Abir sat on the edge of the bed, his body aching with fatigue. What had started as a mild fever had quickly spiraled into something far more serious. First, the telltale rash appeared, spreading across his chest and arms. Then came the persistent high fever, accompanied by severe abdominal pain. Mishti, his wife and doctor, had recognized the signs immediately: chickenpox coupled with typhoid fever.

She could hardly believe the cruel twist of fate. Mishti had spent years protecting her family from such illnesses, yet here was Abir, battling not just one but two debilitating diseases at once.

“Abir, you need to lie down,” Mishti urged as she gently guided him back to the bed.

“I’m so tired, Mishti,” Abir murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at her with eyes that were glazed over from fever and exhaustion.

“I know, love. I know,” Mishti replied, her heart aching at the sight of him. She had been working around the clock to care for him, barely sleeping herself. She had set up an IV drip in their bedroom, ensuring he stayed hydrated and received the necessary antibiotics. But watching him suffer like this, she felt a deep sense of helplessness that she had rarely experienced in her medical career.

Mishti checked his temperature again. The fever was still dangerously high. The chickenpox sores were now all over his body, itching and burning, while the typhoid was wreaking havoc internally, making every moment a battle. She administered another dose of antipyretic, hoping it would bring the fever down.

As the days passed, Abir’s condition remained critical. Mishti juggled her roles as a wife and doctor, but the emotional toll was immense. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes; she had to keep her emotions in check and focus on Abir’s recovery.

One night, after she had finally managed to get Abir to sleep, Mishti sat down at the dining table with her medical notes spread out in front of her. She had consulted with specialists and reviewed all the latest treatment protocols, but she still felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

She rested her head in her hands, exhaustion threatening to overtake her. But just as she began to close her eyes, she heard a weak voice call her name.

“Mishti…”

She was at his side in an instant. Abir was awake, his eyes searching for her in the dim light.

“I’m here, Abir,” she said softly, brushing a hand through his damp hair.

“Thank you… for everything you’re doing,” he whispered, his voice frail.

Mishti felt a lump form in her throat. “You don’t need to thank me, Abir. I’m your wife. I’ll always take care of you.”

Abir’s hand found hers, and he squeezed it weakly. “I know. But I can see how tired you are. You need to rest too, Mishti.”

Mishti shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ll rest when you’re better.”

Abir tried to smile, but the effort was too much. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting sleep take him once more.

The following week was a grueling test of endurance for both of them. Abir’s condition slowly began to improve, though the recovery was agonizingly slow. The chickenpox lesions started to scab over, and the typhoid symptoms gradually subsided as the antibiotics did their work. Mishti never left his side, tending to him with unwavering dedication.

Finally, one morning, Abir woke up feeling different. The fever had broken, and though he was still weak, he could feel the weight of the illness lifting. Mishti, who had fallen asleep in the chair beside him, stirred as he moved.

“Mishti,” he called out softly.

She awoke with a start, blinking the sleep from her eyes. When she saw the clarity in his gaze, her heart soared.

“Abir, how are you feeling?” she asked, leaning in to check his temperature.

“Better,” he replied, managing a small smile. “I think… I think the worst is over.”

Mishti felt tears of relief spill over. “You’ve been so strong, Abir. I’m so proud of you.”

He reached up to touch her face, his fingers brushing away a tear. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Mishti. You saved me.”

Mishti shook her head, her voice thick with emotion. “We saved each other, Abir.”

In that moment, Mishti realized that their bond had only grown stronger through this ordeal. They had faced a storm together, and though the scars would remain, they had emerged from it closer than ever.

“Rest now, Abir,” Mishti said, tucking the blankets around him. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”

Abir nodded, closing his eyes with a contented sigh. Mishti sat beside him, watching as he drifted off to sleep, her heart finally at peace. They had made it through the darkest of nights, and together, they would welcome the dawn of a new day.

The following morning, Mishti awoke in the armchair beside the couch, her body stiff from the awkward position she had slept in. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, until she saw Abir still lying on the couch. He was breathing evenly now, his fever had broken during the night.

Relief washed over Mishti, though she was still worried. She reached out to check his temperature again, her touch gentle so as not to wake him. The coolness of his skin was a welcome sign, but she knew better than to relax completely. He needed rest, proper nutrition, and a few days without the stress that had likely contributed to his illness.

Mishti stood up carefully, stretching her aching limbs, and went to the kitchen to prepare a light breakfast. She moved quietly, wanting to let Abir sleep as long as possible. As she cracked eggs into a bowl, she couldn’t help but think back to the early days of their relationship, when Abir was the one taking care of her—back when she was swamped with her residency, barely getting by on caffeine and determination. He had been her anchor then, grounding her with his quiet strength and unshakeable support.

Now, it was her turn to be his rock.

A soft shuffle behind her broke her reverie. She turned to see Abir standing in the doorway, looking groggy but determined to join her. "You should be resting," Mishti scolded gently, though her eyes softened at the sight of him.

"I couldn't stay in bed knowing you were up," Abir replied, his voice still a bit hoarse. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes meeting hers with a gratitude that spoke volumes. "You didn’t have to stay up all night."

Mishti shook her head, her tone affectionate. "Of course I did. You needed me. And right now, you need to sit down and eat something."

Abir smiled faintly and made his way to the table, taking a seat as Mishti set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him. "You always know how to make the simplest things taste amazing," he remarked, picking up a fork.

"It's the love," Mishti said with a wink, sitting down opposite him with her own plate. "I’ve been told it’s the secret ingredient."

Abir chuckled softly, and for a moment, the tension of the last few days lifted. They ate in companionable silence, the familiar rhythm of their morning routine a comfort to both.

After breakfast, Mishti insisted Abir return to bed, and though he protested, she could see the fatigue still weighing on him. She accompanied him to the bedroom, fluffing the pillows and making sure he had everything he needed before letting him rest.

As Abir settled in, Mishti sat beside him on the bed, her hand gently smoothing over his. "You need to take it easy for a few days, Abir. No work, no stress. Just focus on getting better."

"I will," he promised, squeezing her hand. "But only if you promise to take care of yourself too. I know how you get when you’re worried."

Mishti smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Deal. But right now, you’re my priority."

Abir nodded, his eyelids already growing heavy. As sleep began to pull him under, he murmured, "I’m so lucky to have you, Mishti."

Mishti watched him drift off, her heart full. "And I’m lucky to have you," she whispered, brushing a kiss across his knuckles before standing up.

She knew the next few days would be about balance—between caring for Abir, managing her work, and ensuring she didn’t exhaust herself in the process. But as she looked at her husband, peacefully sleeping, she felt a deep sense of purpose. They had always been each other's support, through the highs and the lows, and this was just another chapter in their story.

With a final glance at Abir, Mishti quietly left the room, determined to be the strong, steady presence he needed. And in the quiet moments that followed, as she returned to the tasks of the day, there was a new resolve in her heart—a vow to cherish the small moments, to never take their bond for granted, and to always be there, no matter what life threw their way.