My Cruel Love
On a stormy, fearsome night…
Arman ran through an unfamiliar road, Maya unconscious in his arms, her body limp against his chest.
A tiny roadside café became their only refuge — where the warmth of two strangers began to melt the ice that fate had placed between them.
Maya's fevered skin burned hotter than the storm outside. And beside a stranger's bed, in the faint glow of an oil lantern, a man stayed up all night — not out of duty, but something deeper…
This night would not just be about survival.
It would reshape everything between them — forever.
Arman held Maya tightly against his chest. The storm was so intense, even walking was difficult. It felt like the wind could sweep away even a strong man like Arman. Everything was dark, lit only occasionally by flashes of lightning.
Clutching Maya, Arman slowly made his way to a small roadside café. When he reached the door, he kicked it with his foot while holding Maya and shouted,
"Is anyone there? Please help us! Open the door!"
But the howling wind and crashing thunder drowned out his voice. He banged harder with his foot. Just then, he heard a sound from inside — someone was coming.
The door creaked open, revealing a thin, middle-aged man. Warm light spilled out from inside, casting a faint glow around them.
Arman had guessed right — it was a small café with a living area attached behind it, more like a tiny home built onto a roadside shop.
The man looked concerned.
"What's going on, son? Out this late in this storm? Wait... is someone in your arms? Come in quickly — you'll catch your death out here!"
Arman carried Maya inside. There was a bench near the front. Without hesitation, he laid her down. His arms were numb from carrying her so long.
Maya was unconscious, and her scarf had slipped off. Feeling awkward in front of the older man, Arman gently adjusted it to cover her again.
"Our car broke down nearby. She passed out — I think she got too frightened by the thunder."
The man asked,
"Is she your wife?"
Before Arman could answer, a middle-aged woman appeared and said with a smile,
"What kind of question is that? Can't you tell by looking? Of course, they're married!"
She turned to Arman.
"Why place her on that hard bench, dear? Bring her inside. She could fall off. Come, follow me."
Arman lifted Maya again and followed the woman into a small room with a simple wooden bed. She quickly spread a blanket and placed a pillow.
Arman hesitated.
"Ma'am, her clothes are soaked. It'll ruin the bedding."
The woman waved him off.
"Oh, don't worry about that. You people come from good homes. If she just lies on the bare wood, her back will ache. Once she's changed into something dry, I'll fix the bed again. For now, just lay her down."
He gently placed Maya on the bed. The woman said,
"She needs to get out of those wet clothes, or she'll catch a bad cold."
Arman nodded.
"Yes, please help her change. I'm not sure what to do."
"Of course, son. And you need to change too — you're drenched."
Arman stepped outside onto the porch. The house was made of packed earth, with two small rooms. The shop was in the back, and the road lay out front. Arman passed this area every day, but had never realized someone lived here. No other homes were nearby.
Suddenly, lightning flashed again, and the power went out. Darkness swallowed the place. The couple lit two oil lanterns. The woman took one into the room where Maya was lying.
The man began talking.
They had lived in a city slum years ago, and the café had been their livelihood for a long time. They once had a daughter, but she passed away from an illness they couldn't afford to treat. Life didn't pause — they still had to survive. So he kept the café running, but every day his wife cried alone at home. He couldn't bear the thought of her grieving by herself, so they built this small home beside the shop to live together.
The woman came out, then returned with dry clothes: a loose cotton skirt, a soft blouse, and a t-shirt and lounge pants for Arman. She handed them to him.
"Here, son. Put these on. I know you're from a good family, but don't feel awkward. I just want to help."
Arman replied warmly,
"Ma'am, I truly appreciate it. Thank you."
She smiled.
"You might come from money, but your heart is kind."
Arman chuckled and looked at the clothes.
"But... I've never dressed a woman in traditional clothes before. And I've never worn one of these wraparounds either."
She laughed,
"Oh, no need! That's what I'm here for. Let me help her change, and my husband will show you how to tie that. We don't keep jeans or trousers at home — we just wear whatever's comfortable."
Arman nodded.
"Of course. Please go help her."
While the woman tended to Maya, Arman changed with the man's help. He struggled to tie the cloth properly and had to use a large safety pin to secure it. Though it felt odd at first, he appreciated their effort and didn't want to offend them by refusing.
The woman returned hurriedly.
"She's changed, but her body's burning up. She has a fever — a really bad one."
Arman ran inside, touched Maya's forehead — she was burning hot. In the dim lantern light, her face looked pale and fragile.
The woman entered with a bowl of water and a towel. Arman sat beside Maya and said,
"Let me take care of this, ma'am. I'll sponge her forehead."
The woman nodded.
"But first, pick her up again — I need to change the bedding. It got wet."
Arman lifted Maya once more. The woman changed the quilt, handed him the bowl, and left. He dipped the towel and gently pressed it to Maya's burning forehead.
Moments later, she returned with a plate and a tablet.
"There's some flatbread and curry here. When she wakes up, feed her and give her this fever medicine."
Arman said,
"Thank you, ma'am. Please get some rest. You've helped us so much already — I don't know how to thank you."
To be continued...