Fever Dream

"Ah-choo!"

This was the thirteenth time Khushi had sneezed today, and the seventh time Arnav had held himself back from snapping at her. It was yet to be noon.

He knew, on an intellectual level, that she was doing it intentionally. To elicit a reaction or an argument of sorts. Though it wasn't as convoluted as Khushi's plans usually were, Arnav couldn't deny its effectiveness. It was taking all his energy to prevent himself from yelling at her.

A small voice of concern, however, kept nagging at him. Her sneezes seemed a lot more believable than those a few days ago, and there was something unnatural about the paleness of her skin. Arnav wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but it was custom, by now, to be unable to separate reality from emotion in matters pertaining to Khushi.

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he turned to Khushi to passive-aggressively suggest taking some medicine. A shadow of horror passed over him as he realised how shaky she looked, a hand suspended near her head and her eyebrows furrowed.

Balancing between two stairs as she made her way upstairs, Khushi looked just about ready to faint. In spite of himself, Arnav raced to her, grabbing her waist in what seemed like the nick of time. Her head drooped as all her weight fell into his arms, and anger he couldn't understand rose within him.

"Khushi! Tum theek ho?" he all but yelled.

[Khushi! Are you alright?]

Her fluttering eyes opened as she made to look at him, struggling to focus.

"Jab tumhari tabiyat theek nahi hai to tum idhar-udhar kyun bhaag rahi ho?" he demanded.

[When you're not well, why do you insist on running around?]

Defiance crept into her gaze, and a part of him felt happy about their return to normal; Khushi glaring at him and him feeling about it things he was sure he wasn't supposed to feel about it.

"Aa-aapko kya farak p-padta hai?"

[Wh-why do you c-care?]

Her voice shivered in a way voices don't usually in the wee month of May, and Arnav's eyebrows creased with concern he already resented. Even her habitual question lacked its usual gusto, leading to a battle within him.

Mujhe koi farak nahi padta, one part of him wanted to tell her, magar tumhari ye cheenkein mujhe concentrate nahi karne de rahin.

[I don't care. But your continual sneezing isn't letting me concentrate.]

Of course farak padta hai, damn it! Another part, the one that ached for things to be as they were, rebuked, patni ho tum meri.

[Of course I care, damn it! You're my wife.]

Angered by the fact that this second part of him seemed to be winning the battle, Arnav instead listened to the third, impulsive part of him. The one that seldom made good decisions and led him to feeling his most hated emotion: regret.

Extracting her from his hold roughly, Arnav set Khushi down on the step with probably (definitely) more force than required.

"Jo karna hai karo," he growled, dragging himself away from her lest he lose himself in her eyes, full of hurt and shock. Shock that was amazing she could still feel at being hurt by him given how much of a routine it had become.

[Do whatever you want.]

He wasn't sure if the anger rising in him was due to this undeserved shock, her stubbornness, or his inability to ignore her discomfort, but this anger led him to what it always did: work.