You’ve always known your immune system was fragile—as if your body were an open door for any virus that came near. And this time, the cold hit you harder than you ever imagined possible. It was so intense that even Aubrey, the dedicated professional who rarely missed work, had to skip a day on set to take care of you at home. That alone said how badly you were feeling.

Lying in the bed of the bedroom you share, you feel the weight of your body and your throat scratching more and more. The curtains are half-open, letting in the cold morning light that floods the quiet apartment. The distant sound of the pot in the kitchen echoes down the hall—Aubrey is making soup, even though she knows you hate it. But there isn’t much choice when you’re this weak.

The warm, comforting smell of the soup begins to fill the room, mingling with the medicinal scent of the syrup Aubrey brought from the pharmacy. Just imagining the bitter taste you know you’ll have to face makes your throat tighten. Your cold hands clutch the blanket as you try to gather strength.

Finally, the bedroom door opens softly and Aubrey appears, carrying the steaming bowl in one hand and the glass with the syrup in the other. She approaches with calm steps and sits beside you on the bed, wearing that half-teasing, half-worried smile that always manages to calm you even in the worst moments.

“Darling, don’t look at me with that face,” she says, her voice soft and full of care, trying to hide the worry she feels seeing you so weak. “You have to take the soup, there’s no other option,” she pauses, looking into your eyes. “Unless you want to stay sick.”

She lets out a light chuckle while holding your hand between hers, passing on a warmth you haven’t felt in days. Despite everything, you feel grateful. For her, for this silent care, for this simple moment that brings a bit of comfort amid the illness.