Silent Hearts

15| Fifteen

"And this silly heart, couldn't even know, how all the beats fade into one name: yours."

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Nandini hurried down the stairs, her feet thumping against the tiled flooring into muffled thuds, her rigid body stumbling over the couches in her dread for the man shivering upstairs, alone. Her widened eyes looked for the medical box all over the right shelves, however, none caught her gaze, her heart felt to be throbbing unusually against the left of her chest, the little traces of sweat around her temple showed naught but her distant, withered feelings of concern for that man.

The fifth toe of her left foot hit the wooden dining chair, emitting a sharp sense of pain around the flesh, yet Nandini did not stop to care much. Her mind was occupied with the possible areas where could find the thing she was looking for, and suddenly, as if realising something that could be logical, Nandini looked behind her: to the shelves near the kitchen cabinets. That must be it, she finalised her disorderly thoughts, while her steps took her nearer to those racks.

A touch of relief washed over her clouded mind as she spotted the white plastic box. Checking it once, Nandini looked at the stairs, her eyes lowering to the ground, Tushar, she mumbled, knowingly or not, she couldn't tell. As she climbed up the steps, her body felt heavier than before. It was the fear that flowed through her veins, wrenching her senses to abnormality, it was the fear that, for the first time, spewed sensible intentions to her shadowed sanity, the fear that knocked over her blackened soul, summoning the past that was uncalled for; that fear was real. Real than anything she ever felt until now.

Nandini entered the room she had left minutes ago, and saw the weak body of Tushar turned to his side, as she stepped closer, meeting the illness encircling his body with her coldness. . . a coldness radiating her fear. Her shaky fingers reaching for his shoulders as the other hand was busied in finding the baby blue thermometer beneath the bandages.

The heat was spreading out of his clothing, as Nandini stifled a gasp that almost came out of her. Her hold on him was firm, yet lacking a real touch. Pushing him towards her, Nandini tried to make his body move to face her but he was heavier than she thought and. . . he had no cooperation with her tries, his fever-clad self, tortured with the warmth and pain, refused to change positions, dismissed her struggles to make him move.

"Tushar?" She called for him, her voice as soft as she could muster up, the sympathy lacing her tone as she failed to mask it. "Can you–h-hear my voice? I–" she sighed, not knowing what she was doing, or saying. . . "need you to turn th-this side?" Until she finished her wordings.

She waited for his response, doubting if he even heard her, or if he would even try. The silence prevailed deafening this moment, while she thought back to that little mumble of something she thought she heard. Her lips thinned and the visible line between brows gave away her thinking, while she attempted to remember if she imagined his low voice while she was in a haste. Maybe, I heard wrong or...he was in pain, Nandini reasoned to herself, feeling like a loon when no other answer blessed her questions.

Her breathing hiked when his shoulder brushed against her chest, and she jerked away from his nearness. She hadn't realised when her own self started leaning towards him. . .when she started forgetting the actual reason she was here, at this time of night.

Tushar was sick!  She took a deep breath as if to regain her earlier impassivity. She ought to feel nothing but pity for this man.