The familiar ceiling of his own room didn't feel as comforting as it usually did. It just felt like a cage.
Karthik lay flat on his back, his muscles still aching with the deep, dull hangover of the seizure. The scent of the hospital was gone, replaced by the faint smell of home, but the tension in the air was exactly the same.
Right beside the bed sat Fizza. Her face was a roadmap of exhaustion, her eyes heavy with a deep, maternal dread. She hadn't stopped hovering, her hands subtly adjusting his blanket for the hundredth time, her lips moving in a silent, continuous prayer.
Karthik shifted, his body protesting the movement, and tried to sit up.
"Fizza, please," he said, his voice still a bit rough around the edges. "Stop worrying about me. I'm fine now. Just let me go to work."
Fizza stopped adjusting the blanket, her hands freezing. Her eyes flared with a stubborn, protective glare.
"Work? You think you're ready for work?" Her voice was a sharp whisper, heavy with frustration. "Four days, Karthik. It has only been four days since they let you out of that hospital bed. Look at you, you can barely sit up straight."
Karthik swallowed the dryness in his throat, forcing himself to hold her gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing. Sitting in this room, staring at the walls, wasn't going to miraculously cure him. Bed rest wasn't going to fix whatever was broken inside his body—it was just wasting time. If his time was limited, it was much more efficient to spend it working and earning money, rather than rotting away in a bed.
More than anything, he couldn't stand causing her more trouble. The dark circles under her eyes, the endless, frantic praying—he was becoming a burden, a constant source of anxiety under this roof.
"Fizza, staying here won't change anything," Karthik said, his tone shifting to a quiet, hard reality. "If I don't show up today, they will replace me. My job will be gone. I can't afford to lose it, and I'm not going to just sit here."
Fizza's hands dropped to her sides, her posture stiffening as the worry turned into a sudden, sharp anger.
"Money?" she asked, her voice cracking as she stared at him. "Is it money that you are after? Are we fools to care for you?"
Karthik opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off, the raw emotion completely breaking through her usual quiet demeanor.
"Just say how many rupees you want," she said, tears finally spilling over. "My one son is gone away from me. I could never show him my motherly side... but you, you were more like a son to me."
The room went completely still. Karthik froze, the anger in her voice cutting deeper than any physical pain from the seizure. His chest tightened, the sting of her words immediately washing away his stubbornness.
"No, I—I didn't mean that," he stammered, his voice cracking.
Before he could explain, the sharp, sudden ring of the doorbell cut through the heavy silence of the room.
Fizza let out a helpless breath, gesturing sharply for him to stay quiet and stay put. Wiping her face quickly, she turned away from the bed and hurried out of the room to open the door.
It was Maya. This was her ninth visit in the past four days, and she wasn't empty-handed. She came in carrying a basket of fresh fruits, hoping to give him some energy. But as soon as she stepped inside, she noticed Fizza's face. It was dull, pale, and drained of all life.
Maya didn't waste a second. She marched straight into the room and immediately began scolding Karthik. He looked at her, completely astonished.
"If there is anyone in this world who genuinely wants to see you happy, it's Fizza," Maya said, her voice sharp with frustration. "I don't know what just happened between you two, but she looks terrible out there."
Without waiting for him to answer, Maya tossed the basket of apples onto the bed. She grabbed Karthik by the shoulders and forcefully pushed him back down, making him lie flat against the mattress. Karthik winced slightly—he had never seen her this angry before.
Maya sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, staring down at him.
"Do you have any idea what she's been doing for you?" Maya scolded, her eyes fierce. "While you're busy worrying about your job, she hasn't slept a full hour. She's been cooking every meal, checking your breathing every five minutes, and literally praying until her voice goes dry. She is treating you like her own blood, Karthik. You don't get to push people away just because you're stubborn."
Karthik lay there, staring at the ceiling again, the weight of Maya's words sinking in heavily.
Maya went quiet, her chest heaving slightly. An awkward, heavy silence settled over the room. Karthik stared up at her, completely speechless, while Maya looked away, letting her anger cool down into a soft sigh. She looked back at him, her tone dropping its sharp edge.
"I told you not to worry about your job," she said quietly. "No one is going to take it."
Karthik frowned, looking at her with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Maya, you don't understand how these places work. If a waiter vanishes for four days without a guarantee, they just hire the next guy at the door. I can't just—"
"I told you, it's handled," Maya interrupted, her voice completely firm and certain. "Your manager knows you're sick, and your spot is safe. Just trust me on this."
Karthik searched her face, trying to figure out how she could sound so sure about a ruthless hotel management team, but the sheer confidence in her eyes finally made him close his mouth. He had no clue that Maya had secretly used her fiancé's influence as the hotel's owner to secure his position in the first place.
Maya's phone suddenly cut through the quiet with a loud ring. She checked the screen, gave Karthik one last warning look, and stepped out of the room to answer it. After a few minutes, he heard the front door click shut. Maya was gone, leaving him completely alone.
Karthik laid there for a few hours, staring at the ceiling as the heavy silence stretched through the afternoon. His mind was racing, replaying the hurt in Fizza's voice over and over. He spent the time practicing what to say, trying to string together the perfect apology that would fix the mess he'd made.
Later that afternoon, the sound of the door turning made him panic. In a rush, Karthik closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow down, pretending to be asleep.
Through his cracked eyelids, he watched her.
Fizza quietly walked into the room, her movements careful so she wouldn't disturb him. She popped the pills from their foil pack, filled his cup with water, and gently stepped closer to the bed to wake him up. It was time for his afternoon medicine.
The sheer sight of her—still quietly taking care of him despite how he had just pushed her away—tore his chest apart.
Karthik couldn't keep up the act. He sat up abruptly and broke down, crying like a little child. The tears came fast and unstoppable. He couldn't speak, completely unable to form a single proper word. All the perfect sentences of apology he had spent hours thinking about just poured out of him through his heavy, breathless tears.
"I—I AM s-s-sorry..." he sobbed, his shoulders shaking violently as he looked up at her.
Fizza's expression softened, the remaining tension completely melting away as she looked down at his tear-stained face. Her calm eyes filled with a quiet warmth, and a gentle, tired smile touched her lips.
"It's okay, son," she said softly, her voice steady and soothing. "Everyone makes mistakes. It was my fault too. Come on, have your medicine."