[SilverArrow]

Monica stood beside the bed, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress. The thin robe was belted tightly, but the fabric was still slightly damp in places and moved against her skin whenever she shifted. Her hair was pulled forward over one shoulder, only partly covering the open neckline. Underneath, she was completely bare; the soft weight of her breasts settled freely with every breath. The fan turned slowly overhead, the soft current of air cool against her ankles.

She wanted one last clear reading before she left him for the night.

She reached for the side table. The thermometer was not there. She checked the edge of the mattress, fingers brushing the fold of the blanket, then the small shelf near the headboard.

“Where did it go…” she murmured. She leaned closer to Rakesh, keeping her voice gentle. “Jaan, did you move the thermometer? I’ve looked on the table and it’s not there.”

Rakesh’s eyes opened halfway. His voice was thin and tired.

“No… I haven’t touched anything. It was there earlier, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Monica said. She straightened and called toward the open doorway, tone calm and practical. “Ranga Saab— have you seen the thermometer anywhere? It’s not on the table.”

From the master bedroom his reply came back after a short pause, steady and unsurprised.

“It should be right next to him. Check behind the bottle.”

“I did. It’s not there.”

There was the sound of footsteps. A moment later Ranga appeared in the doorway. He had pulled on a dark vest and trousers— nothing else. The vest sat close against his chest; the trousers sat low on his hips. He stepped into the room without ceremony.

“I’ll look. Maybe it fell.”

Monica moved aside slightly to give him space. “I’ve already checked this side. Try near the leg of the table.”

They searched in the dim light. Ranga crouched, ran his hand along the floor, then checked the windowsill. Monica re-checked the near side of the bed, bending to look under the edge of the frame. The robe shifted with the movement; the thin fabric pulled briefly across her bare breasts before she straightened again.

“Nothing here,” she said.

“Got it.” Ranga stood, holding the thermometer between two fingers. “It had slipped behind the water bottle. Easy to miss.”

Monica took it from him. Their fingers touched for a second— warm, brief. She kept her expression even, turned back to Rakesh, and slipped the thermometer under his tongue.

“Just keep it there for a few seconds,” she told him softly. “Don’t talk.”

Rakesh gave a small sound of agreement. The seconds stretched. When Monica read the number she let out a quiet breath.

“Hundred point six,” she said, looking down at him. “Much better than before. You’re properly out of the danger zone now. You need to sleep.”

Rakesh nodded, eyelids already heavier.

Monica glanced at Ranga, then back to her husband. Her voice stayed soft but clear.

“I’ll sleep too. And Ranga Saab has decided to stay the night… considering how high the fever was earlier.”

Rakesh’s gaze shifted to Ranga. The gratitude was genuine, if weak.

“Thank you. I’m feeling better now. Really.”

Ranga’s mouth curved in a small smile that did not reach his eyes.

“You sleep. I’m fine.”

Monica added the practical reason without hesitation.

“These fevers can come back in the middle of the night without warning. He’s still not completely out of danger. It’s better if Ranga Saab is here. Just in case we need to do anything.”

Rakesh nodded again.

“Alright… thank you. Both of you.”

“Good night,” Monica said. “We’ll finish the movie and then sleep. You rest properly.”

“Good night,” Rakesh murmured. He turned slowly onto his side, facing away from the door. The bed sheet slipped with the movement, exposing the damp collar of his undershirt.

Monica stepped back from the bed. As she moved toward the doorway the hallway light caught her at an angle. The thin robe clung for a moment to the curve of her hip and the unsupported weight of her breasts. The fabric shifted with her step— no strap, no line of panties, only the clear movement of bare skin under the single layer. The neckline dipped as she walked.

Rakesh, not yet fully under, saw it.

The absence hit him with a confused, delayed jolt. Monica never went fully naked under a robe. Even on ordinary nights when it was only the two of them she almost always kept panties on, often a soft bra as well. She was particular about it. In the mornings the watchman sometimes knocked early, delivery boys came with milk or groceries, the maid arrived without warning— she had said more than once that it was better to have something on underneath, just in case. Fully nude under the thin fabric, with another man in the house, was completely unlike her.

Why is she like this tonight?

The question formed clearly for a moment. His heartbeat picked up, an uneasy pulse against the heavy drowsiness already settling over him. He tried to hold the thought— *she never does this, not even with me, why tonight, why with him here*— but the medicine was crushing. The room tilted. The edges of the question blurred, slipped, and then dissolved into a thick, spinning dark as sleep took him completely.

Monica stepped into the hallway. Ranga followed a pace behind her. The door to Rakesh’s room remained slightly open. Behind them the fan turned steadily over the now-unconscious man, while the unfinished heat of the master bedroom waited only a few steps away.