No Conditions, Whatsoever

Never a burden

Author's PoV:

Feiha studied the room she was in, the white walls, the shelves full of medicines and the small beds. It was an infirmary. Beside her, a physician was examining her burnt foot. "I'll put a soothing gel on it," the man said and stood up to go and fetch it.

Feiha heard footsteps entering the room and turned her head only to find the black tshirt guy. The one who couldn't stop staring at you, her mind whispered and she blinked vigorously to think straight.

He looked at her and then at her foot, his jaw clenching. Taking a seat on the bed just adjacent to Feiha's, his eyes shifted back to hers. "I'm sorry for what happened," his voice came out low.

Feiha didn't know what to say. It wasn't exactly his fault but he was surely involved in the drama that took place in the cafeteria. She felt confused whether she should lecture him or forgive him. In the end, she just looked away and said, "Hmm."

"May I know your name?" He suddenly asked but before he could get an answer, the physician returned with the gel and stared applying it on the burnt area.

Feiha stole a glance at the guy and saw his attention stuck on her foot, his Adam's apple bobbling. She adjusted the dupatta on her head and followed his gaze.

"It's not that serious," the physician spoke as he put the gel away, "you can take rest for sometime in the infirmary." Saying this, he left. Now, it was only Feiha and the known stranger, sitting in a room, not understanding what to say or do.

"Your name," she suddenly heard and looked up,"can you tell me your name?"

"Feiha!" A loud voice interrupted them, causing an annoyed expression to overtake the young man's features.

Ali came running and stopped right in front of Feiha's bed. His gaze shifted from one face to the other. He then frowned at his new friend.
"What did the doctor say?"

" Not much serious," Feiha waved her hand.

"He told you to take a rest," the third person interrupted.

Ali studied his face and stepped a little closer to get a better look. Realisation suddenly hit him as he exclaimed, "You're Ayan Rahman, aren't you?"

Ayan looked at him funnily, not understanding how the guy knew him.

"You were my senior in high school," Ali continued, "I remember the girls of my class had this huge crush on you. You were quite a celebrity there."

Ayan's ears turned pink and he ran his hand through his hair. "I don't remember," he shrugged, "you should lie down if you're not feeling well," his words were directed at Feiha.

"I'm fine," Feiha mumbled and stood up. She started walking and the boys noticed how she was limping.

Ali stepped forward and grabbed her bag. "Give this to me," he offered and Feiha nodded, handing it over to him.

Ayan watched them leave, a sense of confusion accompanied by irritation. But he knew he could do nothing about it. There was no reason and need for his intrusion. So he stood silent, like an audience, observing the small yet curvy frame of the woman as she departed.

.

.

.

"Pass me the pickle," a voice entered Ayan's ear and he absentmindedly followed the order, picking up a jar from the dinning table and handing it over.

He was distracted. His shoulders were slouched and his hair was a little messy. He couldn't help but think about what happened earlier in the college. His mind was neither on the drama that took place, nor on the one who caused it. He was rather busy in worrying about the one who fell victim to all of that.