Radhika's POV:

Samar stood in front of me, holding a bouquet of my favorite flowers—white lilies. He had a warm smile on his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Good morning, Radhika," he said softly, his voice tender.

I felt my heart flutter, the way it always did when he was near. He stepped closer, the scent of the lilies filling the air around us.

"I love you, Radhika," he murmured, his eyes locking with mine. "I’ve always loved you."

I could hardly breathe. The words I had longed to hear for so long were finally spoken, and they felt like a balm to my wounded heart.

But then, just as I reached out to take the flowers, just as I was about to tell him that I loved him too, his voice changed. It grew distant, almost echoing.

"Radhika, wake up."

I blinked, confused. "What?"

"Radhika, wake up."

I opened my eyes to find myself alone in my bed, the morning light filtering through the curtains.

No flowers, no Samar, just the cold reality of my empty room. I groaned, burying my face in the pillow, cursing myself for getting carried away by a dream.

"Stupid, stupid," I muttered, my voice muffled by the pillow. "Of course, it was just a dream. What did you expect? That he would suddenly confess his love after everything that’s happened?"

I sighed, rolling over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. My heart was still racing from the dream, and I could feel the sting of disappointment settling in.

I knew better than to let myself get caught up in fantasies, but when it came to Samar, my heart never seemed to listen to reason.

I needed to get a grip. It was just a dream, nothing more. A cruel trick my mind had played on me, dredging up old feelings and hopes that should have been long buried. I couldn’t let myself fall into that trap again, couldn’t let my emotions get the better of me.

I had to remind myself of the reality. Samar and I were not the same people we once were. We had a history, yes, but it was a history filled with pain and misunderstandings.

I couldn’t afford to let a dream cloud my judgment, couldn’t let myself slip back into that dangerous place of hope.

But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn’t help but feel a lingering sadness, a sense of loss for something that never was and never could be.

As I sat there, lost in my thoughts, I was suddenly pulled back to reality by the sound of Samar’s voice. “Radhika, wake up.”

I blinked, coming out of my trance, and looked toward the door. There he was, standing there with a cup of tea in his hand. I hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

Samar walked over to my bedside table, placing the cup down gently. “Good morning,” he said, giving me a small smile.

I found myself smiling back, almost instinctively. There was something about that smile—it was like a warm, familiar embrace that I hadn’t felt in so long. But before I could say anything, he turned away and sneezed.

“God bless you,” I said without thinking, the words slipping out automatically.

He looked back at me, surprised, and then nodded. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice slightly raspy.

He turned to leave the room, but just as he reached the door, I heard him sneeze again.

My heart gave a little squeeze of concern. Did he catch a cold sleeping outside? I couldn’t help but worry, the memory of a similar moment flashing in my mind.

We had been sitting in the canteen, talking  when I sneezed unexpectedly. Samar had immediately turned to me, concern etched on his face.

“God bless you,” he had said, his voice gentle as he reached over and patted my head affectionately. “You should be more careful. Don’t catch a cold.”

I had smiled at the simple gesture, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the cardigan wrapped around my me.

The memory faded, leaving me with a lingering sense of unease. Did Samar catch a cold sleeping outside last night in the chilly rainy season? .

And now he might be paying the price for it.

I shook my head, feeling a mix of frustration and guilt. Why does he have to be so selfless? I thought, frowning at the empty doorway where he had just stood.

Why does he have to make me feel like this—worried, confused, and somehow still attached to the memories we share?

I sighed, taking a sip of the tea he’d brought me. It was warm, comforting, and just the way I liked it, a small reminder of how well Samar knew me, even after all this time. And yet, that knowledge only deepened the complexity of my emotions.

Why couldn’t he be indifferent? Why did he have to care so much, even now?

I took another sip, trying to calm the swirl of thoughts in my head, but my mind kept drifting back to Samar. Is he okay? Is he resting? I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing, not when he might be feeling unwell because of me.

I walked out of the room, intending to check on Samar, and found him in the kitchen, busy preparing breakfast. He moved around with practiced ease, his back to me as he cracked eggs into a pan.

Samar always tried to act tough, like nothing could bother him, but I knew better. I knew the little signs, like how he’d rub his nose when it was stuffy or how he’d get that tiny crease between his eyebrows when he was feeling under the weather. This morning, he had both.

A wave of concern washed over me. He was clearly not feeling well, but there he was, acting like everything was fine, as usual.

Quietly, I returned to the room and began searching the side table where I’d once seen a medicine box. After rummaging through the drawer, I found it, but when I opened it, there was no Crocin. "Great," I thought, frowning. "He’s sneezing like that, and he might get a fever too."

Without wasting any time, I grabbed my phone and ordered some from Blinkit. "That should take care of it," I thought, feeling a bit more relieved as I went to do my morning routine.

When I came out of the washroom, towel-drying my hair and getting ready for the day, I saw Samar standing near the cupboard, searching for his clothes. He sneezed again, his nose scrunching up in that familiar way. I bit my lip, suppressing the urge to go over and fuss over him.

Just then, the doorbell rang. I started to move toward it, but Samar turned and caught my eye, signing for me to stay put. “I’ll get it,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

I watched as he went to the door, returning moments later with the Blinkit bag in his hand. His expression was one of mild surprise as he held up the bag. “You ordered this?”

“Yeah,” I replied casually, taking the bag from him. “I figured you might need it.”

He frowned, his gaze flickering between the bag and me. “Radhika, I’m fine. I don’t need—”

“Sit,” I interrupted, pointing to the couch.

“Radhika, seriously, I’m not—”

“Sit,” I repeated, more firmly this time, crossing my arms and giving him a look that dared him to argue. He sighed, clearly not wanting to make a big deal out of it but also knowing better than to argue with me when I was in this mood.

Reluctantly, he sat down on the bed, and I plopped down beside him, pulling out the medicine from the bag. “Here,” I said, handing him the Crocin. “Take it. It’ll help with the fever before it starts.”

He hesitated, looking at the pills like they were some sort of foreign object. “Radhika, I don’t need—”

“Just take it,” I insisted, not budging an inch. “You’ve been sneezing non-stop, and I can see you’re not feeling great. You don’t have to act tough all the time, you know.”

He looked at me, a mix of stubbornness and something else in his eyes, but finally, he relented. He took the pills from my hand, popped them into his mouth, and swallowed them with a sip of water. “Happy?” he asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

I smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over me. “Very.”

I stood up, intending to give him some space and get on with the day, but as I took a step forward, I felt a gentle tug on my hand. I turned back to see Samar holding onto my hand, his grip firm but not forceful.

“Radhika,” he began softly, his voice carrying a weight that made my heart skip a beat. “Thank you… for caring. Even after everything.”

I took a long, deep breath, feeling the warmth of his hand against mine, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. “You don’t have to thank me, Samar. I care because… well, I just do.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he nodded slowly, releasing my hand. “You should get ready,” he said, his voice quiet now, almost thoughtful. “We don’t want to be late.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else. As I turned away and went to finish getting ready, I couldn’t help but feel the lingering warmth of his touch.

This—whatever this was between us—was complicated.

*****************************

Update guyss!!

Hope you liked the chapter. Do tell me thoughts. ❤😭