"Shit! Careful—" I started, but the words barely escaped when her foot slipped off the narrow ledge, and before I could even grasp the situation, her body tilted awkwardly, brushing hard against the sharp edge of the wardrobe beside her. 

She yelped, pain flashing across her face, and I lunged just in time to catch her from behind before she was about to fall.

Her weight collided with mine, knocking the wind out of me, but I held on tightly with one arm around her waist, the other steadying us in that awkward position.

Her breath hitched. Mine was still stuck in my throat.

"Are you crazy!" I whispered, my chest rising and falling against her back as we both stood there frozen from the aftershock of the sudden incident. 

Staring at each other, we remained quiet, and I realised I was holding Shumi in my arms with her hands around my neck.

"Ah!" She yelped again.

"What happened?" I asked, frowning.

"Put me down, please," she whimpered, and I quickly obeyed.

As soon as I lowered her onto the bed, she held her waist on the left side tightly, and her face shrank in pain. My gaze fell on the spot she was clutching. Blood oozed out from under her finger.

Snapping my head up at the wardrobe, I noticed a thin stick of iron peeking out of the wooden frame. I pulled it out. The strange object looked like a juda stick, I suppose. I had seen some of those in Misha's dressing table. The tip of the stick was coated with what seemed to be Shumi's blood.

She had definitely cut herself.

"You stay right there and let me call Tuhin, he just left, maybe he could come back."

"Tuhin da is on call; he can't be late. Hand me the first aid box, I can take care of myself," the stubborn idiot said, wincing. 

"Yeah, I saw that!" I rolled my eyes. Debating whether to listen to her or call Tuhin, I decided it was better not to escalate and went to get the first aid box.

I was muttering curses as I walked back into the room and caught her still wincing in pain. 

This girl!

"Let me check!" I swatted her hand away and crouched beside her, placing the kit on the side table.

Just above her waist, her cotton top was torn at the side slit, and a gash curved across her side, red and slightly deep.

"Damn, that's going to sting," I muttered, reaching for the antiseptic, but she quickly refused.

"Shumi, it was a sharp metal. You need to let me dress it and then get this checked," I said, my eyes narrowing as I caught sight of a thin trickle of blood sliding down her waist. But if one person who wasn't intimidated by my pissed attitude was Shoumili Banerjee. 

She crossed her arms stubbornly, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at her side, and refused, "I told you, it's not that bad. I'll clean it up myself," reaching out to get the kit.

I let out a sharp breath, resisting the urge to roll my eyes and shout at her. 

"Yeah, you're clearly doing a great job bleeding through your skirt." I moved the kit away from her reach.

Her glare faltered, and for a moment, I thought she'd argue again. But then, I am sure she remembered that her mother wasn't home for the weekend—and she really couldn't reach the wound properly—hence gave a reluctant nod.

Reluctant. I must add. 

"Fine," she muttered. "But only because you're being annoying."

I didn't bother hiding my smirk. "Lie down. I can't fix it properly while you're sitting up straight."

She hesitated, glancing at me warily. "I am guessing you've dressed wounds before."

"Plenty of times," I lied smoothly, though truthfully, most of my first-aid experiences were limited to scrapes, bruises, and maybe a busted lip or two from school fights. Never quite... this intimate. "The recent being mine," I coughed to point at my forehead.

Still, she relented, shifting to lie down on the bed, the fabric of her long skirt rustling softly. Her short top made the wound easily visible, a nasty scrape trailing from her hipbone upward, and the side of her skirt was torn as well.

As I leaned in, pulling out antiseptic and gauze, my fingers hovered awkwardly near the hem of her top.

"I am pulling down your skirt a bit?" I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

She gulped and gave a short nod; her eyes avoiding mine, staring up like she was suddenly fascinated by the ceiling.

I gently lifted her top and pulled down her skirt a little, revealing the angry red mark against the smooth curve of her waist.

As soon as my fingers brushed beside the wound, her stomach shivered lightly, and I felt the flicker of heat low in mine. My concentration suddenly jumped, flipped between the wound... and her skin. The shape of her ribs, the softness of her stomach, the way her breathing sped up just slightly under my touch.

God, Ved! Fucking get a grip!

I coughed and focused on dabbing the wound, forcing my mind back to neutral grounds, channelising my entire attention towards her wound, but it was proving highly difficult. 

My brain, like a sneaky bastard, had already started throwing pictures that I had never in my wildest dreams thought of, that too involving Shumi!

I mostly dreamt of strangling her to death or throwing garbage water on her, but these images were far too compromising—her beneath me, her skin bare, fingers tangled in my shirt or clutching the edge of my bed, her palm rubbing on my neck, my lips touching her cleavage...

Fucking stop!

I scratched the back of my ears, pulled my earlobe a little too harshly and swallowed hard, mentally slapping myself.

This is not the time. This is not the time.

She's hurt, you idiot. She trusted you enough to let you do this. Don't screw it up by being a complete pervert.

I repeated it in my mind like a meditation mantra. Still, it didn't help that every time my fingers grazed her skin, her breath hitched, or that she refused to meet my eyes.

"There," I finally muttered, taping the bandage down carefully. "You're patched up. But seriously, you still need to get this checked properly."

She shifted, pulling her top back down, cheeks flushed—not sure if from embarrassment or something else.

"Hmm, Tuhin da -

"His hospital is close by, come I'll take you," I sat back, wiping my hands on a cloth, studying her.

"No that's – "

"You're impossible, you know that," I sighed.

"And you're nosy," she shot back, ready to leave.

"You love to argue with me, no?" I narrowed my eyes at her, half daring, half warning her to snap back. 

That sharp tongue of hers was always ready. I wondered how it would feel –

STOP IT! 

This time... she lowered her gaze, biting her lip instead of barking out another insult at me.

Guess, she was really hurting.

The silence stretched between us as I cleaned up, stuffing the leftover bandages and antiseptic into the box. When I glanced at her again, she was still gripping the hem of her skirt, trying to hide how tightly her fingers clenched.

"Come on," I said quietly.

She hesitated, her eyes flicking up to mine, uncertain.

"You need to get that checked properly," I added, gentler this time.

Maybe it was the look on my face, or maybe her wound was seriously bad, but she nodded wordlessly and followed me out. I grabbed my car keys from the drawing room and we went to take the elevator. This time, I made sure that I had closed the door properly.

The ride to the hospital was quiet.

Too quiet for the people who simply loathed each other.

I should've been relieved. After all, we spent half our time snapping at each other like mortal enemies. But now, her silence felt a bit uneasy and heavy, pressing into the car or rather, on me like some invisible weight, because this version of hers was unknown to me.

From the corner of my eye, I caught her shifting uncomfortably, her hand resting gingerly over her bandaged side. Every few seconds, she'd wince, flinch and try to mask her discomfort, but didn't quite manage.

But every time she shifted, making those small gasps, something protective twisted in my chest, making me press harder on the accelerator.

And of course, because I apparently had no control over my own betraying mind, my thoughts kept flicking back to earlier, to that compromising position we had landed in.

The feel of her skin under my fingers. So soft. 

The way she'd sucked in a breath when I touched her waist. So delicate.

The warmth of her, and how close we'd been. So natural.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, cursing inwardly.

Stop it, Ved. I cursed myself.

This wasn't the time. I cannot keep imagining that moment. I shouldn't keep imagining that moment. This wasn't me. I was not a sex-hungry bastard. I am not –

"Ved..." she finally spoke. Her voice, quiet but firm, broke into my thoughts. "Slow down! You just got your stitches removed!"

I glanced at her. The bandage across my forehead throbbed, sure, but it didn't matter.

Still, I eased off the gas slightly. Not for myself. For her.

"Don't worry," I muttered. "Just want to get you there faster."

She didn't say anything after that. Just looked out the window, her profile soft in the dull streetlights. And god help me, the burning in my chest only grew.

Once we pulled up outside Tuhin's hospital, I opened the door for Shumi, and she muttered a quick thanks before we headed towards Tuhin's chamber.

Tuhin was hunched over an X-ray plate, eyes squinting through the overhead light when we walked into his chamber without warning. His head jerked up sharply.

For a second, he just stared, like he needed a moment to register the picture of us walking in together. Then his brows lifted, and his lips curled into the typical shitty grin. 

"Well, well, that's new," he leaned back in his chair and swayed lightly, "You came here together? But it isn't my birthday!"

"Cut it out!" I shot him a glare and pointed at Shumi, "She fell. Got a nasty cut from a metal stick."

That stupid grin dropped off his face, his eyes darted to Shumi in a blink, the goofball vanished, and the physician in him kicked in. 

Tuhin's posture promptly shifted as he straightened, lips pressed into a focused line, and concern overtook his teasing.

"Lie down," he instructed, motioning to the patient's bed, voice low and steady. His hands were reaching for gloves before Shumi even reacted.

"Move," I whispered, nudging her.

Slightly dazed, Shumi obeyed without protest, easing herself onto the bed with a wince. Her hand hovered over the cut on her arm, trying not to touch it while I stood by the foot of the bed, arms folded, my concern just enough to stay alert after all this wasn't the first time I'd seen Tuhin at work.

He peeled off the temporary gauze I had wrapped and muttered under his breath, "Not exactly deep... irregular edge, looks like rust—" His fingers gently probed the area, eyes scanning the skin.

Shumi hissed.

"Eh! Stop hissing, you are twenty, not two!" he said softly, scolding her while I snickered, which earned me a sharp glare from Shumi and Tuhin.

"Nothing serious here...." He focused back, speaking with Shumi, "Might need a tetanus though... when was your last shot?"

"I... I don't remember," Shumi replied faintly.

Tuhin nodded, moving to get the tray full of his dressing materials. He disinfected the area with practised precision, then began cleaning around the gash.

"No stitches needed... adhesive bandage should be enough. Keep it dry for a day or two." He continued, half to himself, half to us.

Then he scribbled something on a small notepad, tearing it with a flick handed it to me. "Ved, get these from the pharmacy next door."

I nodded silently, reading the prescription without argument and took a glance at Shumi lying with her eyes half closed and stepped out, breathing in the cool night air, trying to settle the mess of my thoughts.

Tuhin's handwriting was as good as a doctor's could be, which meant I couldn't understand the name of a single medicine. Surprisingly, the pharmacist read, assembled, packed, and billed all the medicines with ease, as they always did, and handed them over to me.

I sighed, made the payment, and headed back.

But when I came back, hovering just outside the door, I halted, hearing Shumi and Tuhin's conversation.

Tuhin's voice drifted out, "Metal juda stick? Was it Shreetama di's?"

Shumi's reply was quiet, but clear enough. "I don't think so."

"Oh god! That means it was – "

"My mother's, and so was the mirror."

"It was still in Rohit dada's wardrobe." Tuhin sounded surprised. "How? And why did you even offer to help Ved set up his flat? You clearly still look uncomfortable."

I froze.

My brother's name and Shumi's words, tangled in my head.

I should've walked in. Should've made a noise to let them know I was back. But instead, I lingered, curiosity burning at the back of my mind.

Before I could catch anything else, Tuhin glanced up and spotted me hovering.

"Ved! Come in."

I blinked quickly, covering up any traces of my curiosity and stepped inside, pretending I hadn't heard a thing. My eyes flicked to Shumi, but she wouldn't meet them. That strange guarded look had returned.

Tuhin took the packet from me and pulled out a syringe and a vial. He gave her an injection and bandaged the wound properly, giving me instructions like he wasn't at all suspicious of me hearing their conversation.

"She's fine now," he said. "Make sure she gets home safely. I don't trust you two together, but I think you both could be civil for once, considering both of you suffered some nasty incidents lately."

I nodded, mumbling thanks, but my mind wasn't on his words.

I couldn't stop thinking about what I had heard. About why Shumi had looked so damn uncomfortable? And why did she never mention that the juda stick and the miniature mirror belonged to Aunt Kakali, and what the hell was my brother's role in all this mess?

And most of all, why it bothered me so much.

Something didn't add up, and I needed my answers. Now! 

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