The stress of the accident and the constant weight of his "future memories" finally took their toll. Ashok's body gave up. He lay in his darkened apartment, shivering under a thick blanket, his head throbbing with a high fever.
In the previous timeline, he had suffered through this illness alone, staring at his phone, waiting for a text from Sony.
Knock. Knock.
Ashok groaned, forcing his eyes open. He stumbled to the door, expecting a delivery or a neighbor. Instead, he found Sony. She wasn't wearing her "Strict PA" office clothes; she was in a simple kurti, holding a thermal flask and a bag of groceries.
"Boss? You didn't answer my messages for three hours," she said, her voice frantic with overthinking. "I thought... I thought something happened after the accident. You look terrible."
"I'm fine, PA... just a bit of a cold," Ashok rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
"Liar," she murmured, placing her hand on his forehead. Her touch felt like ice against his burning skin. "You're burning up. Sit. Now."
For the next hour, Ashok watched through a feverish haze as Sony took over his home. She moved with a quiet, kind grace he had only glimpsed before. She didn't just bring him medicine; she went to the kitchen and made hot soup.
When she brought the bowl to him, the steam smelled of ginger and pepper—exactly how his mother used to make it.
"Eat," she commanded, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I can do it myself, Sony..."
"I said eat, Boss. In this house, I'm the Senior and you're the Junior until that fever goes down."
She blew on a spoonful of soup and held it to his lips. Ashok swallowed, the warmth spreading through his chest. It wasn't just the soup; it was her. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she looked at him with genuine worry.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked softly.
Sony paused, her eyes softening. "Because when I was scared at the police station, you didn't leave me. Because you bought me these," she pointed to the silver earrings he'd given her, which she was already wearing. "And because... I don't like it when the office is quiet. I realized today that I only like working if you're the one giving me orders."
Ashok felt his heart swell. He reached out and caught her hand—the one not holding the spoon.
"I have something to tell you," he whispered. "Your back... I noticed it at the office today. Your bag is old, Sony. The strap is hurting your shoulder."
Sony blinked, surprised. "You noticed that? I've had that bag since college. It's fine."
"It's not fine," Ashok said, his "naughty" side flickering even through the fever. "My PA should only carry the best. And since you're taking care of me... I'm going to have to pay you back. Maybe with a new bag? And maybe... you can teach me how to play that game you like? The one in the park?"
"Shuttle?" Sony laughed. "You'd be terrible at it, Boss. You're too shy to run around in public."
"Try me," Ashok challenged. "If I get better by Sunday, we go to the park. Basketball and shuttle. Just us."
Sony smiled—a real, bold smile—and leaned forward to press a damp cloth to his forehead. "It's a deal. But only if you finish this soup."
As he drifted off into a much more peaceful sleep, Ashok felt a profound sense of victory. In the last timeline, he was sick and lonely. In this one, he was sick and loved.