again.
Still there.
His dark hair was tousled, falling over his forehead. His dress shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A hint of stubble shadowed his jaw, and she noticed the faint crease lines under his eyes—ones she had never seen before.
It looked like he hadn’t slept all night.
Because… he hadn’t.
And suddenly, like a storm crashing back into memory, everything came rushing in.
The doorbell. The way he barged in when she tried to shut him out. The heat in her body, the weakness in her limbs. The firm grip of his arms when she stumbled. His voice, sharp yet concerned, when she refused to tell him where her bedroom was. The way he carried her—effortlessly, like she weighed nothing.
And then… darkness. Sleep. Dreams. Fragments of her mumbling.
Oh God.
Her face flushed.
What had she said? Had she really… called for her brothers? For her mum?
She glanced at him again.
Still asleep.
He hadn’t moved, not even a little. His long lashes rested against his cheek, and his chest rose and fell in quiet rhythm.
That’s when she noticed the damp towel folded neatly on her bedside table. The untouched glass of water. The fan that had been set to low. The blanket he had probably kept tucking over her during the night.
The corners of her eyes prickled.
He had stayed.
Sat beside her bed all night.
Taken care of her.
She didn’t know what stunned her more—the fact that Ryan Williamson, the arrogant, impossible, intimidating man she had promised herself to avoid… had spent the entire night tending to her like a silent protector—or the fact that he had done it so gently, with no expectation.
No words.
Just… presence.
She glanced down at the blanket that had slipped off him as he slept. The morning air was cool, and his shirt sleeves were pushed up, exposing his forearms.
On instinct, she reached for the blanket and slowly draped it over him. Her fingers brushed the edge of his shoulder as she did, and for a terrifying second, she froze—thinking he would stir, maybe wake up.
But he didn’t.
Just breathed softly.
Almost… peacefully.
She straightened up slowly, brushing her hair back. Her own body still felt a bit sore, but the fever was mostly gone. A dull ache lingered in her limbs, but it was nothing compared to the chaos her mind was drowning in.
What was he doing to her?
Why was she letting him?
Why did she feel something strange in her chest just seeing him asleep like this—like the steel walls she had built around herself were slowly, quietly cracking?
Aanya let out a slow breath and got out of bed.
She tiptoed toward the bathroom, careful not to wake him. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it for a second, trying to calm the pounding in her chest.
The cold water of the shower grounded her.
She let it run over her skin, soaking through the confusion, the gratitude, the guilt, the unresolved tension. Her mind played the images on a loop—the way he had touched her forehead, the way he had caught her before she fell, the way he had sat beside her, unblinking, unwavering.
When she stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her cheeks were still flushed. Whether from the heat or from the thoughts in her head, she couldn’t tell.
She changed into her college clothes—simple jeans, a maroon kurti, and a light scarf. She towel-dried her hair and looked at her reflection.
Still a little pale.
Still her.
But something inside had shifted.
She exited the bathroom quietly, tiptoeing back into the bedroom.
He was still there.
Still asleep.
The blanket was wrapped around him now. One hand had fallen to his lap, the other still loosely curled near the chair arm. His head had tilted just slightly toward her bed.
Her lips parted slightly. A part of her wanted to wake him—to say something. Thank you, maybe. Or Why did you do this?
But she couldn’t.
Not yet.
There was too much unspoken between them. Too much fear wrapped in questions she wasn’t ready to ask.
Instead, she walked past him quietly, stepped out of the room, and made her way to the kitchen.
Her steps slowed.
The kitchen had signs of his presence too.
A used saucepan in the sink. A spoon. The faint smell of something herbal—maybe the soup he had made for her last night. The table was slightly out of place, the chair facing the hallway.
He had probably sat here, waiting. Watching.
Caring.
Aanya felt something soft press into her chest again.
She didn’t know what it was.
But it scared her.
And comforted her all at once.
She poured herself a glass of water and sat down for a moment at the table. She still had time before class, though she didn’t feel like eating. Her stomach was still unsettled.
Her gaze drifted to the hallway again.
He was still asleep.
She wondered how long he’d stay.
Wondered what would happen when he woke up and saw her not on the bed anymore.
Would he say something?
Would he go back to being Ryan—the cold, controlled, commanding man who gave orders with his eyes and silenced the world with a glance?
Or would he be the Ryan from last night—the man who stayed, who soothed, who didn’t run when she was at her weakest?
She didn’t know.
But for today… she was going to college.
And for once, she didn’t dread the rumors or the glances.
Because in some strange way, knowing someone like Ryan Williamson had sat through the night just to make sure she was okay… made the world feel a little less cruel.
- Writer
