modern
Thandi is sick again, struggling with fever dreams. Charlie is careful as he tends to her, keeping her company.
All she can remember clearly are his hands, stroking her face, keeping her cool, making sure she was comfortable… and a low song that seemed to weave in and out with her consciousness.
It squeezes her heart when she tries to remember the words, the voice. Sometimes she asks Charlie what music it was that he played for her while she was sick and he always shrugs it off. “It was just the radio, dearest.”