Adrija's  POV:-

“Haan haan bhaiya, yahi rakh dijiye gaadi,” I told the driver while double-checking the address on my phone.

I made the payment and stepped out. My eyes landed on a large house—no, a mansion. My brows furrowed in slight surprise.

“Address toh yahi ka dikh raha hai…” I murmured to myself, clutching my handbag tightly as I made my way to the door.

I rang the doorbell, and after a few seconds, a soft-spoken lady opened the door.

“Aap kaun?” she asked politely.

“Woh… Dhruv sir hain kya—”

Before I could finish, a deep voice echoed from inside.

“Kaun hai bahar, Vimla aunty?”

A man appeared at the door, dressed casually in a snug t-shirt and track pants that clung comfortably to his tall frame. His slightly tousled hair looked like he'd just run a hand through it, and his face held the kind of calm confidence that made it hard to look away.

What caught my attention first, though, were his eyes—deep honey brown, warm yet sharp, like they noticed more than he let on. They lingered on me for a moment, scanning me from head to toe—not in a disrespectful way, but with a kind of assessing curiosity.

His t-shirt stretched just enough across his chest and arms to reveal well-defined biceps, the kind you could tell didn’t come from just occasional workouts. He carried himself effortlessly, like someone used to being in control, but there was something gentle in the way he stood—relaxed, approachable.

“ Dhruv sir?” I asked tentatively, and he gave a small nod in response.

“Woh… Abhay sir ne mujhe yahan bheja tha. Aapki beti…”

I hesitated, not sure how to frame it, but he nodded again, gesturing for me to come in.

“Haan haan, please come inside. Main aapko pehchaana nahi, so thoda confused ho gaya. Aaiye, mere saath upar chaliye… Shona upar hi hai,” he said, already climbing the stairs.

I followed him with a gentle smile, hoping everything would go smoothly.

He take me to a room, and my eyes instantly landed on the small figure curled up on the bed.

A little girl—wrapped in a fluffy blanket, her tiny body trembling despite the warmth. Her face was pale, and her lips quivered as she murmured something incoherent, lost in the haze of fever or perhaps a nightmare. Her delicate eyelids were shut tight, but the restlessness on her face spoke volumes.

I took a small step forward, my heart tightening at the sight.

Something about her fragility stirred something deep inside me.

And in that moment, without knowing her name or anything, I felt a strange pull… like she wasn’t a stranger at all.

I immediately place my handbag on one corner of the bed and went towards her.

Dhruv sir sat beside her leg.

I stepped closer to the bed, my heart tightening as I noticed the sheen of sweat on her tiny forehead. I gently placed the back of my hand against her skin—hot. Too hot.

"Fever kaafi high hai…" I murmured under my breath.

"Kab se fever hai aapki beti ko?" I asked, glancing at him, concern slipping into my voice.

"Aaj evening se… dopahar tak toh bilkul theek thi. Pata nahi, achanak se kaise ho gaya…" he said, his voice tight with worry as he rubbed the back of his neck.

I gave a slight nod and then gently peeled the blanket back from her small frame to examine her stomach. My fingers moved with practiced ease but careful tenderness—she was so delicate, so still. Just as I reached to check her pulse, I felt the shift.

Her eyelids fluttered.

And then—slowly, almost cautiously—she opened her eyes.

Big, moist, and innocent.

She stared at me, her gaze unblinking, as if trying to process who I was. There was something in her eyes—curiosity, confusion, and something deeper… something that made my breath hitch for a second.

"Kya hua, Shona? It’s doctor aunty… aapko check kar rahi hain," Dhruv whispered from beside me, softly running his fingers over her tiny toe.

Her eyes drifted toward her father briefly, then slowly came back to me. That look—wide and strangely searching—stayed fixed on my face.

I gave her a warm, assuring smile, and gently brushed her damp hair away from her forehead.

"Aise kya dekh rahi ho, bacha? Jaldi se thik ho jaoge, hmm?" I said softly, my voice unintentionally slipping into a tone only a mother would use—tender, full of warmth and hope.

She didn’t reply, didn’t nod. Just kept staring.

But her fingers, weak and trembling, moved just a little—as if reaching. Not quite a call for comfort… but not entirely aimless either.

Author's POV:-

Adrija took her small hand in her kissing it lightly.

It was such a simple moment.

Just a gaze.

But in those few seconds, it felt like she was looking beyond the fever, beyond the haze—and somewhere deep in her heart, something recognized me.

Not as a doctor.

Not as a stranger.

But as something much closer.

Something she couldn’t name… but could feel deeply.

Adrija's POV:-

After checking her thoroughly—her temperature, pulse, and breathing—I gently tucked the blanket back around her tiny frame, smoothing it over her chest with delicate fingers.

My eyes lingered on her for a few moments longer. There was a strange heaviness in my chest… one I couldn’t quite name. As if this little girl—someone I had only just met—had unknowingly found a place in the deepest corners of my heart. All it had taken was that one fragile look, that silent connection.

Finally, I turned to him. He stood a few feet away, arms folded tight across his chest, worry etched across his handsome face. His brows were furrowed, eyes never once leaving his daughter.

“I checked her thoroughly, sir,” I said softly, my tone gentle yet reassuring.

“It’s nothing serious. Just a viral fever… likely due to the sudden weather change. She’ll be okay with proper rest, medicine, and care.”

I opened my bag and took out the necessary medicine.

“Par abhi kyunki fever kaafi high hai… aap usse paracetamol de dijiye.” I handed him the strip.

“Aur yeh kuch aur medicines bhi hain—dose instructions likh diye hain.”

He nodded, scanning the names quietly, still tense.

I adjusted the strap of my bag over my shoulder. “Aur better hoga agar aap kal uski sponge bath hi dena... thoda bukhar kam hoga.”

Just as I was about to turn away, I glanced down—and paused.

She was still awake.

Her teary eyes were fixed on me, and her tiny hand was reaching out—trembling, desperate—as if trying to hold on to something she didn’t want to lose.

I bent down instantly, my heart clenched. “I have to go, bacha… aap apne papa ki strong girl ho na? Then jaldi se thik ho jao…” I whispered, brushing a soft kiss to her burning forehead.

But her lips quivered, her eyes blurred with tears. She didn’t speak… but her gaze pleaded with me, silently begging me not to go.

I gently tried to free my hand, but she gripped my dupatta tightly pulling it. I gasped softly, startled instinctively hold it on my chest.

And then—she began to sob.

Tiny, helpless sobs that shook her frail body as she tried to sit up. I leaned forward instinctively, trying to calm her, but she stretched out her arms—those little grabby hands asking me, without a word, to take her in my arms.

And I did.

Without thinking, without hesitating for even a second, I scooped her into my arms. She buried her face in my neck immediately, clutching me with all the strength her little arms could muster, her sobs muffled against my skin.

I held her close, gently rocking her as I caressed her back and brushed her hair with trembling fingers. “Bacha… aap aise ro kyu rahe ho?Mein phirse aaungi aapse milne k liye...aabhi mujhe Jana hoga na??” I whispered, kissing her temple.

She didn’t answer. She just clung tighter. As if she’d found something familiar… something she had been missing.

And when I looked up… my eyes met his.

Dhruv sir stood frozen in place. His expression was unreadable—part confused, part stunned.

His brows twitched as if he were trying to make sense of what he was witnessing. As if this moment… this unexpected connection forming in front of his eyes… went beyond what he had imagined.

Slowly, he stepped closer, his voice soft yet hesitant.

“Shona, aap mere paas aao… aunty ko jaane do, bacha…” he whispered, extending his arms toward her.

But she instantly shook her head, her grip tightening around my neck like a lifeline.

“Na…hi…!” she cried loudly, her sobs growing more frantic. Her tiny frame began to tremble again, and her breathing turned heavy, desperate between sobs.

“Shhh… bas… aap rona band karo, bacha…” I rocked her gently, patting her back as her warm tears soaked through the fabric on my shoulder blade.

And then—everything stilled.

My heart stopped. My hands froze in mid-motion.

Because in the middle of her gasping cries, I heard it. A fragile, broken word, slipping out like a whispered prayer she didn’t even understand she was making.

"Maaa… mat… ja…ooo…”

My breath caught.

She clutched me tighter, her tiny feet wrapping around my waist as if she feared I would disappear. Her face was buried against my neck, wet with tears and trembling lips.

Dhruv sir staggered back half a step, as if her voice had knocked the air out of his lungs. His eyes widened, flickering between me and his daughter.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

I just stood there, holding her close, her little heart beating wildly against mine… and in that moment, I didn’t know who was more affected—her, me… or the one person watching us with some blank expression.

Angry? Sad? Surprised? Happy?

I couldn't understand.

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