Page 41 of Born in Grief

“Yeah, I am. You know why?”

“Why?”

“I don’t like them either.” Dhrithi grinned, the first genuine smile he’d seen from her since she’d been wheeled back into his life on a stretcher.

Ishaan laughed, a loud bark of sound. “I’mstarting to like you Goody.”

“Oh wonderful,” she drawled. “I have been living for this moment and this moment only. What would I ever do without your validation?”

Ishaan only laughed harder and even Virat fought a grin. Only Amay sat there seething and furious.

“Although…” Dhrithi frowned, something clearly having occurred to her. “Have you spoken to Sparsha?”

“Sparsha Bhavnani?” Virat asked, his tone sharp. “She’s on my list.”

“Who is she?” Amay leaned forward, watching the lines of pain in Dhrithi’s face.

“Varun’s best friend,” Virat answered at the same time as Dhrithi said, “Varun’s fuck buddy and wingman or is it wingwoman?”

“What should I be speaking to her about?” Virat asked, his watchful gaze on Dhrithi.

“I had this nightmare, a flash of memory I suppose.” Dhrithi massaged the back of her neck with one hand, another bracing her lower back. The medication was wearing off and her aches and pains were flaring. She needed to rest. Concern had Amayleaning forward to tell her the same but Dhrithi was still speaking.

“We were at a party and Sparsha was talking about how it was Varun’s special night. Something about him being king of the world, a very special world.”

“A very special world,” Virat murmured. Amay could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Interesting.”

“Dhrithi needs to sleep,” he said abruptly when he saw her put a hand to her side and wince. “Let’s not forget she’s recovering from major surgery.”

Ishaan hopped off the tabletop he’d been sitting on like a teenager who’d just come home from school as Virat got to his feet, still seemingly lost in thought.

“Goodnight,” Dhrithi said wanly, struggling to get to her feet. Amay held a hand out to her and she placed hers in it, the gentle touch of her soft skin against his open palm sending a thrum of need through him.

“Goodnight,” the other two idiots chorused, heading out of the room.

He stayed right where he was, his hand glued to hers, his eyes caught in the snare of her large, pain filled ones.

“I’ll reheat the khichdi and bring it to the bedroom,” he said gruffly. “You get into bed.”

“Amay, that’s not necessary.”

“I don’t think you should argue with your doctor,” he told her, turning her in the direction of the room and pointing. “Go.”

He watched her make her slow, laborious way to the bedroom before he turned towards the kitchen and got the simple meal ready. He picked up the plate, a fork and a bottle of water and followed her, stopping at the closed door to the bedroom.

He didn’t want to enter that bedroom. The bedroom she slept in. He’d been in and out of her hospital room as her doctor and sure he’d dipped his toe over those doctor-patient lines but this…this was different.

“I can hear you overthinking out there.” Her voice filtered through the door, jolting him out of his tangled, muddled stairway to hell thoughts.

He opened the door and stepped in. She lay on her side, one arm curled under her pillow, a soft smile on her tired face. And his stupid, traitorous heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t fall for her again.

He cleared his throat and walked to her bedside table. “I’m going to leave this here,” he told her. “You should take your medicines and get some sleep.”

He was almost to the door when she said, “Amay?”

He paused, one hand on the doorjamb, his head turned to the side to hear what she wanted. Always waiting to hear what she wanted. Always thinking of how to give it to her. He hated himself.

“When will I see you again?”

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