17-11-2025, 07:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 17-11-2025, 07:34 PM by shailu4ever. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Scene 34: The Healing Touch (Sixth Day: Late Afternoon)
Naveen returned a few minutes later with a bowl of warm water he had heated near the small fire outside. Steam curled upward, catching the fading sunlight as it drifted through the trees, the rays breaking into soft amber fragments.
In his other hand, he carried a small bundle of crushed herbs and bright green leaves, the same ones they had relied on before for cuts, aches, and small wounds.
He lowered himself to the ground beside her, kneeling with quiet steadiness, and set the bowl down beside her injured ankle. His expression was focused, calm, and yet—there was a subtle softness in the way he looked at her, a warmth that made her heart flutter despite the stillness of the moment.
“You really know what you’re doing,” she whispered, her voice soft but sincere. The admiration in it made his shoulders ease, just barely.
Naveen gave a faint smile without lifting his gaze.
“Maybe.”
Then more gently, “Don’t move for a while, okay?”
She nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He dipped a clean cloth into the warm water, squeezed out the excess, and pressed it against her swollen ankle.
The warmth blossomed immediately through her skin, coaxing a quiet breath from her lips, not only from relief but from the unexpected tenderness in his touch.
“His hands… they’re always so steady,” she thought, “so sure… so gentle.”
His hands moved with a kind of reverent precision, careful yet firm, as if every motion was made with purpose. The light brush of his fingers along her skin felt unexpectedly intimate, a quiet promise of safety threaded through each small touch.
She watched him as he concentrated, the faint furrow in his brow, the way his lips pressed together slightly. Something inside her tightened at the sight.
“Why does something so simple feel so… alive?”
Her heart beat faster, warmth expanding through her chest.
“Is it too hot?” he murmured, his voice dropping so low it was almost swallowed by the quiet.
“No,” she breathed, her gaze lingering on his hands. “It’s… nice.”
For a few still minutes, the outside world fell away. The soft gurgle of the distant stream, the whisper of leaves shifting in the breeze, even the waning daylight, everything blurred behind the rhythm of his slow, careful movements.
His breathing steadied, slow and deep, and she found herself instinctively matching its pace, her pulse gradually syncing to the quiet care in his touch.
Naveen returned a few minutes later with a bowl of warm water he had heated near the small fire outside. Steam curled upward, catching the fading sunlight as it drifted through the trees, the rays breaking into soft amber fragments.
In his other hand, he carried a small bundle of crushed herbs and bright green leaves, the same ones they had relied on before for cuts, aches, and small wounds.
He lowered himself to the ground beside her, kneeling with quiet steadiness, and set the bowl down beside her injured ankle. His expression was focused, calm, and yet—there was a subtle softness in the way he looked at her, a warmth that made her heart flutter despite the stillness of the moment.
“You really know what you’re doing,” she whispered, her voice soft but sincere. The admiration in it made his shoulders ease, just barely.
Naveen gave a faint smile without lifting his gaze.
“Maybe.”
Then more gently, “Don’t move for a while, okay?”
She nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He dipped a clean cloth into the warm water, squeezed out the excess, and pressed it against her swollen ankle.
The warmth blossomed immediately through her skin, coaxing a quiet breath from her lips, not only from relief but from the unexpected tenderness in his touch.
“His hands… they’re always so steady,” she thought, “so sure… so gentle.”
His hands moved with a kind of reverent precision, careful yet firm, as if every motion was made with purpose. The light brush of his fingers along her skin felt unexpectedly intimate, a quiet promise of safety threaded through each small touch.
She watched him as he concentrated, the faint furrow in his brow, the way his lips pressed together slightly. Something inside her tightened at the sight.
“Why does something so simple feel so… alive?”
Her heart beat faster, warmth expanding through her chest.
“Is it too hot?” he murmured, his voice dropping so low it was almost swallowed by the quiet.
“No,” she breathed, her gaze lingering on his hands. “It’s… nice.”
For a few still minutes, the outside world fell away. The soft gurgle of the distant stream, the whisper of leaves shifting in the breeze, even the waning daylight, everything blurred behind the rhythm of his slow, careful movements.
His breathing steadied, slow and deep, and she found herself instinctively matching its pace, her pulse gradually syncing to the quiet care in his touch.
.
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