18-11-2025, 01:45 AM
(This post was last modified: 18-11-2025, 11:46 AM by shailu4ever. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Scene 35: The Caring Doctor (Sixth Day: Evening)
By the time the orange dusk filtered through the forest line, the air inside their small hut had turned quietly golden.
The last traces of sunlight slipped through the gaps in the wooden walls, bathing the space in a soft, amber glow that wrapped around them like a warm blanket. Kavya sat near the fire, her foot loosely wrapped in the cloth Naveen had tied earlier.
The faint scent of herbs, warm water, and his touch lingered gently in the air, a delicate reminder of him.
Naveen moved around the small space with his shirt sleeves rolled up, forearms catching the firelight as he worked. His motions were steady, unhurried, almost rhythmic. He peeled a few sweet potatoes, sliced them carefully, and set them on the flat stone near the fire. Every few moments, his eyes flickered toward her, quiet, attentive glances meant to check if she was comfortable, if her ankle still throbbed, if she needed anything.
But it wasn’t just his care that caught her breath.
It was the gentleness of his presence, the way he seemed to hold her in his awareness without ever making it feel heavy.
“He’s always watching… not possessively, but protectively. Like I matter,” she thought, warmth pooling low in her chest.
“You really don’t have to do all that,” she said softly, breaking the easy silence. “I can help.”
He didn’t pause his cutting. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You’ll help by resting,” he replied, voice warm but firm. “Doctor’s orders.”
She smiled back, but her gaze lingered longer now, tracing the lines of his profile as he leaned forward to adjust the firewood. The flickering flame lit the contours of his face: the strong jawline, the slight furrow in his brow, the quiet concentration she had come to know so well. For a moment, she forgot everything, the ache in her ankle, the weight of the past days, the uncertainty of tomorrow.
All she felt was him.
His closeness.
His warmth.
His steady, grounding presence, wrapping around her like the firelight itself.
He glanced at her again, and something in her chest fluttered.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked, voice dropping to something softer, gentler.
“A little,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But… not the same way.”
He paused, the smallest tilt in his head. “Not the same way?”
She swallowed, her cheeks warming.
“When you took care of it… it stopped feeling like pain. It felt like… comfort.”
The words hung between them, warm and fragile.
His hands stilled. Slowly, he turned his head toward her. His eyes softened, truly softened, a tenderness there that made her breath catch.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured, his voice low, quiet, intimate. “You would have done the same.”
“I know.”
Her gaze held his. Her voice steadied.
“But it means something when you do it.”
The fire popped softly.
He inhaled, a quiet, uneven breath, as if her words had reached a place within him he wasn’t prepared for.
By the time the orange dusk filtered through the forest line, the air inside their small hut had turned quietly golden.
The last traces of sunlight slipped through the gaps in the wooden walls, bathing the space in a soft, amber glow that wrapped around them like a warm blanket. Kavya sat near the fire, her foot loosely wrapped in the cloth Naveen had tied earlier.
The faint scent of herbs, warm water, and his touch lingered gently in the air, a delicate reminder of him.
Naveen moved around the small space with his shirt sleeves rolled up, forearms catching the firelight as he worked. His motions were steady, unhurried, almost rhythmic. He peeled a few sweet potatoes, sliced them carefully, and set them on the flat stone near the fire. Every few moments, his eyes flickered toward her, quiet, attentive glances meant to check if she was comfortable, if her ankle still throbbed, if she needed anything.
But it wasn’t just his care that caught her breath.
It was the gentleness of his presence, the way he seemed to hold her in his awareness without ever making it feel heavy.
“He’s always watching… not possessively, but protectively. Like I matter,” she thought, warmth pooling low in her chest.
“You really don’t have to do all that,” she said softly, breaking the easy silence. “I can help.”
He didn’t pause his cutting. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You’ll help by resting,” he replied, voice warm but firm. “Doctor’s orders.”
She smiled back, but her gaze lingered longer now, tracing the lines of his profile as he leaned forward to adjust the firewood. The flickering flame lit the contours of his face: the strong jawline, the slight furrow in his brow, the quiet concentration she had come to know so well. For a moment, she forgot everything, the ache in her ankle, the weight of the past days, the uncertainty of tomorrow.
All she felt was him.
His closeness.
His warmth.
His steady, grounding presence, wrapping around her like the firelight itself.
He glanced at her again, and something in her chest fluttered.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked, voice dropping to something softer, gentler.
“A little,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But… not the same way.”
He paused, the smallest tilt in his head. “Not the same way?”
She swallowed, her cheeks warming.
“When you took care of it… it stopped feeling like pain. It felt like… comfort.”
The words hung between them, warm and fragile.
His hands stilled. Slowly, he turned his head toward her. His eyes softened, truly softened, a tenderness there that made her breath catch.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured, his voice low, quiet, intimate. “You would have done the same.”
“I know.”
Her gaze held his. Her voice steadied.
“But it means something when you do it.”
The fire popped softly.
He inhaled, a quiet, uneven breath, as if her words had reached a place within him he wasn’t prepared for.
.
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