⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟑˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
The night air was thick, the streetlights flickering dimly along the almost-empty road. Vidyut's car screeched to a halt as his eyes caught a familiar figure ahead — Ritvika.
She was running aimlessly, her steps uneven, her body swaying dangerously close to the middle of the road.
His breath hitched.
"Ritvika...!" he shouted, flinging the car door open.
Before he could even reach her, his eyes widened — a truck was speeding down the opposite lane, its horn blaring.
Time froze.
"Ritvika, move!" But she didn't. She just turned her head sluggishly towards the sound, confused, her eyes glassy.
Vidyut's legs moved before his mind did.
He sprinted, every muscle in his body burning, and just as the truck came dangerously close, he grabbed her — pulling her with full force.
Both of them crashed onto the other side of the road, rolling on the gravel before coming to a halt.
The truck roared past, missing them by inches. Gravel scraped his palms as Vidyut fell to the side of the road, Ritvika's frail body clutched tightly in his arms. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, breath shallow, almost painful.
For a moment, he couldn't even move — the image of her standing in front of that speeding truck kept flashing before his eyes.
He pushed her back slightly, hands trembling as he checked her face.
"What the hell were you doing, Ritvika!" he snapped, his voice rough, louder than he intended. "Are you out of your mind?"
She didn't respond — her head swayed lightly, eyes blinking in confusion.
"Look at me!" he said sharply, shaking her shoulder. "You were about to die, dammit! What if I hadn't come? Do you have any idea what could've—"
He stopped mid-sentence, breath catching when the scent hit him — sharp, unmistakable alcohol.
His brows furrowed in disbelief.
"Don't tell me..." He leaned closer, his tone growing colder. "You're drunk?"
Ritvika flinched faintly at his tone, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. She just blinked at him — disoriented, weak.
Vidyut exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable. Just unbelievable." His voice shook with fury. "You've got a child waiting at home — and this is what you're doing? Drinking? Wandering in the middle of the damn road?"
Tears welled up in her eyes, her expression somewhere between pain and confusion. She tried to speak — "I didn't—" but her voice cracked before the words could form.
Vidyut cut her off, too consumed by the rush of anger and fear.
"Do you even realise what could've happened? What if that truck hadn't stopped? What if Tara lost her mother tonight?" His voice cracked for a split second before he composed himself, jaw clenching.
Ritvika's body trembled as she tried to stand, but her knees gave way.
Vidyut instinctively caught her, his grip firm but angry.
He stared down at her, eyes burning — half from fury, half from something deeper.
"Is this what you call being strong?
" he muttered, voice low but fierce. "Running away?
Drinking your problems instead of facing them? "
Her tears finally slipped, silent and unchecked. She didn't argue — didn't defend herself. She just looked away, a single line escaping her lips in a hoarse whisper, "You won't understand..."
That sentence stopped him. Just for a heartbeat.
There was something in her tone — broken, hollow, almost scared.
He swallowed hard but didn't push further. Not now.
"Get up," he said, his tone firm again, trying to mask the tremor in it. "You're coming with me. You can barely walk."
When she didn't move, he sighed sharply and scooped her up in his arms.
Her head fell weakly against his chest, her eyes half-open, breath shallow.
Vidyut had barely taken a step toward his car, ready to pull Ritvika into the warmth of his arms, when her fists suddenly struck his chest. Sharp. Frantic. Uncontrolled.
She twisted violently in his grasp, thrashing as if she could claw her way out of his hold, crying hoarsely, "Leave me!
Leave me!" Her voice cracked, breaking under the weight of tears.
He barely managed to lower her to the asphalt, sitting down with her in his lap just to stop her from hurting herself.
"What the hell are you doing, Ritvika?" His voice was rough, half anger, half dread. His hands closed around her wrists, firm but not cruel — anchoring her, not restraining. He could feel her shaking, every tremor running through her into his bones.
She fought him still, nails scratching his chest, fists hitting weakly, her body trembling from alcohol and exhaustion. Her breath came uneven, shallow, panicked — like her own heartbeat was rebelling against her. Vidyut's jaw clenched as helplessness burned through his veins.
"Stop it," he growled, and then, lower, trembling, "Stop fighting me, Ritvika. I'm not going anywhere. Did you hear me?"
But she didn't stop. She couldn't. The words that tumbled from her lips came broken, bleeding. "No one... loves me... everyone hates me... I don't belong... I ruin everything..."
Her voice cracked mid-sentence, and then she collapsed forward, pressing her face against his chest as sobs wrecked her small frame.
Vidyut's hands softened, moving up to her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were glassy, distant. "Ritvika," he said quietly, "look at me. You're not alone. Not anymore."
She blinked, as if his words were from a dream, then broke again.
"I can't... I can't do this anymore... I don't want to.
.. I'm so tired, Vidyut..." Her voice wavered.
"Tara... my baby... what will happen to her if I'm not there?
She doesn't have anyone... they'll take her away.
.. please don't send her to my parents.. . I can't—"
"Ritvika!" he interrupted sharply, panic seeping into his tone. "Enough. You're not dying, do you hear me? You're drunk and talking nonsense. Stop saying things like that."
But she only shook her head, her tears falling faster. "Everyone hates me... even you... why do you care? Why do you always care? I ruin everything I touch... I'm a burden... everyone leaves me..."
Her sobs turned to hiccups, her entire body trembling.
Vidyut pressed his forehead to hers for a second, his voice low and raw. "You are not a burden. You hear me? You are not alone. I don't hate you. No one hates you."
She laughed weakly through tears — a sound that broke him more than her crying ever could. "You don't mean that. No one does. Everyone loves their children... their daughters... their wives... but me? Why, Vidyut? Why does everyone hate me? Why do my parents hate me so much?"
Her question sliced through the air like glass. Vidyut froze.
For a long second, silence. Only her uneven breathing and the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.
Then his voice came, barely above a whisper. "Because they're not your parents."
The words slipped out before he could stop them — soft, bitter, inevitable.
Ritvika stared up at him, eyes unfocused, alcohol dulling the shock that would have broken her sober. Her lips parted as if to ask something, but only a faint sound escaped, more breath than voice.
He swallowed hard, guilt rising, but she was already slipping into another tide of emotion, not fully grasping what he'd said.
"I just wanted..." she mumbled, her voice weaker now, fading with every word. "...someone to love me. To hold me. To not let me fall apart."
Vidyut's control cracked. His voice trembled. "You think I don't? You think I could watch you fall apart and not feel it rip me open?" His hands cupped her face again, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "You didn't ruin anything, Ritvika. You're the only thing that makes sense to me."
Her eyes fluttered half-open, lost between consciousness and delirium. "If I'm gone... Tara will be alone... she'll hate me... she'll be cold..."
"Stop it." His voice broke. "You're not going anywhere."
But she didn't stop. "Promise me... you'll keep her safe... promise me you won't let anyone take her..."
"I promise," he said, and this time his voice wavered with something deeper — a love too long hidden. "I swear on everything I have, Tara will be safe. I'll take care of her. I'll take care of you."
Her grip on his shirt loosened, her arms falling weakly to her sides. Her breathing grew shallow, almost fluttering.
"I... I just... wanted to be loved," she whispered.
Vidyut's heart twisted. He'd spent months pretending not to feel, locking away the softness that always rose when she smiled, the fear that always came when she coughed. But now — watching her fragile, half-conscious, her tears staining his shirt — there was no pretending left.
He bent down slightly, his voice cracking in her ear. "I love you, Ritii."
It was the softest confession he'd ever made — barely a breath, barely a sound — but it hit him like thunder.
Her lashes fluttered once more, her lips parting as if she wanted to reply. Instead, a single tear rolled down her cheek.
"Keep... my Tara safe," she whispered faintly.
Her body went limp against his chest.
For a second, the world stood still. Then panic ripped through him — raw, suffocating.
For a second, Vidyut didn't realize what had happened. Her body went suddenly still in his arms, her breathing shallow, faint — almost nonexistent. Her hand slipped from his shirt, falling limply at her side.
"Ritvika?" His voice cracked in disbelief. He leaned closer, feeling her breath — barely there. "Ritvika!"
No response.
Panic clawed at his chest. He shook her gently at first, then harder when she didn't move. "Ritvika, hey—open your eyes." His voice was trembling now, the raw edge of fear creeping into every word. "Come on, look at me... please..."
Her head lolled against his shoulder, unresponsive. Her lips were pale, her lashes still wet with tears. The faint rise and fall of her chest seemed to weaken with every second.
"Shit," Vidyut hissed under his breath, his own pulse racing. He gathered her into his arms without another thought, cradling her close against his chest as he stood up, his movements desperate and trembling.
"Ritvika, wake up. Please, Ritvi, wake up." The words escaped before he could stop them, his voice breaking in places. He started walking fast — then running — toward the car, holding her as if she would disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.
The night air was cold, biting, but his entire body burned with panic. He opened the car door with one arm, the other still wrapped tightly around her. Somehow, he managed to slide her into the passenger seat, her head falling limply to one side.
He fumbled for the water bottle kept near the dashboard, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He unscrewed the cap and sprinkled the water over her face, whispering, "Wake up... please wake up..." The droplets rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't move.
His chest constricted painfully. "No, no, no..." he muttered, brushing the wet strands of hair from her face. He could hear his own breathing — loud, ragged, uneven.
He hurried around the car, jumped into the driver's seat, and slammed the door shut.
His trembling fingers turned the ignition, the engine roaring to life.
One hand gripped the steering wheel; the other reached across to hold her cold hand, pressing it between his palms as if his warmth could pull her back.
"Ritvika, open your eyes. Please..." he whispered, voice cracking. He rubbed her hand, her wrist, her fingers — anything to make her respond — but nothing worked. Her skin felt frighteningly cold.
"Don't do this to me," he murmured, his throat tight. "Don't you dare do this, Ritvika. You promised me, remember? You said Tara—" His words broke mid-sentence. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator, the car shooting forward into the night.
The road blurred around him, lights flashing past in streaks, but all he could see was her face — pale, lifeless, still. He kept glancing at her between every turn, every breath.
"Ritvika," he said again, louder this time, panic rising to the edge of a scream. "Wake up, damn it! Don't do this to me!"
No answer.
He reached over, shaking her shoulder lightly while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. "Come on, Ritvika. You're strong. You don't get to give up on me now. You hear me? You don't get to leave."
Tears threatened his eyes, but he blinked them back. He couldn't afford to break down. Not now. Not when her life might depend on him.
He kept talking — to her, to himself, to the silence that suffocated the car. "You always argue, right? Always talk back, always scold me... so do it now. Just say something, damn it. Anything."
Nothing.
Her head tilted slightly with the car's motion, the faintest sound of her uneven breathing echoing like a lifeline. Vidyut clung to it, gripping her hand tighter, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her skin.
He was driving too fast — far too fast — but he didn't care. The only thought hammering through his skull was get her help. Don't lose her.
Every red light, every sharp turn blurred into nothing. The world outside was chaos, but inside that car, it was only her — her silence, her fragility, and his growing fear.
"Stay with me, Ritvika," he whispered, his voice trembling. "You said you wanted to be loved, right? You are. You hear me? You are."
His chest ached, breath catching, as her hand slipped slightly in his grasp. He caught it again, squeezing tightly, refusing to let go.
"Come on, Riti..." he breathed, the nickname barely audible. "Wake up... please..."
The road stretched endlessly before him, headlights cutting through the darkness — and somewhere in between the blur of motion and panic, Vidyut realized that this was what it felt like to truly fear losing someone you couldn't live without.
Within seconds, nurses came rushing with a stretcher. I laid her down carefully, but my hands refused to leave her. I kept my palm over her chest, trying to feel that fragile rhythm — her heartbeat. "She's not breathing properly! Please do something!"
"Sir, step back, please—" one of them said, trying to guide me away, but I snapped.
"Don't tell me to step back! Do something! She needs help right now!" My voice came out like thunder, my pulse slamming through my veins.
Another nurse joined in, gently tugging at my arm. "Sir, you can't enter the ER—"
"I don't care!" I roared. "She's my wife!" The words burst out before I could think. My wife. The sound of it made my chest ache. "You're not keeping me away from her."
They still didn't let me in. The ER doors closed in my face with a sharp, final click.
For a second, I just stood there, staring at the sealed glass, my breath ragged. The world was a blur of white walls and sharp antiseptic air. My hands were still trembling — her touch still clinging to my skin.
I pressed a palm against the glass window, eyes darting between the doctors rushing around her still body, wires being attached, the oxygen mask covering her face. The beeping machines were the only thing grounding me — proof that she was still alive. Barely.
"Sir," a nurse appeared beside me, clipboard in hand, voice brisk and professional, "does the patient have any medical history we should know about?"
Her words hit me like a slap. Medical history.
"Yes—yes, she—she's—" I stammered, my tongue fumbling, my brain blank. My hands dove into my pocket automatically, pulling out my phone. The shaking made it almost impossible to unlock it. "She—she has dilated cardiomyopathy," I finally managed, the word catching in my throat.
The nurse's eyes widened. "Any documents, medical reports—?"
"Yes! Yes, wait!" I scrolled frantically through my files, cursing under my breath as I tried to find the folder I'd saved months ago — her test results, her prescriptions, everything she'd ever refused to carry herself.
My thumb shook as I opened the folder and shoved the phone toward her. "Here—everything. The reports, the diagnosis, medication. Everything."
The nurse took the phone and disappeared inside the ER, leaving me alone again in the cold corridor.
And suddenly, there was nothing left to do. Nothing but wait.
I sank against the wall, my back hitting the tiles, my hands still clutching the edge of my jacket like it could hold me together. My throat burned, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe either.
Images of her — laughing faintly with Tara, scolding me for forgetting breakfast, whispering that she wanted someone to love her — all crashed over me in waves. Each one sharper, heavier, crueler.
I'd spent so long convincing myself that I didn't care — that keeping distance was protection. And now here I was, half-destroyed outside a hospital door, begging the universe not to take her away from me.
Every beep from inside made me flinch. Every passing nurse made me look up, hoping for news. Hoping for anything.
Time didn't move. My heart did — violently, painfully — with every second that she didn't open her eyes.
You said you wanted someone to love you, I thought, staring through the glass at her still figure. You got me, Ritvika. You had me all along.
And for the first time in years, I prayed. Not for strength. Not for peace.
Just for her heartbeat not to stop.
The clock struck 3:00 AM.
The sterile hum of the hospital machines filled the silence, the kind that made your skin crawl.
Vidyut hadn't sat. He hadn't blinked properly in hours.
He'd been pacing outside the ICU corridor like a ghost — arranging injections, blood samples, medicines, calling every specialist he could think of.
His phone battery had died twice; he didn't care.
Every passing second scraped against his bones like glass.
He wasn't the man of power anymore.
Just a man begging for one heartbeat.
When the ICU door finally opened, his heart stuttered.
The doctor stepped out, removing his gloves, face unreadable under the harsh hospital lights.
Vidyut was at his side in seconds. "Doctor... my wife... how is she?"
The doctor's sigh was quiet, heavy. "She's in a critical condition, Mr. Rajvansh. Her heart is extremely weak. Oxygen levels dropped dangerously. We've managed to stabilize her for now, but it's not enough."
The words barely made sense. Vidyut blinked once — twice — his throat burning. "Meaning?"
"Meaning... if her condition doesn't improve in the next few hours, we might lose her."
Something inside him cracked — something far deeper than panic.
For a moment, he couldn't feel his legs. The hallway tilted. His vision blurred around the edges, white noise roaring in his ears.
Then, suddenly, his voice erupted. "Do whatever it takes. I don't care how much it costs, I don't care who you need to call. Machines, injections, specialists — I'll arrange everything. Just... save her."
The doctor nodded grimly. "We need an emergency cardiac injection and a rare oxygen stabilizer. It's not easy to find at this hour—"
"I'll get it!" Vidyut snapped, already pulling out his second phone.
He barked orders, his tone hoarse and trembling — not the voice of a man who inspired fear, but of one who was terrified himself.
Within minutes, his people were moving across the city, pharmacies opening in panic at his name.
He returned to the ICU window, staring at her through the glass.
Ritvika lay there — pale, fragile, unrecognizable. Tubes ran along her wrist; her chest rose and fell so faintly it felt like watching the last flicker of a dying candle.
He pressed his palm against the cold glass. "Just wake up," he whispered under his breath. "Please."
By the time the family arrived, the corridor had turned into controlled chaos.
Lakshay tried to talk to the doctors; Manisha was crying silently, clutching her saree pallu.
Gaurav and Hridhaan made frantic calls, trying to reach contacts in other hospitals.
Aarush stood frozen — pale, unable to believe that the sister-in-law who had once smiled at him over dinner was now fighting for her life.
Vidyut didn't move. He didn't speak.
He stood there like a statue, his jaw locked, his fingers curled so tight his knuckles turned white.
When the nurse came to inform them that the injection had arrived, he was already there, handing it over before she could ask.
He'd arranged it in less than fifteen minutes — breaking laws, waking ministers, calling suppliers from other districts.
Nothing mattered except that one heartbeat inside that room.
The doctor took it and disappeared again.
And silence returned.
A silence so heavy that even the ticking of the wall clock felt deafening.
The bright hospital lights burned his eyes, but he couldn't look away from her. His reflection in the glass looked nothing like the Vidyut Rajvansh the world knew — hair disheveled, shirt blood-stained from where he'd carried her, eyes red and hollow.
Every memory of her flooded his head like a curse.
Her soft laughter when she teased Tara.
The faint blush on her face when she tried to avoid him.
The way she'd looked at him tonight — broken, angry, drunk, scared — whispering she was alone.
And now she was.
He slid down the wall slowly, elbows on his knees, fingers clutching his hair. His breaths came in uneven bursts, his chest tight.
For the first time, the man who didn't fear death — feared losing someone to it.
When the nurse returned again, he jerked his head up instantly — but she just shook hers softly, saying, "We're still trying."
He didn't respond.
He couldn't.
He stood again, walking to the glass, pressing his forehead against it. His breath fogged the surface.
The heart monitor's faint beeps reached his ears — each one like a countdown.
"She's strong," he muttered to himself. "She's strong. She'll fight."
But his voice trembled at the end.
The hallway lights dimmed to night mode. A stretcher passed by. Someone was crying somewhere down the corridor. And Vidyut Rajvansh, the man who ruled empires, stood there with trembling fingers and tear-rimmed eyes — praying for one woman to breathe again.
The corridor lights flickered faintly, painting pale shadows on the floor. It was past 4 AM now.
The air smelled of antiseptic and metal — too clean, too sharp.
Vidyut stood outside the ICU, motionless. His reflection on the glass looked ghostly — shoulders stiff, eyes hollow. He hadn't blinked in what felt like hours. Every muscle in his body ached, but he couldn't feel anything beyond the fear clawing inside his chest.
The door opened again — this time it was the nurse bringing updates. "We've administered the injection, sir. She's holding on, but it's still very critical."
He only nodded, unable to trust his voice.
Vidyut didn't even look up until he heard his father's voice — low, strained. "Vidyut..."
The single word cracked something inside him. He turned, eyes red, voice barely above a whisper.
"Pa... papa..." His voice trembled. "Ritvi... she's not—she's not waking up..."
Lakshay crossed the distance in seconds, holding his son's shoulders tightly.
Vidyut's breath hitched as he spoke again, stammering like a child.
"She... she just stopped breathing, papa.
.. I tried everything... I—I took her here.
.. they're saying her heart..." His words broke mid-sentence, his throat choking on the rest.
Lakshay's eyes filled, but he held his son tighter, whispering, "She'll be fine, beta. She will be fine."
But Vidyut shook his head violently. "No, papa... they said if she doesn't improve, she might—" His voice fractured, his chest heaving. "She can't leave me, papa... she can't..."
He collapsed forward, gripping his father's shirt like a lifeline. For once, the ruthless, cold Vidyut Rajvansh wasn't standing there — it was just a boy who had lost his breath the moment she lost hers.
Lakshay wrapped an arm around him, holding him close, but tears burned in his own eyes.
He'd seen Vidyut angry, cruel, stubborn... but never this helpless.
Manisha stepped closer slowly, her hands trembling. "Vidyut..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please sit down... you haven't eaten since—"
But before she could finish, Vidyut straightened abruptly, his face rigid, avoiding her gaze. He turned back toward the ICU glass, eyes fixed on Ritvika's motionless body.
He didn't say a word. Didn't look at her.
The rejection hit Manisha harder than she expected. Her lips quivered, eyes glistening, but she stayed silent, stepping back beside Lakshay.
Aarush moved to stand near his brother quietly, placing a tentative hand on Vidyut's arm — but Vidyut didn't react. His entire being was focused on that small body lying still inside the room.
"She was just talking to me, papa..." he whispered hollowly, eyes fixed ahead. "She said she's tired... said everyone hates her... and now—" He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "I should've taken her home earlier. I should've—"
Lakshay's voice was firm, even through his tears. "Don't, Vidyut. Don't blame yourself."
But Vidyut's voice cracked again. "How do I not? She was fine... she was smiling this morning. And now she's lying there, and I can't do anything!"
His voice echoed through the corridor — raw, anguished. The nurses nearby turned briefly, then looked away, pretending not to hear.
Lakshay pulled him closer again, hand firm at the back of his neck, the way he used to when Vidyut was a child. "She'll come back," he murmured. "She's strong. She'll fight."
Vidyut closed his eyes tightly, trying to steady his breath, but the tears finally slipped through — silent, hot trails running down his face.
He wiped them roughly, his jaw clenching. "She has to. She doesn't have a choice."
And then — silence again.
The entire family stood outside the ICU — the beeping monitors, the faint hum of oxygen, and the ticking clock filling the void.
Inside, the woman who had unknowingly become the heartbeat of their home fought for every breath.
Outside, the man who thought he feared nothing finally understood what real fear felt like.
He pressed his hand once more against the glass, voice a trembling whisper no one else could hear.
"Please come back, Ritvi... I can't lose you
The night refused to end.
The corridors of the hospital still buzzed faintly with machines, footsteps, and murmured prayers. The lights were harsh — sterile — almost cruel in how they refused to dim when everyone inside was already breaking.
Manisha sat on one of the metal chairs outside the ICU, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The tremor in her fingers hadn't stopped since they'd arrived. Her eyes were red, her lips pale, but she hadn't said a word for hours.
Across the corridor, Vidyut stood motionless near the ICU door, his head bowed, his hand pressed against the glass wall where Ritvika lay. Lakshay and Aarush had tried to make him rest — he hadn't even blinked in what felt like an eternity — but he wouldn't move.
Manisha's heart ached at the sight. That was her son. The same boy she'd once scolded for being too careless, too cold, now standing there like a man who'd lost his entire world.
And she—she had been one of the reasons behind that brokenness.
Her breath hitched suddenly. "Lakshay..." Her voice was so faint that he almost didn't hear her.
Lakshay turned, his face weary but calm. "Hmm?"
Her eyes welled up again, and this time, the dam finally cracked. "It's my fault..." she whispered hoarsely. "All of this... everything..."
Lakshay frowned softly, stepping closer, sitting beside her. "Don't start blaming yourself, Manisha. You've done nothing wrong."
She shook her head violently. "No... I did. I was too harsh on her. I just— I only wanted what's best for him, for both of them. But the way I spoke to her... the things I said..." Her voice broke. "I didn't mean to make her feel unwanted."
Lakshay sighed, placing his hand gently over hers. "Your intentions were never wrong. You were just... scared. We all were."
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks now, her words trembling between sobs. "But look at her, Lakshay. Look at her lying there. She's just a girl... she doesn't deserve this. She never did. I should have hugged her that day when she tried to talk to me... I should have—"
Lakshay cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away her tears. "Stop, Manisha. Don't torture yourself."
She clutched his wrist tightly, eyes wild with grief. "How can I not? Vidyut's not even speaking to me. The way he looked at me today—like I was a stranger. Do you know what that feels like?"
Lakshay's throat tightened. He did. He had seen it too—the unspoken wall between a mother and son who once shared everything.
He drew in a shaky breath. "Give him time," he whispered. "He's breaking inside. You saw him... he's terrified. Let him fight this battle right now. We'll fix everything later, but first, she needs to wake up."
Manisha nodded weakly, pressing her palms to her eyes. "I just... I just want her to be fine. I don't care about anything else anymore. I want her to open her eyes, smile again... call me 'maa' just once."
Her sobs grew quiet, her head falling onto Lakshay's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her until the trembling subsided.
The night slowly bled into morning.
Through the glass wall, faint sunlight began to seep in — pale and hesitant. The world outside the hospital resumed its motion, cars honking, birds calling — oblivious to the stillness that lived inside.
Lakshay rubbed his temples tiredly. It was 7 a.m. now. They'd been here since midnight. Aarush was sitting slumped on a chair, fast asleep, his head resting against the wall. Hridhaan had stepped out to grab water.
But Vidyut hadn't moved. Not once.
He was still there — standing like a statue, one hand pressed on the ICU glass, eyes fixed on the monitor beeping beside Ritvika's bed. His face was pale, lips dry, and exhaustion painted deep shadows beneath his eyes.
Lakshay glanced at Manisha. She looked faint, her skin pale, lips trembling every few seconds as she tried to breathe evenly.
He made a decision. "Manisha, you need to go home," he said gently but firmly.
She shook her head immediately. "No. I'm not leaving her here. I'll stay until—"
"You're not well," Lakshay interrupted softly. "Please, listen to me once. You'll collapse if you stay like this. Go home, take your medicine, rest for a few hours. I'll call the moment there's any update."
Tears rolled down her cheeks again as she looked past him toward Vidyut. "He won't even look at me, Lakshay..." she whispered brokenly. "I failed both of them."
Lakshay brushed her hair back, his voice low. "You haven't failed anyone. You're his mother. You'll always be. Just give him space."
He called the driver, gently guiding her to stand. She resisted at first, then finally nodded weakly. "Promise me you'll call me if anything happens..."
"I promise," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
As she walked away, her figure small and shaking, Vidyut didn't turn. His eyes remained glued to the glass, to the still figure lying beyond it.
Manisha paused at the corridor's end, her gaze lingering on her son — the man she had once cradled, now breaking in front of her, unreachable. She whispered under her breath, voice trembling through the tears—
"Please... let her live. He won't survive without her."
And with that, she left.
The clock read 7:10 AM.
The night of fear had finally ended, but the morning brought no peace — only the weight of waiting.
The red light above the ICU flickered, and the long, dreadful beep that followed made every soul outside freeze.
Vidyut's heart dropped. He stumbled forward, palms pressed against the glass. Inside — chaos. Nurses rushed around her bed, doctors shouted commands, machines screamed. A flat line blinked across the monitor.
"Charge — 200 volts!"
The defibrillator pads hit her chest, her frail body jolting once... twice.
"Again!"
A nurse began chest compressions, counting rhythmically, "One, two, three..." as another injected adrenaline into her IV line.
For ten minutes, that's all that could be heard — the frantic, desperate sound of survival.
Every second stretched painfully, each heartbeat Vidyut didn't hear from her seemed to hammer like a drum against his chest. He could barely breathe; the world had narrowed to the sight of her lifeless body under the fluorescent lights, wires tangled like lifelines he couldn't reach.
He pounded the glass with his fists, but it was meaningless.
All he could do was watch. His lungs burned, his chest tightened, and a scream lodged itself somewhere deep in his throat.
He whispered her name, over and over, silently, frantically: Ritvika.
.. don't leave me... please... don't leave me. ..
And then... silence.
The red light above the ICU door went off.
The door opened slowly. The doctor stepped out — his gloves smeared faintly with red, his eyes heavy, dull with exhaustion and defeat. He inhaled slowly, glanced at Vidyut, and spoke with a voice that seemed both careful and pained.
"Doctor... what... what happened? Tell me!"
The doctor inhaled slowly, voice measured but heavy. "Mr. Rajvansh... we tried everything we could. We administered all interventions — defibrillator, chest compressions, adrenaline, oxygen support. Every possible measure was taken."
Vidyut's knees weakened, his hands digging into the cold wall behind him. "Everything...?" His voice broke under the weight of disbelief and fear. "You... you did everything?"
The doctor nodded once, grimly, almost silently, then swallowed hard. "Yes... we did everything we could. but I... I'm sorry."