31-01-2026, 07:13 PM
Chapter 23: The Sheet & The Shared Dawn
After Swathi went.. Mirnaa kept looking at Vikram's face..
She felt something in her but could not name it.. She didnt know when she slept.. She slept near him in a chair beside his cot.. Her read rested on his cot..
The midnight cold seeped through the tent, wind rattling the canvas. Mirna slumped beside his cot, arms crossed against the chill, no blanket to shield her. Her breathing had slowed into the soft rhythm of sleep, head tilted forward, braid loosened, one strand falling across her cheek.
Vikram opened his eyes.
Pain still lived in every breath—ribs, face, the dull throb in his back—but it was distant now, dulled by medicine and time. He turned his head slowly. The lantern light was low, flickering gold across her face. She looked smaller in sleep, unguarded, almost fragile.
In his 27 years of life, no one had ever slept beside him without wanting something. Not his relatives.
But here she was—Mirna—curled in a chair that was too small for comfort, staying through the night because she chose to. Not for money. Not for secrets. Not for power.
He felt safer than he had ever felt.
He didn’t know who she was, not really—but her mercy was what he clung to now. The only warm thing in a lifetime of cold.
His arm moved—slow, aching—reaching for the thin bedsheet stacked on the stool nearby. Every muscle protested. Ribs screamed. But he gritted his teeth and stretched, fingers trembling, until he caught the corner of the fabric.
He pulled it toward him. Then, with the last strength he had, he dbangd it over her shoulders.
The sheet settled softly, covering her arms, her back. She didn’t stir.
A nurse passed by the tent flap, footsteps light on the dirt. She saw the movement—Vikram’s shaky reach, the sheet falling over the sleeping girl—and smiled quietly. She didn’t speak. Just nodded once, as if she understood, and slipped away into the night.
Vikram sank back against the thin pillow, arm brushing hers as he let himself spill half off the cot to make space. Her warmth reached him through the inches between them—quiet, steady, real.
He closed his eyes again.
Dawn broke slowly.
Mirna stirred first. She blinked awake, confused by the weight across her shoulders. The sheet. Soft, worn, smelling faintly of antiseptic and him.
She looked down.
Vikram was beside her—half-spilling off the narrow cot, arm still outstretched from where he had dbangd the fabric over her. His face was bruised, swollen eye crusted with sleep, but his breathing was even. Peaceful.
She touched the sheet, fingers lingering on the place where his had been.
A nurse passed by—older, weary from the night shift—and caught Mirna’s expression.
“Him,” the nurse said with a small smile. “Last night—he covered you.”
The voice of Nurse woke him up...
Mirna’s gaze settled on Vikram anew. Bruised. Broken. But golden.
His eyes opened then—slowly, painfully.
They met hers.
Straight to straight.
No words.
Just silence and the weight of two people seeing each other clearly for the first time.
He didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away.
They never knew they were already deeply connected.
And it was only the start of their journey.
After Swathi went.. Mirnaa kept looking at Vikram's face..
She felt something in her but could not name it.. She didnt know when she slept.. She slept near him in a chair beside his cot.. Her read rested on his cot..
The midnight cold seeped through the tent, wind rattling the canvas. Mirna slumped beside his cot, arms crossed against the chill, no blanket to shield her. Her breathing had slowed into the soft rhythm of sleep, head tilted forward, braid loosened, one strand falling across her cheek.
Vikram opened his eyes.
Pain still lived in every breath—ribs, face, the dull throb in his back—but it was distant now, dulled by medicine and time. He turned his head slowly. The lantern light was low, flickering gold across her face. She looked smaller in sleep, unguarded, almost fragile.
In his 27 years of life, no one had ever slept beside him without wanting something. Not his relatives.
But here she was—Mirna—curled in a chair that was too small for comfort, staying through the night because she chose to. Not for money. Not for secrets. Not for power.
He felt safer than he had ever felt.
He didn’t know who she was, not really—but her mercy was what he clung to now. The only warm thing in a lifetime of cold.
His arm moved—slow, aching—reaching for the thin bedsheet stacked on the stool nearby. Every muscle protested. Ribs screamed. But he gritted his teeth and stretched, fingers trembling, until he caught the corner of the fabric.
He pulled it toward him. Then, with the last strength he had, he dbangd it over her shoulders.
The sheet settled softly, covering her arms, her back. She didn’t stir.
A nurse passed by the tent flap, footsteps light on the dirt. She saw the movement—Vikram’s shaky reach, the sheet falling over the sleeping girl—and smiled quietly. She didn’t speak. Just nodded once, as if she understood, and slipped away into the night.
Vikram sank back against the thin pillow, arm brushing hers as he let himself spill half off the cot to make space. Her warmth reached him through the inches between them—quiet, steady, real.
He closed his eyes again.
Dawn broke slowly.
Mirna stirred first. She blinked awake, confused by the weight across her shoulders. The sheet. Soft, worn, smelling faintly of antiseptic and him.
She looked down.
Vikram was beside her—half-spilling off the narrow cot, arm still outstretched from where he had dbangd the fabric over her. His face was bruised, swollen eye crusted with sleep, but his breathing was even. Peaceful.
She touched the sheet, fingers lingering on the place where his had been.
A nurse passed by—older, weary from the night shift—and caught Mirna’s expression.
“Him,” the nurse said with a small smile. “Last night—he covered you.”
The voice of Nurse woke him up...
Mirna’s gaze settled on Vikram anew. Bruised. Broken. But golden.
His eyes opened then—slowly, painfully.
They met hers.
Straight to straight.
No words.
Just silence and the weight of two people seeing each other clearly for the first time.
He didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away.
They never knew they were already deeply connected.
And it was only the start of their journey.
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