Aditya Singh — The Reluctant Caretaker
Aditya didn't expect to feel her forehead so warm.
He just reached out, almost on impulse, and pressed the back of his hand to her skin.
It was hotter than he thought — burning, actually.
"Jaanvi," he said softly, eyebrows knitting together. "You're seriously burning up."
She pulled back just enough to flash him a glare that could melt steel.
"I'm fine," she snapped, voice rough and scratchy.
Aditya raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. "You sound like a frog."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue further. Instead, she folded her arms, clutching her binder like a shield.
He glanced down at the binder, open to a page densely packed with notes, counterpoints, and margin scribbles — evidence of her relentless preparation despite the fever.
"You really did all this yourself?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, biting her lip, avoiding his gaze.
Aditya's lips twitched. "You're insane."
She smirked despite herself. "Says the guy who once debated with a broken finger."
Their eyes met, the room shrinking between them for a heartbeat.
For a moment, the world felt softer — warmer — like maybe this was how things were supposed to be.
Then, just like that, it exploded.
"Wait, that's not how you outline your opening," Aditya said, pointing at her binder.
She shot him a look. "Don't touch my binder."
"Relax, I'm just saying," he grinned, leaning in. "Your transition here is weak."
She narrowed her eyes. "Oh please, mister 'I-don't-prepare-I-just-wing-it.'"
"That works better than your color-coded chaos."
"Better than your constant sarcasm," she shot back.
The room filled with their usual fire — a mix of teasing, frustration, and something unspoken under the surface.
Coach Carter cleared his throat. "You two okay back there?"
They blinked, startled.
"Yeah," Jaanvi said, voice sharper than she meant.
Aditya grinned. "Perfectly fine."
The bickering slowed, replaced by a tense silence.
Aditya looked at her again.
"Maybe you should take a break," he said softly. "Before you pass out on me."
She shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not done yet."
He sighed. "You don't have to do this alone."
She hesitated.
Then shrugged, a tiny, reluctant smile flickering.
"Fine. But only because I want you to stop looking so smug."
He laughed.
And just like that, the invisible threads tugged a little tighter.
Sometimes, caring looks like bickering.
Sometimes, the hottest moments burn quiet and loud all at once.
And sometimes, even the smallest touch pulls two broken things a little closer.
Write a comment ...