Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
AMAY
Ten hours later, Amay finally pushed back from the operating table, his hands trembling slightly from the relentless focus required during the marathon surgery. With a curt nod to his second, he signalled for the team to close up. His adrenaline still surged, keeping exhaustion at bay as he pulled off his surgical mask in one swift motion, letting the cool air hit his face. Sweat plastered his hair beneath the surgical cap, which he yanked off without care, his mind already moving to the next task.
Stepping out of the brightly lit operating theatre into the dimmer light of the corridor, he felt the weight of the hours spent in surgery pressing against him but pushed it aside. His hands, now free of gloves, still carried the ghostly sensation of precision, each move replaying in his head as he briskly walked toward the post-operative ward. His steps were automatic, guided more by instinct than thought as he reached the bed of his colleague, Sathe.
Sathe lay pale but stable, the steady beep of the monitors a reassuring sound in the otherwise quiet ward. Amay stood there for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning the vitals displayed on the screen, his mind parsing the numbers with practiced ease. Only when he was sure that everything was as it should be did he allow himself a brief exhale of relief. He gave a slight nod to the attending nurse and turned on his heel, the pull of exhaustion finally catching up to him.
The doctor’s lounge was a quiet refuge. Amay stepped inside and reached for the first thing within arm’s length—an energy bar from the table. His fingers fumbled with the wrapper, tearing into it with more urgency than he realised. The sweetness hit his tongue as he leaned back against the wall, letting the fatigue seep into his muscles. For the first time in hours, his body felt heavy, the adrenaline waning and the weight of the day settling in.
“Dr. Aatre?”
His gaze snapped to the junior doctor hovering by the door. He knew her face but couldn’t place her name.
“Yes?” He didn’t bother with more than that. He didn’t have the energy or the patience for it.
“The patient in Suite 402 was asking for you earlier today.”
And just like that the fatigue disappeared, a spark of something he didn’t want to name igniting inside him.
“Is the patient stable?” He sounded clinical, detached, disinterested. He, however, felt like an entire hive of bees had taken up residence inside him.
“Yes Sir.” The doctor hesitated, her face creasing slightly. “She’s complaining of pain despite the painkillers.”
“Did you run a diagnostic?”
She shook her head. “No Sir. I believe she’s just fussing.”
Amay’s eyebrows shot up. He pushed off from the wall and walked over to where the doctor hovered.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “A patient expressed discomfort and instead of investigating her symptoms, you did nothing?”
“Sir-“
He held a hand up, palm out, stopping her from compounding her stupidity with more useless words.
“You instead used all your extensive medical knowledge and years of experience to decide she was fussing ?”
She wisely stayed silent. Amay glanced down at the ID she had dangling on the front of her scrubs.
“Tell me Dr. Aarushi Raina . Why exactly are you here, standing in front of me?”
She didn’t say anything, clearly at a loss of words.
“Speak now,” Amay barked.
An embarrassed flush stained her cheeks as she stared at him. “The patient kept asking for you. My shift just ended. I thought I would pass on the message before I left for the day.”
“Your shift hasn’t ended, Dr. Raina,” Amay informed her coldly. “It’s just starting.”
She paled at the sight of the fury in his face. “Sir,” she said cautiously. “I-“
“Let’s go.” Amay started walking, the flustered junior falling into step beside him.
“Where are we going, Sir?”
“We’re going to Suite 402.” He jammed a thumb into the button to summon the doctor’s lift. “And you’re going to run an extensive diagnostic.”
She stayed silent, her gaze on the shut elevator doors. It dinged softly and the doors slid open. They stepped into it, facing their reflection in the shiny doors as it shut them into the empty elevator car.
“And if I don’t find anything?” she asked, a whisper of defiance sneaking through. “If she is only fussing?”
“Then I’ll apologise to you for doubting your judgement.” Amay crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels.
It wouldn’t come to that. He knew he was right and he sincerely hoped the girl wouldn’t ask him how he knew. Because it wasn’t Amay’s years of medical training that were backing up his judgement call right now. It was Amay’s years of Dhrithi that were making his every instinct prickle. For Amay was, or rather had been, a Dhrithi expert.
He knew many things about Dhrithi and he was sure most of those things no longer existed. But if there was one thing, he’d stake his medical license on, it was this – Dhrithi did not fuss.
He’d watched her fall out of a tree and dislocate her shoulder. He’d been the one to hold her when she’d been stung by a wasp below her eye. He’d been the one to find her huddled under a table when she’d sliced through her palm with a pair of scissors during art class while working on a secret art project.
And through it all, she’d grit her teeth and swallowed her cries. Dhrithi did not fuss.
But the Dhrithi in that bed was a stranger, he reminded himself as he stepped out of the elevator and strode down the corridor to her suite. So, maybe the annoying junior doctor was right. Maybe this was just a rich brat whining about things beyond their control.
He slapped a hand on the door and shoved it open, stepping over the threshold and into the room. Dhrithi’s eyes opened, arrowing straight into his, her gaze meshing and holding with his.
And he knew…This was no stranger. Battered, bruised, broken she may be…but this was still Dhrithi.
His Dhrithi.