I slept peacefully, wrapped in the warmth of my blanket, until the faint sound of an alarm echoed in my dream. It started as a soft, distant chime, blending seamlessly with the dream's hazy atmosphere. But then, like a sudden jolt of reality, the beeping grew louder. My heart pounded as I drifted into half-consciousness, my body instinctively stretching. A sluggish yawn escaped my lips before realization struck me like a lightning bolt.
My eyes snapped open. Shoot, it's 7 AM!
Panic surged through me. I threw off the blanket and sat up abruptly, my head spinning for a second before I turned to the clock to confirm my worst fear. I can't be late today! Without wasting another second, I jumped out of bed and dashed toward the bathroom.
The cold water shocked my senses as I hastily scrubbed my face, my fingers moving in frantic circles. Shampoo, soap, and toothpaste-everything blurred into a race against time. Within minutes, I rushed out of the bathroom, my damp hair clinging to my shoulders as I tugged on a pink blouse and blue jeans. My fingers fumbled with my makeup, quickly dabbing some foundation and swiping on lipstick. There was no time for breakfast.
Grabbing my bag, I sprinted downstairs, my footsteps echoing through the silent house. My stomach growled in protest, but I ignored it, flinging open the door and stepping into the crisp morning air.
I waved down a taxi and hopped inside, barely catching my breath before glancing at my watch. 7:20 AM.
"I have to be quick before 8 AM," I muttered under my breath, hoping the traffic wouldn't be too bad.
But luck wasn't on my side. As the taxi merged onto the highway, my heart sank-a long line of unmoving cars stretched endlessly ahead. Frustration bubbled within me. I sighed heavily, tapping my fingers against my lap in agitation. The minutes crawled by, each one adding to my anxiety.
By the time the taxi pulled up in front of Kathir Rathore's house, my pulse was racing. I flicked my gaze to my wristwatch-7:59 AM. Just one minute left!
The moment the security guard opened the gate, I bolted forward, my legs burning from the sudden sprint. The path to the main entrance wasn't short, and by the time I reached the door, I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
I rang the doorbell.
No response.
I rang it again. And again.
Finally, the heavy door creaked open, revealing Kathir Rathore. He stood tall in his crisp office attire, his sharp features set in a firm expression. His light brown eyes locked onto mine, filled with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Hi, good morning!" I managed between breaths, forcing a smile.
His jaw clenched. "Why are you pressing the doorbell so many times?"
I huffed, still panting, and lifted my wrist to show him my watch. "It's exactly 8 AM. I don't want to be late. Next time, try opening the door at 8 AM so I don't have to keep ringing it!" I rolled my eyes dramatically, still catching my breath.
His gaze slowly traveled from my face to my slightly disheveled outfit, taking in my heaving chest and flushed cheeks. His jaw tightened as if suppressing something-anger, amusement, or something else entirely.
"Fine. I don't want to waste a single second," I muttered, stepping inside.
But as I moved forward, my foot slipped.
My breath hitched-I was falling.
Before I could brace myself for the impact, a firm grip wrapped around my waist. My heart lurched into my throat as I found myself caught in Kathir's hold. His strong arms secured me in place, preventing the fall. My mind went blank for a second, my soul nearly escaping my body from the sheer shock.
When I finally dared to look up, I met his eyes.
Those sharp, furious brown eyes locked onto mine, flickering with something undecipherable. A storm brewed within them-anger, restraint, regret? I couldn't tell. But beneath the fury, there was something else, something he wasn't letting surface.
My chest rose and fell rapidly as I became painfully aware of how firmly he held me. His grip wasn't just protective; it was possessive. My skin tingled under his touch.
Realizing this, I squirmed slightly. His jaw ticked before he finally loosened his hold, setting me back on my feet. As soon as I steadied myself, he stepped back and shut the door behind him.
"Can't you watch your step?" he muttered, walking toward the hallway.
I exhaled sharply. "I did, but-"
Before I could finish, he reappeared, a glass of water in his hand. He held it out to me.
I furrowed my brows. "What's this for?"
"You were panting. I don't want someone taking care of my mother acting like they just ran a marathon," he said in a neutral tone.
I scoffed, rolling my eyes, but took the water anyway. At least he knew how to be slightly considerate.
As I took a sip, I noticed his lips twitch into a smirk.
"What a silly girl," he mused. "What if I spiked it?"
I choked mid-sip, my throat burning as I sputtered. Half the water spilled from my mouth as I coughed violently.
He took a step back, raising an eyebrow at my reaction.
I widened my eyes. "W-What do you mean?" I croaked.
His gaze flickered between my eyes before that damn smirk returned. "Relax. I didn't." His voice was laced with amusement. "Now, start your job. I'm leaving."
A rush of relief washed over me, but my heart still pounded against my ribs. Should I trust him? Or was he just messing with me?
Kathir turned toward the door, stepping out of the house. His black McLaren gleamed under the morning sun as he walked toward it.
I watched him, my lips curving into a sly grin. As he opened the car door, I slammed the front door shut.
I knew I was crossing a line, but he deserved it.
After all, he blackmailed me into this job. If I couldn't escape, I could at least annoy the hell out of him.
With a victorious smirk, I spun around, ready to check on Renuka Aunty.
At least the monster was out of the house-for now.
I sprint up the stairs to the first floor, my breath slightly uneven as I reach Renuka Aunty's door. Wrapping my fingers around the cool metal doorknob, I push it open and step inside.
"Good morning, beautiful," I greet softly, my voice laced with warmth.
She's lying on the bed, unmoving, her body rigid like a doll-only her eyes remain open, blank yet alive. I move toward her, the familiar weight of responsibility settling in my chest, and pull out the wheelchair that sits beside her bed.
"Let's get you freshened up, and then I'll feed you breakfast," I say, exaggerating a "yummy" expression, hoping to lighten the mood.
This house already feels like home, a place where I can be myself without hesitation. But more than that, I feel at ease with her, even in her stillness. Carefully, I slide my arms beneath her fragile frame, lifting her with ease-she's so lightweight, like a feather. The fact that she can't move at all clenches at my heart, but I swallow the ache. I settle her gently into the wheelchair and wheel her into the bathroom attached to her room.
Once inside, I help her freshen up and dress her in a simple yet elegant outfit. I even apply a touch of makeup, brushing some warmth onto her pale skin. By the time I'm done, she no longer looks weak-she looks serene, beautiful, as if she belongs in a world far from suffering.
Stepping back, I admire my work. "There we go," I say with a smile. "It's not good for you to just lie in bed all day. Let's go see what Winston is up to."
As expected, she remains motionless, her silence heavier than words. My heart clenches again. I can't even begin to imagine how Kathir Rathore endures this pain alone every day. Letting out a quiet sigh, I push her wheelchair toward the hallway and press the lift button. The doors slide open with a soft chime, and once we reach the ground floor, I wheel her into the living area, parking her beside the long, black leather couch.
"I'm going to check on Winston," I tell her before heading toward his room.
The moment I push open the door, my eyes widen in horror.
"What the-Winston!"
The entire room is a disaster. Blankets lay crumpled on the floor, toys are scattered everywhere, and right in the middle of the chaos lies a black wallet-torn to shreds.
Of course. The victim of Winston.
I exhale sharply and turn toward the culprit, who meets my gaze with wide, innocent eyes. His head tilts slightly, ears twitching, as if he has no idea what just happened.
"Oh my God, Winston," I groan, rubbing my temples. "I don't even know what to say."
I kneel down and grab the red blanket from the floor, but before I can lift it, Winston clamps his teeth onto it.
"Let go, Winston," I warn, tugging lightly.
He refuses. His grip tightens.
I exhale in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."
We engage in a silent battle, both pulling at the fabric. It turns into a ridiculous game of tug-of-war, our bodies spinning in circles like two children at a playground.
"Okay, stop-ugh, I feel dizzy!" I finally let go, stumbling back with a groan.
Winston, the little troublemaker, merely tilts his head again, feigning innocence. But I'm not giving up.
I grab the blanket once more and this time, I put some force into it. "Come on, Winston. It's your lunch time. Stop being silly."
Then, out of nowhere, he lets go.
I'm caught off guard, completely unprepared for the sudden release, and I crash onto the floor with an ungraceful thud.
"Ouch!" I wince, rubbing my hip.
Winston, utterly unbothered, trots out of the room as if I no longer exist.
I glare at his retreating figure. "Hey! That was so rude, you know?"
Dragging myself off the floor, I toss the blanket onto his bed and step out, only to find him already sprawled out on the carpet beside Renuka Aunty's wheelchair, looking far too comfortable.
"I was fooled by his cuteness," I mutter, shaking my head. "Never expected taking care of him would be this hard. But then again..." I roll my eyes. "He is Kathir's brother. Like owner, like pet."
Sighing, I head toward the kitchen.
The spacious kitchen is peaceful, the silence broken only by the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. I start cooking, enjoying the simple act of preparing a meal.
Then, of course, Winston makes another grand entrance.
I glance at him over my shoulder. "What now, Winston? Want to help me cook?"
But he has other plans.
He's reaching for the trash bin.
My eyes widen in horror. "Winston, stop!"
Too late. He successfully tips it over, sending waste scattering across the floor, and then-like nothing happened-he prances out of the kitchen.
My jaw clenches.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. "Did your brother teach you to annoy me like this?"
Ignoring the mess for now, I focus on finishing Renuka Aunty's meal. Once done, I arrange everything on a trolley: a glass of water with a straw, grilled salmon, healthy soup, and pureed vegetables. Everything is made soft and easy for her to consume.
Rolling the trolley into the living room, I settle beside her. "Alright, Aunty. Time to eat."
I take a spoonful and gently bring it to her lips. She struggles at first, her mouth tight, but eventually, she accepts it.
One spoon. Two. Three. Four.
Then, her eyes fill with tears.
I freeze. My heart clenches.
"Why are you crying? Do you not like the food?" My voice wavers, concern creeping in.
She doesn't respond-she can't.
The frustration of not being able to hear her thoughts, of not knowing how to comfort her, gnaws at me. I quickly wipe the tears rolling down her cheeks, and then a thought strikes me.
"Aunty, if you don't like the food, blink once. If the food isn't the problem, blink twice."
She blinks twice.
My breath catches.
For a moment, I just sit there, staring at her. The realization that I can communicate with her this way sends a wave of emotions crashing over me.
I let out a shaky breath and chuckle softly, even as my eyes well up.
"Aunty... are you feeling bad about your condition? If yes, blink once."
She blinks once.
My chest tightens.
Even with her son right beside her, she can't speak to him. She can't hold him. She's trapped in her own body, unable to move, unable to express herself.
I slowly run my fingers through her hair, a deep sense of connection settling between us. It feels as if I've known her forever.
"Don't worry, Aunty," I whisper. "You'll be fine soon. And you know what? There's one good thing about all this-Kathir Rathore cares about you so much that he hired me to take special care of you."
Then, I pause. "Wait... do you actually feel comfortable with me?"
A brief silence.
"If yes, blink once. If no, blink twice."
She blinks once.
A smile tugs at my lips, wide and genuine. "We're friends now, huh?" I lift a hand in excitement. "Yeah! I got a new friend!"
She blinks again, almost like she's amused.
I laugh. "Alright, once you finish eating, I'll take you to your room so you can rest."
As I continue feeding her, I feel lighter. Happier. Knowing that Renuka Aunty feels comfortable with me makes everything worth it.
This job isn't as tough as I thought.
But something tells me... tomorrow might have other plans for me.