They stand in silence for a beat. And then Pradeep's eyes lower.
"You're limping," he says, his brow furrowing slightly.
Anaya tries to shrug, brushing it off like it's no big deal. "It's nothing. I slipped outside. Totally minor. Not even worth-"
"Sit," he says.
She blinks. "What?"
"There's no nurse here right now. You're hurt. Sit."
It's not a request. It's not a command. It's something in-between-gentle but firm. The way he always speaks when he's worried but pretending not to be. The kind of voice that doesn't leave space for argument, even though it somehow feels like you're still being given a choice.
Reluctantly, she lowers herself onto the nearest chair, wincing slightly as she bends her ankle.
Pradeep crouches beside her, resting one knee on the tiled floor. His hands, usually so reserved in his pockets or crossed loosely over his chest, now move with careful intention. He lifts the hem of her jeans just above the ankle, his fingers barely grazing her skin.
"It's a little swollen," he murmurs, more to himself than to her.
Anaya watches him, her heart doing that stupid thing where it forgets its job for a second. He's focused-completely absorbed in the small task in front of him. Calm. Patient. As if this is just another math problem he's solving, another quiet puzzle he's determined to figure out.
She hadn't even realized how much she was leaning toward him until now.
He glances around quickly, opening a nearby drawer and pulling out a basic first aid kit. As soon as he snaps it open, the sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic fills the small nursing room-clean and biting, making Anaya wrinkle her nose instinctively.
Pradeep picks up a brown-tinted bottle and unscrews the cap. "This'll sting," he warns, his voice almost too casual.
"Wait, what?" she starts to protest, but it's already too late.
He dabs a piece of gauze in the solution and presses it lightly against the scrape.
"Ahh-oww!" Anaya yelps, jerking slightly in the chair.
"Easy, easy," he says, laughing under his breath. "You're scaring the ghosts."
She glares at him through narrowed eyes. "That burns! That's not normal!"
He leans back just a little, mock-serious. "Pain builds character. You'll thank me later."
Still holding her ankle carefully, he shakes his head in quiet amusement. "So... you were the noise from the hallway earlier?"
Anaya blinks, still wincing. "Maybe. Depends. How much noise are we talking?"
"Sounded like someone dropped an entire bookshelf. Or their dignity." His mouth twitches, fighting a grin.
She groans, covering her face with her hands. "Kill me. Just kill me now."
"No need," Pradeep says, voice light. "Looks like you're handling that pretty well yourself."
Anaya lowers her hands just enough to stick her tongue out at him, which only earns her a soft chuckle.
He returns to his work, more focused now, dabbing gently around the bruised skin. She flinches again when he presses a little too close to a sore spot.
Pradeep pauses, glancing up at her. "You're worse than Deepak when he sprained his wrist playing badminton," he says, teasing. "He screamed like someone cut off his hand."
"I'm being brave," she mutters.
"Oh, definitely," he says solemnly. "The bravest patient I've seen all day."
"You mean the only patient you've seen all day."
He shrugs without looking up. "Details."
The gauze shifts against her skin again, tugging a little at the tender edges of the scrape. She hisses through her teeth but bites down the sound this time, determined not to give him more material to tease her with.
Pradeep seems to notice. He glances up again, a rare softness flashing across his face-quick, almost hidden-but then he's back to his careful wrapping.
She tries to focus on something else-the soft drag of the bandage against her skin, the cold snap of the air conditioner rattling faintly overhead, the faint, familiar hum of voices and footsteps outside the door.
Inside the room, it feels almost too quiet. The only sounds are the gentle rustle of gauze and the occasional scratch of Pradeep adjusting the wrap around her ankle.
He works methodically, looping the bandage neatly, securing it without pulling too tight. His fingers are steady, moving with a kind of confidence she wouldn't have expected.
"You've done this before," she says after a moment, watching him.
Pradeep lifts a shoulder slightly. "Had to. Deepak's hopeless. Always breaking something."
A faint smile touches her lips. "And you're the family medic?"
He ties off the bandage with a small, precise knot. "More like the emergency department when no one else wants to deal with it."
Anaya laughs under her breath, the sound small but real.
Another sting flares as he presses the edges down one last time, and she lets out a sharp little squeak.
Pradeep glances up, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you don't want a lollipop after this?"
She sticks her foot out toward him a little threateningly. "Keep talking and you'll need a first aid kit yourself."
He smirks but doesn't back away. If anything, he seems even more settled there, crouched in front of her, like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.
She can feel the lingering tingle of antiseptic against her skin, the warmth of the bandage now holding her ankle snugly. The small space between them feels heavier somehow, filled with unspoken things she can't name yet.
Pradeep adjusts the last loop of the gauze, checking it with a soft, thoughtful touch. His fingers linger for half a second longer than necessary.
And then he lifts his head-still close, still grounded-and the chapter closes on the unfinished quiet between them.
---
To be continued...