: Crimson Threads

A Blood-Stained Return

Night had long since drowned the city when Raghu’s SUV screeched to a halt in front of Rathore Mansion.

The doors flew open. Two men hauled Veeresh out, his charcoal shirt torn and sticky with blood from a fresh gash along his ribs.

Poornima was already at the entrance, eyes wide yet steady, a first-aid kit clutched to her chest.

> “Careful—bring him upstairs,” she ordered, voice all nurse, none of the trembling wife.

The Quiet Surgery

Inside their room she flicked on the bedside lamp, its honey glow replacing the harsh glare of danger.

Veeresh tried to brush her off with a gravelly “I’m fine,” but a wave of dizziness proved otherwise; he half-collapsed onto the mattress.

Poornima’s hands moved with the assurance of countless emergency shifts:

scissors severing ruined fabric,

saline sluicing crimson away,

needle and suture dancing through skin while she murmured, “This will hurt… I’m sorry… almost done.”

At last she pressed gauze in place and tucked him beneath a light quilt.

From her bag she produced two antibiotic tablets and a painkiller, waited until he swallowed, then stroked damp hair from his brow.

The Scarlet Promise

Before switching off the lamp she pulled a slender red thread from her dupatta’s border, tied it snugly around his wrist, and whispered against his ear:

> “For your safety and your happiness. …And, when you’re shirtless like this, Veeresh Rathore, my imagination runs wild.”

A shy smile curved her lips; she brushed a feathery kiss to his forehead and retreated to the couch, drawing a throw over herself.

> “Sleep freely,” she added softly. “Your wounds need space to heal.”

She closed her eyes, believing he’d already slipped into medicated unconsciousness.

What She Didn’t Know

Veeresh’s lashes fluttered—but remained shut. He’d heard every word.

Through the mist of painkillers his chest warmed in a way bullets never could. He lifted the bandaged arm, thumb grazing the crimson knot now guarding his pulse.

> Never, he vowed silently, will I remove this.

Sleep pulled him under, a faint smile ghosting across lips usually carved from stone, while the red thread glimmered in the lamplight like a silent oath between warrior and healer.