Gentleman

~Nariya Patel~

Shards of brightness pierced my vision, each one intensifying the pain that reverberated through every inch of my body. Groaning, I attempted to shield my eyes, only to discover that my arms were unresponsive—numb. The sensation of numbness extended everywhere; I could feel my blood flow, yet it, too, seemed distant. Surprisingly, panic did not surge through me. After a while, the calmness of sunlight streaming in and the melancholy melody of birds chirping outside my window helped to subdue the pain.

Several minutes passed before my vision cleared enough to discern the structural integrity of the furnishings around me. The room, adorned in simple sage green and cream colors, featured minimal light grey wooden accents. A large window panel door likely led to an outdoor patio. However, what commanded central attention was the beautiful mural painted on the ceiling—a simplistic depiction of a sunny, bright, cloudy sky. It seamlessly brought the room together, subtly radiating warm and homely vibes. It felt perfect and surreal, a masterpiece that embraced me in its comforting ambiance.

A meow caught my attention, and I observed the black cat stretching and purring as she greeted me. A smile formed on my lips as I watched her rub against my numb body, her tiny presence providing a sheen of warmth wherever she touched.

"Hey there," I said, my voice barely rising above a whisper—a surprise even to me. It was then that I noticed how dry my mouth had become, and my own voice felt unfamiliar, as if it didn't belong to me.

Meowing to me one last time, the black cat shifted her body to jump off and walked towards the door, her voice calling out to someone. What an intelligent creature, I pondered, before I could hear heavy running footsteps rushing towards the room's door. A disheveled version of the man I had seen the previous night greeted my vision as he hurriedly exclaimed, "Oh, thank goodness, Holy Mary, you are awake. How do you feel? Do you need anything?"

His luscious hair was a mess of a nest, and his bright grey eyes were now laced with signs of sleepiness. A shadow had fallen on his features, and I could discern from the signs that he had endured sleepless nights taking care of me.

I observed him for a little while before my small voice could usher, "Wa-Water."

His eyes brightened up instantly, as if I were a fragile paper doll just mere seconds away from fading away. He replied, "Yes, of course," and promptly poured water from a pitcher into a glass. With the support of plush cushions behind my back, he helped me sit up, slowly guiding the glass to my lips. The tiny trickle of cool water had a welcoming effect on the dry walls of my throat, but it didn't last long. After just a sip, I started coughing, spitting water all over my caregiver. I had expected a sharp response to this embarrassment, but he eased my discomfort by rubbing my back carefully.

"I... I'm sorry," I meekly uttered, our last conversation still fresh in my mind. I won't lie; I was scared of this man. His touch, though gentle and caring, for some reason also repulsed me. Shifting my weight, I swayed away from his touch, and a hint of hurt flashed in his eyes. Instantly, it was gone as he murmured in the same tone as mine, "It's okay, moonpie. You are currently under the effect of painkillers, but slowly the effect will wear off. Then you would be able to move, but I need to warn you, it's not going to be painless. When you need something," he handed me a small buzzer, "just click the button. I'm going to call the doctor, and she will examine you," his emphasis heavy on the word 'she.'

The digital clock beside me displayed that it was already three in the afternoon. The cool autumn breeze, tinged with a hint of lingering summer air, created a perfect cocktail drifting through the panel window. The cat, named Nyx, possibly after the Greek goddess of night, added to the beautiful scene with her coat of dark midnight fur and sparkly blue eyes—like orbs of stars, I thought. She was back on the bed with me, and her companionship, along with the chirping from the branches outside the window, crafted a remarkably relaxing atmosphere.

I longed to melt into the warmth of the breeze when, slowly, the painkillers receded as the man had warned me. The pain, though gradual, lazily pricked my skin, shooting from the tips of my fingers to my ribs below and from my toes to my lower abdomen. With that, my temporary inability to move lifted, and I could gradually mobilize some of my body parts. First, I clenched my fingers and then attempted to move my arms; the right one felt a bit numb yet fine to move. However, when it came to shifting my left arm, a sharp, piercing pain cut throughout my body. A small cry escaped my lips as tears cascaded down my eyes. The pain was so intense that it rendered my will at a standstill; now, moving my legs felt like a far-fetched task.

"I didn't think you would be able to move so soon; if I had known, I would've warned you," a monotone voice, devoid of any hint of sympathy, caught my attention. The vibrant white of her coat contrasted sharply against the warm tones of my room. As if she were an alien presence, her piercing gaze scanned me once before her brisk steps approached me in a quick motion. Ignoring my groaning self, she assessed my vitals before picking up a needle and injecting it into the IV catheter. The pain slowly subsided as I watched her with precise professionalism, trotting around me.

The pain had sent my brain buzzing with adrenaline as she vaguely explained some medical jargon, detailing how I had a bone shifted in my left arm and right leg. She provided me with a temporary splint for the bones to set into their original position, emphasizing that it would take weeks to heal, and I shouldn't be foolish enough to move until then. Her lengthy explanation also included some other details, but, assessing my condition, she sighed and resigned to inform all of this to my guardian.

As she packed her belongings into her suitcase, she informed me, "Also, your back has a lot of scratches. They will heal but might leave marks if not treated properly, so," she pulled out a new sealed tub from her medical bin and placed it next to my bedside, "I advise you to apply this every night. Good day!" With that, she strode out with the lightning speed she had carried herself in with, leaving me with the mechanical sounds of the machines beside me. Sighing, I looked at my arm, covered in white. My left hand, I wondered, what irony, I thought—the hand that had carried my entire workload my whole life was now rendered useless, just like me.

A knock caught my attention, and I saw him standing at the threshold of the room. A bit hesitant, he looked at me. I tilted my head in confusion. What had happened to this brash man? I didn't take him to be such a gentleman, especially in his own house. And then it hit me—the flinch. I pushed myself away from him, noticing the hurt in his eyes. He was being considerate, an odd change. Nodding after a while, I gave him permission, but even then, he paced himself carefully, tiptoeing almost as if even the tiniest sound of his walking might hurt me, maintaing a respectful distance from me he asked,

"I heard what the doctor said. She told me that after a meal, you can take your medicines. I'll prepare something light for you. Is there anything particular you would like to eat?"

If he hadn't asked it, framed it with such gentleness laced with genuine concern, I might have assumed he was just pretending. People around me had the tendency to pretend, asking something only for its meaning to be something else. I, too arrogant and brash, was a nimble fool who had failed to understand that for the longest time. When I did, I modified my tendencies to always refuse fake concern from those around me. However, for some reason, his voice, his glassy eyes, his lips that huffed small breaths in grief, made me open up just a bit. I said, "Um, I don't know if you could make it, but my mom used to make this Indian dish using bottle gourd. It's called Lauki ki Sabji in Hindi." I cast my eyes down as the words trailed off into almost a whisper. It felt absurd to ask this man, whom I didn't even know, to cook a dish that was not that well known to foreigners. As I bit my lip, contemplating whether to tell him to forget what I had uttered, he responded.

"Ok, so you would like it with flatbread Roti or rice?"

Shock surged through my body, and I widened my eyes; a small voice left my lips, "Roti and mango pickle."

With a curt nod, he wished me a good rest and left the room. My head now fully laid on the bed, I watched the ceiling and its clouds shift. Maybe it was the shot from earlier, or genuinely, my body was tired; a nap was a fast and welcoming gesture to my body.

Tousled in my sheets, I woke up to the growling of my stomach, and the delicious aroma of spices filled the room. Properly sealed in a beeswax wrap to contain the heat, both the curry and roti awaited my taste buds. Shifting just a little, I adjusted the trolley table and aligned it perfectly with my bed. As I peeled the wrap to reveal the delicacy in front of me, I revealed the delicacy infront of me. Infact bottle gourd wasn't a fancy dish at all. In fact, it was prepared as a simple but hearty meal for dinner in our household. My mother, an American woman, had fallen in love with the rich and diverse culture and food that my father's Indian heritage offered. Soon after meeting him, she had shifted her taste palate to accommodate the varied spices of Indian cuisine. However, as she often told me, Indian cuisine was not always about rich and spicy food, as many foreigners perceived it to be. In fact, most Indian households ate simplistic and hearty dishes like bottle gourd, fried or boiled with spices, along with flatbreads.

After I had filled myself to my heart's content, stuffed my insides, a tiny note alongside a dish filled with pills and a glass of water caught my eye. There were a total of five pills, which I grudgingly swallowed one by one. Afterward, I diverted my attention to the note, on which, in gorgeous calligraphy, was written,

'Eat your pills slowly after finishing your meal, and once you are finished, I have placed an Earl Stanley Gardner book next to you on your nightstand. Although I urge you not to deprive yourself of sleep just because you are indulged in the mystery.

Once you are going to sleep, click the buzzer, and I will fetch your dishes after you have gone to sleep.

Goodnight and get well soon.

Alexie'

My toes curled under my sheets, at least the toes of the foot that worked. A tinge of blush formed on my cheek as I smelled the vanilla-scented note. "So adorable," I whispered to myself before picking up the Perry Mason beside me, the one that I had been currently reading and was previously in my bag. But before opening the bookmarked page, I stuck the little cute note on the backside of the book, realizing this might not be the last of them.