Slow fever. An infection. Two weeks now. My eyes feel dry. I am, frankly, paranoid. Consulted the doctors. It cannot be Covid-19. Have you travelled? How long has it been? Nah, it's not possible. Are you breathless; cough? You don't even qualify for the test. I know, I know. That's what I tell myself. It's not my life I fear. I am terrified, true. Will I get a diagnosis this time? Will my heart not skip a beat when blood is drawn? History of unusual symptoms. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Didn't your body temperature fluctuate when you had cancer? Results are not here yet, let's not draw conclusions. Stress, worry, paranoia. One set of antibiotics down. What could it be? Is it worth going again to the doctor? I come home to a mother who isn't well-rested; a brother who's self-isolated; a father switching channels to watch Mahabharata; a family. Will they be safe? Are they strong enough? Will I transmit my sick