Under Her Care 4

Main Characters Reminder :

Rajiv Mehra – 42, 5’3”, 64 kg, Vice President of a big corporate house, recently had a knee surgery.

Ananya Thomas – 38, 5’9”, 85 kg, strong, calm physiotherapy nurse assigned to him.

Pushpa ( Nurse ) - 45, 5’10”, 88 kg

Lata ( Nurse ) -      25, 5’11”, 80 kg



Rajiv had just finished his morning therapy session — a little limping, some shoulder movement. He was tired, but not in pain.

He was about to settle in bed when Lata burst into the room.

“Sir! Sir! Big news!” she announced, bouncing in excitement.

Pushpa followed, holding a large lunch basket. “We’re having lunch in the garden.”

Rajiv blinked. “Who’s we?”

“You, me, Lata, and the mango trees,” Pushpa said cheerfully.

“I’m not walking to the garden.”

“Of course not,” Lata grinned. “You’ll be delivered. Like biryani.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who’s carrying me?”

They answered together: “We are.”

Pushpa came over, adjusted her dupatta, and looked down at him like a mother about to carry her favorite baby. “Hold on, sir. Arms around my neck, please. We’ll try a new style today.”

Before he could react, she leaned in, slid one strong arm under his thighs, and another behind his back — but this time, she stood upright and hugged him close to her chest, his arms automatically going around her neck.

His face was suddenly buried against her large shoulder, and his entire body pressed against her front.

“Wha—Pushpa ji—this is a bit—”

“Oh hush,” she said, walking steadily. “You’re light enough to carry with one hand.”

She shifted her grip slightly and actually held him with one hand under his bottom, her other arm free to open the door.

“Dear God,” he muttered into her shoulder.

From behind, Lata yelled, “Look at our VIP in her arms! Madam Pushpa, please don’t drop the Managing Director!”

Pushpa replied calmly, “He’s not going anywhere. He’s stuck against my bosom like a sticker.”

Once they reached the garden, she placed him gently on a garden lounger.

But not for long.

Because Lata suddenly knelt beside him and said, “My turn!”

“What? No! You’re half my age!”

“Exactly!” she said, and before he could stop her, scooped him up in a full cradle carry — like he weighed no more than a backpack.

She even bounced him once in her arms.

Rajiv’s eyes widened. “Lata! Put me down!”

“Oh no, sir,” she teased. “This is my dream. A powerful corporate VP, trapped in the arms of a 20-year-old nurse with zero respect for status!”

He groaned.

“I should write a novel,” she added. “‘The Chairman and the Cradle.’ Bestseller!”

Pushpa howled with laughter from the bench.

Lata began pacing around the garden slowly, rocking him.

“You know what your problem is?” she said thoughtfully. “You’re very portable.”

“I will sue you all,” he mumbled.

“You say that,” Lata said, adjusting his weight easily, “but I think you like being carried. I’ve seen the way you relax after five seconds.”

He blushed. “I do not.”

She stopped, lowered her face close to his ear, and whispered, “Then why is your head on my chest right now?”

He quickly looked away.

Ananya appears – watching silently
from the garden steps, Ananya had been watching the entire scene — arms folded, eyes soft.

She saw Pushpa and Lata take turns carrying him, cuddling him, teasing him, and saw that Rajiv, despite his mock protests, was glowing — cheeks pink, eyes bright, lips trying not to smile.

She walked over slowly.

Lata grinned, still holding Rajiv. “Ma’am, should I pass him to you now? Like a wedding varmala?”

Rajiv groaned. “I hate all of you.”

Ananya smiled, her voice calm. “Let them tease you. You’re surrounded by women who adore you. That’s rare.”

He looked up at her, still in Lata’s arms. “Do you?”

She blinked, just once. “You’ll know soon.”


They sat down finally.

Ananya took the bench.

Pushpa spread out the lunch.

Lata sat cross-legged on the grass.

Rajiv sat directly on Ananya’s lap, sideways, his legs stretched along the bench, one arm around her waist.

Ananya fed him gently — small morsels of lemon rice and paneer.

Every few bites, Lata would offer a spoon too, holding it up like she was feeding a toddler.

“Say aaaa,” she joked. “C’mon baby sahib, one more bite for mummy nurse.”

He glared at her but opened his mouth.

After a while, Pushpa handed him a soft mango slice.

He bit into it, juice dribbling slightly down his chin.

Before he could react, Ananya took a napkin and wiped his mouth slowly.

He didn’t speak.

He just leaned his head on her shoulder.

And everyone, even Lata, went quiet for a moment.

They ate like that under the trees.

Surrounded by the smell of earth, food, and flowers.

A grown man on a woman’s lap.
Two nurses in cheerful chaos.
And a kind of love blooming that no one had expected — but everyone could feel.


It was close to midnight.

The corridor was quiet — lights low, the world asleep.

Rajiv sat upright in bed, wrapped in a light shawl. His leg was still in the soft brace. He stared at the door, waiting.

At exactly twelve, Ananya appeared — her hair open, flowing over one shoulder, wearing a soft off-white kurta with deep blue embroidery. She looked ethereal in the dim glow, like someone who belonged more to night than day.

“You ready?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “I want to see the stars. I haven’t seen anything above my ceiling in weeks.”

She stepped closer, cupped his cheek with one hand — and without another word, slid her other arm under his knees, the familiar curve of his body rising easily into her arms.

She carried him down the hall, up the slow ramp to the rooftop — his head resting against her collarbone, shawl wrapped around them both.

Neither spoke.

Not yet.

Then, as always, placed him gently into her lap, sideways, cradling his torso in the crook of her arm. His back pressed against her belly, his legs stretched across the bench, one of her palms resting on his chest.

He leaned into her like a tide against the shore.

There was no tension.

Only breath.
Moonlight.
And the warm, living cushion of her body beneath his cheek.

“I’ve lost count,” he said quietly, “of how many times I’ve rested in your lap.”

She smiled faintly, fingers in his hair. “Eighteen times.”

He blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Of course. I remember every time.”

He let out a breathless laugh. “That’s... beautiful.”

She looked down at him, brushing his forehead. “You melt the moment I lift you now.”

“I know.”

“You like being held.”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t… before. I never let anyone touch me even. Not even my ex-wife. She once called me ‘emotionally distant.’”

Ananya didn’t react. Just gently pulled the shawl around him again.

“I think I’ve fallen,” he whispered suddenly.

She froze slightly — but didn’t stop stroking his hair.

“I don’t know when it happened. Maybe the night you carried me through the storm. Or when you wiped my face after lunch. Or maybe... when you held me and let me cry without saying a word.”

He looked up at her, eyes dark, open.

“I feel safe in your arms. And warm. And known. I don’t remember the last time I felt all three at once.”

She said nothing.

Not yet.

She just ran her thumb along his cheekbone. Soft. Thoughtful.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he added. “I just… needed to tell you. That this — being here, like this — means everything to me.”

Her Silence, Her Answer.
Then, gently, she bent forward.

And pressed her lips softly to his forehead.

Not a kiss of passion.
A kiss of truth.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely a whisper.

“I was afraid to fall for you. I carry people, not hearts.”

He swallowed.

“But this heart,” she continued, touching his chest with one fingertip, “has made me stop fearing. I carry you now... not because you need it — but because I want to.”

Cradled, Confessed, Complete.
She slowly reclined slightly on the bench, shifting so that his head rested now fully on her chest. Her arms curled around his back.

He let out a breath — not of pain, but of peace.

The stars above didn’t blink.
The breeze barely moved.

And somewhere inside them both, something clicked into place.


Later, when the night had cooled and his breathing had deepened, she whispered, “Ready to go back?”

He murmured, half-asleep, “Carry me just a little longer.”

She smiled.

Then slid her arms under him again — slow, smooth, reverent — and lifted him into her cradle, his shawl slipping slightly as his head fell softly against her shoulder.

She carried him back down the stairs — not as a nurse, not as a helper — but as a woman who now carried something far more precious than a body.

She carried his trust. His heart. His surrender.


The Final Morning Check-Up.
Dr. Bose flipped through the medical file with a small smile.

“Well done, Mr. Mehra. Healing has progressed beautifully. You’re cleared for normal walking in 2 days. Discharge papers tomorrow. No more crutches after next week.”

Pushpa clapped lightly. “Bravo, beta!”

Lata grinned. “No more being carried like a baby. Your princely days are over.”

Rajiv smiled politely.

But something inside him wilted.

He looked toward the window. He couldn’t explain the tightness in his chest.

No more being carried.
No more being rocked.
No more evenings in Ananya’s lap under the stars.


That afternoon, Ananya was different.

She came for the dressing change, spoke only in short sentences. Clinical. Efficient.

No gentle teasing. No fingers in his hair. No lingering glances.

He sat up. “Everything alright?”

She smiled faintly. “Just a lot of patients today. Your care is almost complete.”

Almost.

That word hit hard.

She didn’t touch him again that evening.

That night, his mother came to visit.

They sat together in the common area. Rajiv was unusually quiet.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t want to leave.”

He looked up in surprise. “It’s not that. I’m just… comfortable here.”

She gave him a look that mothers specialize in.

He sighed.

“Ma, she’s… different. I feel like I belong when I’m in her arms. And now—”

“You’ll be walking again,” his mother said softly. “But will you be whole?”

He blinked.

She leaned closer. “You have my blessing. She’s a good woman. Strong. Soft in the right places. And I’ve never seen you smile the way you do in her lap.”

His eyes welled up slightly.

She patted his cheek. “So, go to her. Let her carry your heart now.”

Unspoken Goodbye.
That night, the wind was cool. The garden quiet.

Ananya stood near the gate, checking something on her clipboard.

Rajiv, now walking slowly with a cane, approached her.

She didn’t see him at first.

He stopped.

And said simply, “One last time.”

She turned. Her eyes widened slightly.

Then softened.

Without a word, she stepped toward him.

Slid her arms under his back and knees.
Lifted him.

Held him.

It was slow. Reverent.
Like picking up something fragile that had become precious.

He sagged into her arms, arms around her neck, his cheek against her shoulder.

Neither of them spoke.

She sat on the bench, his body still in her lap, like all the nights before.

He looked up. “Are you pushing me away because I’m getting better?”

Her voice caught slightly. “I’m pushing you away because I’m falling in too deep.”

He touched her chin. Lifted it gently.

“Then fall,” he whispered. “And I’ll fall with you.”

“Lata, look! Our jamai babu is getting cuddled again!”

Pushpa: “That boy’s going to end up living in her lap. Should we order him a blanket and a baby bottle?”

Lata giggled. “I’ll knit him a bib. ‘Property of Sister Ananya.’”

Rajiv closed his eyes and smiled. “I hear you two.”

Pushpa came around the bush with a mock salute. “Sir, we are only here to confirm your permanent transfer to the Nursery Ward.”

Ananya shook her head. “Go away.”

Lata: “We’ll go. But just one photo for the wall?”

The Sun Sets.
But neither Rajiv nor Ananya moved.

He was still on her lap. Arms curled in. Her hand resting over his heart.

“What happens now?” he asked quietly.

She replied, “You go home. But I think… maybe I’ll follow. When I’m ready.”

“Promise?”

“Only if you promise to let me carry you whenever I want.”

He smiled.

“Even if I’m 80?”

“Especially then.”



(To be continued....)