The infirmary door swung open with a groan, admitting a grim procession of guards. Two carried the lifeless body of the prison boss, his reign of terror finally and brutally ended. Others roughly manacled Karim and Jacky, their faces a tapestry of defeat, fury, and fear. Jacky, his eyes burning with venomous hatred, paused before being led away, spitting a threat at Neha.
"I'll get you for this, Neha," he hissed, his voice a low growl. "You won't escape."
Neha, her focus solely on the unconscious form on the bed, barely registered his words. With practiced hands, she gently lifted Arun, his skin clammy and pale, and laid him on the infirmary bed. His breathing was shallow, his pulse thready. A wave of fear washed over her as she began tending to his wounds, cleaning and bandaging with a practiced efficiency that belied her inner turmoil. He remained unconscious for seven agonizing days, each one a torment of worry and uncertainty.
When Arun finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by the soft glow of the infirmary's single lamp and the gentle rise and fall of Neha's breathing. She lay asleep beside his bed, her head resting on her folded arms. He watched her, mesmerized. The delicate curve of her cheekbones, the long, dark lashes that fanned across her skin, the slight frown that creased her brow even in sleep – all conspired to paint a picture of vulnerability and strength. How beautiful she is, he thought, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the fever that still lingered in his body.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a harsh glare on Neha's face. Arun, with a tenderness that surprised even himself, rose unsteadily and moved to the window, blocking the intrusive rays with his own body. He stood there for a long moment, simply watching her sleep, a sense of peace settling over him like a warm blanket.
The infirmary door creaked open again, breaking the spell. A nurse bustled in, followed by a watchful guard. Arun quickly turned away, feigning an interest in the sunrise that painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson.
"How are you feeling, Arun?" the nurse asked, her voice brisk and efficient.
"Much better," he replied, offering her a weak smile.
The nurse gently roused Neha. "Time to check on your other patients," she reminded her.
Neha stretched, blinking in the sudden light. She saw Arun standing by the window, a silent guardian against the sun's intrusion. A wave of gratitude washed over her, leaving a warmth in its wake.
"Arun, you're awake!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with relief. "It's been seven days!"
"Seven days?" He frowned, the memories of the past week a hazy blur. "What happened?"
"I'll tell you later," she promised, her eyes filled with concern. "During my night shift."
"I'll be waiting," he said, a faint smile touching his lips.
"Take care," she replied, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she turned and left the infirmary.
In the sterile environment of the courtroom, the judge, his face etched with the weight of his decision, pronounced the sentences.
"While Karim acted in self-defense," he declared, his voice resonating with authority, "his actions were nonetheless unlawful. His prison sentence is hereby increased by five years. Jacky, for your willing participation in the violence, your sentence is increased by eight years."
Jacky and Karim were led away, their hands bound, their hopes of freedom receding like a distant mirage.
Back in the grimy depths of the prison, a strange transformation had taken place. As Karim, his demeanor hardened by the recent events, entered the cell block, a hush fell over the inmates. Then, a single voice, rough and gravelly, broke the silence.
"New king!" it cried. And then the others joined in, their voices rising in a crescendo of "Long live Karim! Long live the king!"
Karim, his hands still shackled, raised his arms in a gesture of acknowledgment, a flicker of pride momentarily softening his harsh features.
Later, he hurried to the infirmary, his face etched with worry. He embraced Arun tightly, the warmth of the gesture a stark contrast to the cold steel bars that surrounded them.
"How are you, brother?" he asked, his voice gruff but filled with concern.
"I'm good, thanks to you," Arun replied, returning the hug with a ferocity that surprised him. "You saved my life. You're more like a father to me now."
Karim's laugh boomed through the small room, momentarily dispelling the gloom. "I'm not that old! And guess what? Because of my 'heroics,' I'll be released on the same day as you now."
"What?" Arun's brow furrowed. "But they increased your sentence..."
"Don't worry about it, kid," Karim said, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's not your fault."
"But..."
"I have to go now," Karim interrupted, his expression turning serious. "New king, new responsibilities. Apparently, there are a lot of 'ceremonial duties' involved." He grinned, then sobered. "We'll talk later."
As twilight deepened, painting the sky in hues of purple and orange, Neha returned to the infirmary. She settled into a chair beside Arun's bed, her presence a comforting balm to his troubled spirit. She told him about the prison uprising, Karim's unexpected rise to power, and the fates of Jacky and the prison boss. He listened intently, the story unfolding like a dark and twisted fairytale.
"Now it's your turn," she said softly, her voice a gentle invitation. "Tell me why you're here."
Arun hesitated, the weight of his past pressing down on him. Then, in a voice choked with emotion, he poured out his story. He spoke of the tragic deaths of his parents, the horrifying voice that tormented him, the brutal reality of prison life. He confessed his deepest fears and darkest secrets, baring his soul to this woman who had shown him such unexpected kindness.
"I miss my mom and dad so much," he sobbed, burying his face in his hands, the pain of their loss as fresh as the day it happened.
Neha, her heart aching for him, reached out and gently pulled him into her arms. She held him close, stroking his hair, murmuring words of comfort until his sobs subsided. He clung to her, drawing strength from her warmth and compassion.
As he pulled away, he looked into her eyes, a flicker of something new and unfamiliar sparking within him. He realized he was holding a beautiful woman in his arms, a woman who had shown him kindness and compassion when he least deserved it. She cares about me, he thought, a surge of hope rising within him, tentative but real.
But just as quickly as it had come, the hope vanished. The evil voice slithered back into his mind, its icy grip tightening around his soul. I'll ruin this for you, it hissed, seizing control of his body, twisting his newfound tenderness into something dark and ugly. He leaned in, his lips seeking hers, his movements clumsy and desperate.
Neha, shocked and repulsed, pushed him away, slapping him hard across the face. The sound cracked through the quiet infirmary, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
"What are you doing?" she cried, her voice filled with a mixture of anger and fear, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Arun, you're just a kid!"