Abir trudged into the house, his shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. The week-long business trip to Delhi had drained him, both physically and mentally. As he entered the living room, he saw Mishti, his wife, engrossed in a medical journal. Her focus was intense, her brow slightly furrowed, but the moment she heard his footsteps, her eyes lifted, softening immediately at the sight of him.

"You're home early," Mishti said, setting the journal aside and standing up to greet him. But as she approached, she noticed the unusual paleness of his face, the sluggishness in his movements. Her hand instinctively reached out to touch his forehead. "Abir, you're burning up!"

Abir tried to muster a reassuring smile, but it faltered. "It's just a little fever, Mishti. I'll be fine after some rest."

Mishti’s expression turned serious, her professional instincts kicking in. "Sit down. Let me check your temperature properly." She guided him to the couch and quickly fetched a thermometer from the first-aid kit.

As she waited for the reading, Mishti observed Abir more closely. His usually vibrant eyes were dull, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. She could see the fatigue etched deep into his features, the toll of long hours and relentless travel.

The thermometer beeped, and Mishti's heart sank as she read the number. "103.7°F, Abir! This is not something to take lightly. You should have called me as soon as you started feeling unwell."

Abir closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushions. "I didn’t want to worry you, Mishti. I know how busy you've been with your patients and the new research project."

"Abir," Mishti said softly, her voice laced with concern, "you are my priority. You should never hesitate to tell me when you're unwell. Let me take care of you now, okay?"

Abir nodded, too drained to argue. Mishti immediately sprang into action, preparing a cold compress to bring down the fever while also arranging for a light, nutritious meal. As she worked, she spoke gently to him, her voice a soothing balm to his weary soul.

"Have you been eating properly? Drinking enough water? What about sleep? You look like you haven't slept in days."

Abir gave a weak chuckle. "You sound like a doctor."

"I *am* a doctor," she reminded him with a soft smile, but there was no mistaking the worry in her eyes. "But right now, I’m your wife. And I hate seeing you like this."

"I’m sorry, Mishti. I should have been more careful."

She sighed, placing the cold compress on his forehead. "No need for apologies, just rest. I’ll take care of everything."

Mishti hovered by his side, ensuring he was comfortable, checking his temperature regularly, and urging him to drink fluids. As the night wore on, she sat by his side, holding his hand, watching over him with the same dedication she gave to her patients—only this time, the care was filled with a depth of love that transcended her professional duties.

Abir, in his feverish haze, felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. Despite his discomfort, he was comforted by the knowledge that Mishti was there, her presence a beacon of warmth and safety. As sleep finally claimed him, he murmured, "I don't know what I’d do without you, Mishti."

Mishti squeezed his hand gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his damp forehead. "And you’ll never have to find out. Just rest, my love. I'll be right here."

Abir had been battling a relentless fever for days. His once strong and vibrant frame now lay frail and weak on the bed, his breaths shallow and labored. Each cough seemed to steal more of his strength, leaving him exhausted and drenched in sweat. Mishti, his wife and a dedicated doctor, watched over him with unwavering vigilance.

Mishti sat beside him, her eyes filled with concern. She had seen many patients in her career, but it was different when the person lying in bed was the love of her life. She had been up for nights, monitoring his temperature, administering medication, and doing everything in her power to bring him comfort. Yet, the fever persisted, refusing to yield.

“Abir, how are you feeling?” Mishti asked gently, placing a cool hand on his forehead.

Abir opened his eyes, barely able to muster a weak smile. “I’ve been better,” he whispered, his voice raspy.

“You’re going to be okay,” she reassured him, though the worry in her voice was unmistakable.

Mishti had always been the strong one, the one who held things together. But now, seeing Abir so vulnerable, a wave of helplessness washed over her. She had never imagined a day when she would see him like this, and it tore at her heart.

As the night wore on, Mishti continued her watch, refusing to leave his side. She wiped the sweat from his brow, adjusted his pillows, and whispered soothing words, even as exhaustion threatened to overcome her.

“Mishti, you need to rest,” Abir managed to say during a brief moment of clarity.

“I’ll rest when you’re better,” she replied softly, her eyes never leaving his.

Despite her exhaustion, Mishti’s mind raced with thoughts of what more she could do. She reviewed his symptoms, the treatments she had administered, and the possible diagnoses. She knew she had to remain composed and clinical, but the emotional toll was undeniable.

As dawn broke, Mishti noticed a subtle change in Abir’s breathing. His fever seemed to be breaking, and though he was still weak, there was a slight improvement. Relief washed over her, but she knew they weren’t out of the woods yet. She couldn’t let her guard down.

The next few days were a blur of tending to Abir, consulting with colleagues, and trying new treatments. Mishti’s determination never wavered. Slowly but surely, Abir began to recover. His cough lessened, and the fever no longer held him in its grip.

One evening, as the sun set and cast a warm glow over their bedroom, Abir turned to Mishti with a look of gratitude in his eyes. “You saved me,” he said softly.

Mishti shook her head, tears welling up. “I just did what I had to. You’re the one who fought through it.”

“No, Mishti,” Abir insisted, his voice stronger now. “You’re my strength. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

In that moment, Mishti realized that they had both fought this battle together. It wasn’t just the medication or the treatments; it was their love and bond that had seen them through. Mishti leaned in and kissed Abir’s forehead, finally allowing herself to feel the relief she had been holding back for so long.

“We’ll get through anything, Ajeeb Rajvansh,” she whispered. “As long as we have each other.”