It started with a simple cough. By the time evening came, Mahiru was lying in bed, flushed with fever. I panicked, unsure of what to do.
"You don't have to fuss over me," she murmured weakly.
"Like I'm going to leave you alone," I scoffed, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead.
She gave me a small, tired smile. "You're really sweet, Amane."
I sighed. "You take care of me all the time. Let me return the favor."
She reached for my hand, squeezing it lightly. "Thank you."
As I stayed by her side that night, watching over her, I realized—this was what love meant. Taking care of each other, through sickness and health.