She did not speak. She looked tired, her skin pale against the white hospital sheets. But she was alive. She was okay.
Armaan went to her immediately, pulling a chair close to her bedside and taking her hand in both of his.
"Dadi, you scared me half to death. Why didn't you call someone if you were not feeling well."
His voice was stern, almost scolding, but I could hear the love and fear beneath the words.
Dadi gave him a weak smile but did not respond. She was probably still too tired to speak.
Armaan continued, his grip on her hand tightening.
"I am hiring a full time nurse. Someone who will be with you around the clock. No arguments on this.”
I stood back and watched them, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the worry still churning in my stomach. The love between them was so evident, so pure. This was what familylooked like. This was what it meant to have someone who would move mountains for you.
I had never really had that. Uncle had cared for me in his own way, but it had always been overshadowed by Aunty's resentment and Avija's indifference. But watching Armaan with his grandmother, I could see what unconditional love looked like.
And something in my chest ached with longing for that same kind of connection.
???
One week later, we finally brought Dadi home from the hospital.
Armaan had arranged everything with meticulous care. He had hired not just one but two nurses who would rotate shifts to ensure Dadi was never alone. He had converted one of the ground floor guest rooms into a temporary bedroom for her so she would not have to climb stairs. He had consulted with the doctors about diet, medication, physical therapy, everything.
He carried Dadi from the car into the house himself, refusing to let anyone else help, and settled her gently onto the bed in her temporary room. I watched from the doorway as he adjusted her pillows, made sure her water glass was within reach, checked that the call button for the nurse was working properly.
"Armaan, beta, I am fine," Dadi said with a tired but amused smile. "Stop fussing over me like I am made of glass."
"You hit your head and lost half your blood supply. I will fuss as much as I want."
I left them alone and went to the kitchen to prepare soup. Mamta ji had already started it, but I took over, wanting to do this myself. I made a simple dal soup with vegetables, something light and nourishing that would be easy on Dadi's stomach.
When it was ready, I poured it into a bowl and carried it carefully back to Dadi's room.
Armaan was still there, sitting in a chair beside her bed, talking to her in low tones about something. They both looked up when I entered.
"I brought soup for you, Dadi," I said softly, approaching the bed.
Dadi's face lit up.
"You made this yourself, beta?"
I nodded, settling onto the edge of the bed.
"Yes. It is very simple, just dal and vegetables. The doctor said you should eat light foods for the next few days."
I brought a spoonful to her lips, and she accepted it obediently. As I fed her slowly, one spoonful at a time, I could feel Armaan's eyes on me. When I glanced over at him, there was something in his expression I could not quite read. Something soft and warm that made my cheeks heat up.
After Dadi finished the entire bowl, she leaned back against the pillows with a contented sigh.
"That was delicious, Viya. Thank you, beta."
Then she looked between Armaan and me, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes despite her weakened state.
"You know, I am feeling quite bored being stuck in this room all day. The doctor said I should move around a little, get some fresh air. I would like to sit in the garden for a while."
Armaan immediately looked concerned.
