I'd like to talk about my older brother, Arif, who looked after me when I had dengue fever about four years ago. We were both living in a rented flat in Dhaka at the time, him working at a bank and me in my final year of university.
It started with a terrible headache and a very high temperature, and within two days I could barely get out of bed. Our parents live in Rajshahi, which is several hours away, and my mother couldn't travel because she'd just had knee surgery. So it was just the two of us.
Arif took a whole week off work, which wasn't easy because he was quite new at the bank. He took me to the clinic for blood tests every day, because with dengue they need to check your platelet count. He made sure I drank enough, which I hated because I felt sick all the time. He kept a chart on the fridge of how much water and juice I'd had, and if I was behind, he'd sit next to me until I finished a glass. He also cooked soft rice and lentils, which he'd never done before, by phoning our mother for instructions. And at night, when the fever was worst, he slept on the floor of my room in case I needed anything.
I felt incredibly grateful, and also a bit surprised. Growing up, we argued constantly, and I'd never thought of him as a caring person. That week changed our relationship. I realised how much he cared, and I think he realised it too. We've been much closer since then. Now, whenever he's unwell, I'm the one who turns up with soup.