The tension in the air had lessened since Ameer's disappearance, but Zehra's body hadn't fully caught up to the idea of peace. The constant stress had begun to wear her down in ways she couldn't ignore. It started with sleepless nights and a dull ache in her temples. Then came the waves of chills, fatigue, and a heaviness in her limbs that made even standing feel like a monumental effort.

But Zehra was stubborn. She told herself it was just stress, that it would pass if she pushed through. She clung to her routines-work, errands, and the evenings spent trying to distract herself with small joys.

It wasn't enough.

By the third day, she couldn't even manage to get off the couch.

Abbas entered her apartment that evening, his brows furrowing the moment he stepped inside. The space was dimly lit, and the usual hum of the TV or the sound of her movements was absent. A strange, heavy silence filled the air.

"Zehra?" he called, his voice carrying a hint of worry.

A soft sound drew his attention to the couch, where Zehra was curled up, her body almost disappearing beneath a thick blanket. Her face was pale, her eyes heavy-lidded as she glanced up at him.

"I'm here," she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

Abbas crossed the room in a few quick strides, kneeling beside the couch. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said weakly, forcing a faint smile. "I'm just tired."

He didn't miss the way her voice trembled or the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Frowning, he reached out, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek and then her forehead.

"You're burning up," he said sharply, his voice tight with concern.

"It's nothing," she murmured, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "I just need to rest."

"You need more than rest," Abbas countered, his mismatched eyes narrowing.

Zehra's hand trembled as she reached out to push his hand away. "Don't make a big deal out of this, Abbas. I'll be fine."

He grabbed her hand gently but firmly, his expression softening. "Zehra, you can't just ignore this. You're sick. Let me help you."

Her resolve cracked at the warmth in his voice, and she gave a slight nod. "Okay."

Without wasting another second, Abbas pulled out his phone, dialing the family doctor. His movements were quick and efficient, but the edge in his voice betrayed the depth of his worry.

Within an hour, Zehra was in a private hospital room, the steady beeping of monitors a stark contrast to the stillness of her body. She lay on the bed, an IV drip attached to her arm, her face drawn and pale. Abbas sat beside her, his arms crossed as he listened to the doctor's assessment.

"She's severely dehydrated and appears to be fighting a viral infection," the doctor explained. "It's not uncommon after prolonged stress, but we'll need to monitor her and run some tests to rule out anything more serious."

"Is she going to be okay?" Abbas asked, his voice steady, though his jaw was tight.

"With proper care, yes," the doctor assured him. "But she'll need fluids, rest, and a few days of observation."

Abbas nodded curtly, his eyes flicking to Zehra. Even in her weakened state, she still tried to manage a faint smile for his benefit.

"I told you it wasn't serious," she said softly, her voice scratchy.

Abbas frowned, pulling the chair closer to her bed. "It's serious enough if you can't even stand. Stop downplaying this, jaan."

The endearment made her chest tighten, and she looked away, her cheeks warming. "I just didn't want to bother anyone."

Abbas let out a sharp breath, his frustration evident. "You're never a bother, Zehra. You're my life. How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe it?"

Her lips parted, but no words came out. The sincerity in his voice, the intensity of his gaze, left her unable to respond.

The next two days passed in a haze of IV drips, whispered reassurances, and Abbas's quiet presence. He rarely left her side, his laptop open on a small table as he worked while keeping an eye on her.

"You don't have to stay," Zehra murmured one afternoon, her voice still weak.

Abbas didn't even look up from his screen. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Abbas," she said, her tone a mix of exasperation and gratitude. "You have a company to run."

"And I'm running it," he replied smoothly, typing something before finally glancing at her. "But nothing is more important than you right now."

The firmness in his voice left no room for argument, and Zehra sighed, sinking back into her pillows.

"Why are you always so stubborn?" she muttered.

Abbas smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You're one to talk."

Despite her exhaustion, a small smile tugged at her lips. "Touché."

On the third day, Abbas arrived early with a bag of fresh clothes for Zehra and a flask of homemade soup.

"You made this?" she asked, eyeing the flask suspiciously.

"With my own two hands," Abbas said, setting it on the table beside her bed.

Zehra raised a brow. "Why do I feel like this is part of some elaborate plan to make me dependent on you?"

"Because it is," he replied smoothly, his mismatched eyes glinting with amusement.

Her laugh was soft but genuine, and she shook her head, feeling lighter for the first time in days.

That evening, Zainab arrived with Akbar in tow, their concern written all over their faces.

"Zehra, beta," Zainab said, her tone warm but firm as she adjusted the blanket over Zehra's legs. "Why didn't you tell us you were feeling this way?"

"I didn't want to worry anyone," Zehra admitted, her voice small.

"Worrying about you is part of the job," Akbar said, his booming voice surprisingly gentle. "You're family now. Start acting like it."

Tears welled up in Zehra's eyes, and she quickly looked down, overwhelmed by their kindness.

Zainab placed a hand on her shoulder, her voice softening. "We're here for you, always. Don't ever think you have to go through things alone."

That night, Abbas sat beside Zehra's bed, his fingers brushing against hers as she drifted in and out of sleep. She opened her eyes briefly, catching the tenderness in his gaze.

"Abbas," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Hmm?" he replied, leaning closer.

"Thank you," she whispered, her lips curling into the faintest smile.

His hand tightened around hers, his voice low and steady. "I'd do anything for you, jaan."

And as she drifted back to sleep, the warmth of his words wrapped around her like a shield, making her feel safe in a way she hadn't felt in years.