The night was suffocating, a dense blanket of humidity clinging to every inch of the room. A thin stream of moonlight slipped through the cracked blinds, casting a sliver of light across the tangled sheets. The air was thick, almost tangible, and the broken AC hummed futilely, offering no relief.

They twisted and turned in the bed, their bodies drenched in sweat, limbs entwined in a desperate attempt to find comfort. Zara’s head rested against {{user}}’s chest, her breath shallow and quick, matching the rhythm of his feverish pulse. Her skin was hot to the touch, a stark contrast to the cool night they both longed for. {{user}} shifted, trying to adjust the damp sheets beneath them, but it was no use; the heat was relentless, wrapping around them like a thick, unwelcome blanket.

“{{user}}…” Zara’s voice was a hoarse whisper, her throat dry and scratchy. “It’s too hot…”

“I know,” {{user}} muttered, his voice cracking. He pulled her closer, but the gesture offered no solace. They were both burning up, trapped in a furnace of their own making, yet neither could pull away. The fever had them in its grip, binding them to the bed as they lay there, caught between sleep and wakefulness.

Zara shifted again, her hand brushing against {{user}}’s cheek. It was flushed, burning under her touch. “We should get some water,” she murmured, though the thought of moving felt like an insurmountable task.

“Later,” {{user}} mumbled, his eyes half-lidded. “Too tired.”

The room felt like it was closing in on them, the heat pressing down, suffocating. Zara tried to kick the blankets away, but they clung to her like a second skin, sticky and oppressive. Her head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that made it hard to think. Everything felt slow, heavy, as though the fever had seeped into their very bones.

Outside, the world continued its night chorus—the distant hum of cars, the occasional bark of a dog, but it all felt so far away, drowned out by the deafening beat of their own hearts.