Fated Love

Chapter 29

Murtasim was right, and Meerab experienced this epiphany the moment she woke up the next morning with heavy, tired eyes and a sore throat. The weight of exhaustion bore down upon her, and she felt as though she were burning up from within. The lethargy was so overpowering that she struggled to even muster the strength to leave the bed.

As her groggy gaze wandered around the room, it finally settled on the sight of Murtasim, busily preparing to depart. "Murtasim," she croaked out weakly, her voice a mere whisper that seemed to hang on the precipice of life and death.

Concern etched across his face, Murtasim hastened to Meerab's side, extending a supportive hand to help her up. "Meerab! What happened?" he inquired with a deep furrow in his brow, his fingers tenderly brushing against her forehead to gauge her fever.

"You're burning," he observed, his voice laced with worry, his hand registering her feverish heat.

"Yeah, and my throat hurts," Meerab confessed, her voice barely audible, heavy with both physical discomfort and regret.

"I told you to not have ice cream last night; see you're unwell now," Murtasim scolded gently, the concern in his eyes outweighing the mild reproach in his words.

"I'm sorry," Meerab whispered, her eyes brimming with tears as she realized the consequences of her indulgence. The pain in her throat and the heaviness of her eyes seemed to intensify her feelings of remorse.

"Hey, hey Meerab, don't cry. I wasn't scolding you," Murtasim reassured her, his voice filled with empathy and tenderness. "I'm just worried about you."

"I know, I just hate getting sick, and it hurts," Meerab admitted, her voice trembling as a few tears trickled down her cheeks.

"It's alright. I'll get you the medicines, and you'll recover in no time," Murtasim promised, his determination to ease her suffering unwavering.

"I had so much to do today, the women's panchayat, the accounts, and now I'm all sick like this!" Meerab whined, a sense of frustration and disappointment weighing heavily on her. She keenly felt the weight of responsibilities that Maa Begum had entrusted her with.

"Meerab, it's okay. Everything else can wait," Murtasim reassured her, his voice filled with empathy and understanding. He longed to comfort her, to ease her worries, but the disappointment etched on Meerab's face remained quite evident.

"I'll get you something to eat, and then you can have the medicines," Murtasim suggested, his determination to care for her shining through. He rose from the bed, leaving Meerab with a comforting smile before heading to the kitchen to prepare a light meal for her.

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As Meerab lay in bed, her fever continued to rage, but the presence of Murtasim brought a sense of comfort amidst the discomfort. With a tender smile, Murtasim entered the room carrying a tray. On it, there was a steaming bowl of chicken soup, a glass of water, and a cold compress. He placed the tray on the bedside table and sat down next to Meerab.

"Here you go," he said gently, handing her the glass of water first. "You need to stay hydrated."

Meerab took a sip of water, her sore throat still causing discomfort, and then her eyes widened as she looked at the bowl of soup. "You made soup for me?"

Murtasim nodded, his gaze tender and filled with affection. "Yes, I did. It'll help soothe your throat and provide you with some much-needed nourishment."

Tears welled up in Meerab's eyes once more, but this time they were tears of overwhelming gratitude. She felt deeply moved by Murtasim's care and love. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice still hoarse from sickness.