⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟕˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
A faint static cracked through the line before a trembling voice spoke from the other side.
"Sir... she is... awake."
For a moment, everything around Vidyut froze.
That one sentence — the only sentence he'd been dying to hear for the past five months — echoed in his head like a distant melody. His breath hitched, his pulse thundered, and for a second, he forgot how to move.
The air felt heavier, his hands trembling slightly on the steering wheel. Tara's soft hum in the backseat blurred into silence as his mind spiraled, replaying the words again and again.
"She is awake."
It took him a full heartbeat to process it — and the next moment, he was already unbuckling his seatbelt.
"I'm coming," he said quickly, his voice rough with disbelief and relief, before ending the call.
Why... why is it so dark here?
"Tara? My baby... where are you? Come to Mumma," I called out softly, my voice trembling as it echoed into the emptiness around me.
But there was no answer. Only silence.
I took a few hesitant steps forward — the floor felt cold beneath my bare feet, and every direction looked the same... endless black. My breath quickened. "Tara?" I called again, louder this time, panic slowly clawing at my throat.
Nothing.
Then — a sound. A faint whimper.
My heart lurched.
That sound... I knew it anywhere. My baby. My Tara.
"Tara!" I shouted, the word cracking out of me like a scream. I turned frantically, running toward the direction of the sound. My hands stretched out in front of me, trying to find her — but I couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything.
The darkness grew heavier, swallowing me whole.
"Tara! Answer me!" I cried again, my voice breaking. The whimpers grew louder — desperate, frightened. "Don't cry, baby, Mumma's coming!" I ran, tripping, stumbling, my chest tightening with every breath.
And then — I saw something.
A faint light. A shadow. Someone's silhouette holding a small figure... my Tara.
"No!" I screamed. "Leave her! Please, she's my baby!" I tried to run faster, but my legs felt like lead. The more I tried, the farther they went — the shadow taking her away, her tiny cries echoing in the darkness.
"Taraaaaa!"
My voice tore out of me with all the pain and fear bottled up for months.
And then — I jolted awake.
My eyes flew open, chest heaving, breath ragged. Sweat glistened on my forehead, tears streaking down my cheeks.
There he was.
Vidyut.
Sitting on the floor beside her bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his face too close to her hand he held tightly between his palms — as if afraid that if he let go, she'd disappear again. His hair was messy, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes swollen and red from countless sleepless nights.
When her gaze finally met his, his breath hitched — and in that second, a single tear slipped down his cheek.
"Ritvii..." he whispered, voice trembling, like he couldn't believe she was really there — awake, breathing, alive.
Ritvika tried to reply, but her throat burned. The dryness made it impossible to form a word. Still, she forced it. "Vi.............ta....ra..." she croaked, her lips trembling. But before she could finish, a harsh cough shook through her.
The sound tore through the silence. Her body trembled violently as she coughed again, the pain spreading from her chest to her neck, her throat raw and on fire.
"Hey... hey... easy, easy, Ritvi—" Vidyut said quickly, his tone panicked. He slid his arm carefully behind her back, supporting her shoulders as she coughed, his other hand holding her trembling one tightly. His voice cracked with helplessness.
"Bas... bas, no more, please..."
Her breathing came out ragged, but she tried again, tears slipping down her temples. "Taa....ra..." she managed this time, her voice nothing more than air.
Vidyut swallowed hard and immediately shook his head.
"Don't—don't speak now..." he said softly but firmly, brushing his thumb under her eye to wipe the tear before it could fall. "Tara's just a little asleep, okay? I'll wake her up, but you—don't talk. Your throat will burn more."
He was about to get up when something faint — so faint it almost didn't exist — stopped him.
A weak tug.
His shirt moved slightly, and he froze. Looking down, he saw her trembling fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Ritvika's hand barely had any strength, her wrist shaking from the effort, but she still tried to hold him back.
Her lips parted again, a broken whisper leaving them.
"N....no..."
Her eyes glistened, pleading — don't wake her... don't disturb her.
Vidyut's heart twisted painfully. His throat tightened as he looked at her — fragile, pale, voice barely there, yet still thinking of Tara first.
He sat back down slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. His fingers curled softly around hers again, thumb brushing her knuckles gently. He didn't say a word, just sat there — watching her breathe, watching life slowly return to the face he thought he'd lost forever.
Vidyut kept looking at her — really looking at her — his eyes tracing every weak movement she made, as if afraid she'd fade away again if he blinked.
Ritvika blinked slowly, her eyes darting around the room in confusion. Everything looked unfamiliar — the white walls, the soft hum of the air conditioner, the faint antiseptic smell, the quiet beeping sound somewhere near her head. Her brows knitted together as she tried to make sense of it.
"Why... I.........I lyi...lying here?" she asked weakly, each word dragging out with visible effort. Her voice trembled, fragile, almost childlike.
Vidyut's body went still.
His heart dropped.
She doesn't remember.
For a moment, he couldn't even breathe. He swallowed hard, forcing his mind to catch up, then silently reached for the glass of water kept on the bedside table.
He poured a little into the spoon, then leaned closer.
"Ritvii... drink a little, your throat is sore," he said softly, his voice gentle, pleading even.
But Ritvika barely moved her head — a faint shake, refusing. Her eyes stayed on his face, filled with confused fear.
"Why.......I.....I here?" she repeated, her voice breaking midway, followed by a soft cough that shook her weak frame.
Vidyut immediately placed the glass down and steadied her by the shoulder, his jaw tightening as his eyes glistened again.
She coughed again, small and breathless, before whispering through shallow gasps,
"I....my.....Taaa...raaa...to...day...was...her....first...day...at....school..."
The words hit him like a punch to the chest.
Vidyut froze. Completely.
He couldn't even blink. His fingers unconsciously tightened around the bedsheet as his mind screamed at him — that day... that was the day everything changed.
Ritvika's eyes welled up as her voice cracked again, trembling between guilt and disbelief.
"I.....didn't...even ask.....her....what...she...did...in...school...and...she...slept..."
Her eyes fluttered, her breathing uneven as her mind tried to connect the missing dots.
Vidyut's gaze softened painfully. He reached forward, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. His throat burned from holding back tears, but he still managed a whisper — one she barely heard.
"It's okay, Ritvii..."
But his voice wavered. Because nothing was okay — not yet.
The room was wrapped in quiet darkness, only the faint light from the corner lamp cutting through the shadows. The soft beeping of the monitor was the only sound.
Ritvika's eyes fluttered open again — her lashes trembling as the blur in front of her slowly began to clear. The dim shapes formed into the familiar outline of a room... and then him.
Vidyut.
He was sitting close, head bowed, her hand resting in his — as if he hadn't moved for hours.
She blinked, tried to speak, but the sound that came out was barely a whisper.
"Vi...dyu...t..."
Her voice cracked, the syllables faint, rough, unfamiliar even to her own ears.
He immediately looked up, disbelief flashing across his face before his lips parted with relief.
"Ritvii..." he breathed, his eyes turning glassy in a second.
Her throat burned when she tried again, her voice trembling.
"Wh...why...I...lyi...lying...here?" she asked, forcing the words out in fragments. Her eyes darted around the room, confusion clear. "I...slept...little...now...night?"
Vidyut swallowed hard, taking the glass of water from the table.
"Drink a little, your throat's sore," he said softly, but Ritvika weakly shook her head.
Her brows knitted. "Ta...ra?" she managed, lips dry, the name almost inaudible.
Vidyut's heart clenched.
He didn't speak at first — his silence made her eyes widen.
She tried to lift her hand, trembling, clutching the bedsheet.
"Tara...school...today...she...went..." she coughed, her voice cracking further. "She...slept...hungry?"
He froze completely.
She blinked at him again, desperate for an answer.
"Vi...dyut...why...you...not...say..."
He drew in a sharp breath, the weight of months pressing on his chest. His voice was quiet, trembling, when he finally spoke.
"Ritvii...it's...night, yes. But... not the same day."
She frowned weakly, confusion flooding her face.
"What...you...mean?"
He met her eyes — raw, hesitant.
"It's been...five months."
Her breath hitched.
For a moment, she didn't even blink — her eyes fixed on him, blank and shocked.
"Fi...five..." she whispered, her lips barely moving.
He nodded once, his eyes moist.
"You were...in coma, Ritvii."
Her lips parted soundlessly, panic flickering across her weak features. She tried to lift herself, but her body refused.
"No...no...Tara...school...she...alone...fi...five...mo..."
Her throat gave out mid-sentence, tears spilling down as her breath turned shaky.
Vidyut quickly leaned forward, gently holding her shoulders down, his voice trembling.
"Easy... please, don't push yourself. She's fine, Tara's fine. I promise."
But Ritvika's eyes stayed wide, tears streaming as the realisation settled in —
five months lost, five months gone.
She blinked rapidly, her weak voice fading into a whisper —
"Five...months..."
Vidyut squeezed her hand tightly, his forehead brushing against it, whispering brokenly,
"You're here now... that's enough."
And for a long while, neither of them spoke.
Only the faint sound of the monitor filled the silence — beating slow, steady, and alive.
Ritvika's breathing turned uneven — panic rising faster than her body could bear.
"How...how fi...five months?" she whispered, her trembling hand clutching the bedsheet. Her pulse raced as her eyes darted around the room, chest heaving with fear. "No...no, it's not...possible... I was fine... I was fine that day— Tara..."
Her words tangled into sobs. Her body shook as she tried to lift herself, but the weakness pulled her down again.
"Ritvii, stop," Vidyut said quickly, voice low but firm. "Don't move, please—"
"No!" she rasped, voice hoarse, eyes wet. "Tell me what happened! What did you do to me? Where's..... Tara—"
"Enough, Ritvika!"
The sharpness in his tone cut through the air. It wasn't anger — it was fear.
Fear that if she pushed herself one more second, he'd lose her again.
His hands gripped her shoulders gently but firmly, holding her from moving. Her fragile frame trembled beneath his palms, but she still fought weakly, crying through broken breaths.
"You don't .......understand," she gasped. "Five months— ......my baby—"
"I understand everything!" Vidyut's voice cracked this time, eyes glistening. "You think I don't? You think I haven't seen you like this every day, praying you'd open your eyes, begging you to breathe—"
His words broke midway, breath hitching as he looked down, his forehead creasing with the pain he'd held for months. "You were not waking up, Ritvii... I thought I lost you. Every single day I watched you lie here, and I couldn't do anything. Not one damn thing."
Her eyes widened slightly, her lips trembling. The harsh rhythm of her breathing softened just a little — but her tears didn't stop.
He sat back on his knees beside her bed, running a shaking hand over his face, trying to steady himself. His voice came out low, raw, almost pleading.
"Please... don't do this again. Don't try to get up. You'll hurt yourself more."
Ritvika blinked, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. Her heart was still racing, her throat still burning, but she could finally see the exhaustion behind his words — the way his hands shook, the way his eyes looked red from sleepless nights.
Her voice came out as a faint whisper, cracking mid-way.
"I...I didn't mean to... I just... Tara..."
He leaned forward immediately, brushing away a tear from her cheek.
"She's okay," he said softly. "She's perfect, Ritvii. I promise."
Her sobs quietened — still shaky, still weak — but her fight slowly faded. Her hand twitched in his hold, this time not to resist, but to hold on.
Vidyut gently pressed her hand between both of his, bowing his head over it. For a few long seconds, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the monitors and the quiet, uneven breaths of two people who had both forgotten what peace felt like.
And when Ritvika's eyes fluttered closed again — not in unconsciousness but exhaustion — Vidyut just stayed there, watching her, his thumb brushing slow circles on her wrist.
After months of lifeless stillness, she was breathing — panicked, trembling, crying — but alive.
And for him, that was enough.
But again
Her fingers twitched lightly on the bedsheet as she tried to shift her body, a faint wince forming on her pale face. Vidyut, who had been sitting beside her, instantly looked up.
"Ritvi, what are you doing?" his tone carried quiet warning, but she didn't stop.
She tried pushing the blanket aside, struggling with weak hands. "Was... washroom," she murmured, her voice hoarse and broken, barely a whisper.
Vidyut hummed in response, eyes narrowing slightly. Before she could even place her feet on the floor, he leaned forward in one swift motion and scooped her into his arms.
"Vidyut!" a startled cry left her lips as a sharp ache shot through her fragile body, making her flinch and grasp his shirt in reflex.
"Shh," he hushed softly, tightening his hold to steady her. His voice was deep but gentle, firm but full of concern. "Your body needs rest."
Her head fell weakly against his chest, her breath trembling as he carried her toward the washroom—his steps slow, careful, like she was something breakable.
At the doorway, he paused and lowered her gently to her feet. "Go," he murmured, eyes never leaving her. "I'm standing right here."
Ritvika's trembling fingers clutched the edge of the wall as she tried to steady her steps. Every movement felt heavy — her legs weak, balance uncertain — but her determination didn't waver.
Vidyut stood right by the door, his broad frame shadowing the faint bathroom light. His hands were clenched into fists, as if fighting the urge to rush in and help her again.
She tried to close the door, but before she could, his voice came — soft but commanding.
"Keep it a little open, Ritvi."
She looked at him, confused, a faint frown forming on her pale face. "I'm ..... fine," she whispered, her tone dry but attempting normalcy.
Vidyut's jaw tightened. "You can't even stand properly," he said, voice rough with restrained emotion.
Ritvika sighed weakly, too tired to argue.
She left the door slightly ajar. Inside, the sound of running water and her shaky breathing filled the silence.
Her fingers gripped the sink for support as she splashed water on her face.
The coldness hit her skin, and for a moment, she closed her eyes — the reflection staring back at her in the mirror almost unrecognizable.
Her eyes sunken, skin pale, dark circles hollowing her face — was this really her?
Outside, Vidyut stood motionless, every sound from inside making his pulse race. When the faintest sound of her stumble came, he immediately pushed the door open.
"Ritvi!"
She looked up, startled, water dripping from her fingertips. Before she could protest, his arm was already around her waist, steadying her fragile frame.
"Vidyut... I was..... fine," she murmured weakly.
He shook his head, voice trembling with anger that was only fear in disguise. "You almost fell, Ritvi. Don't—" he stopped mid-sentence, eyes glistening.
There was silence — heavy, fragile, and filled with everything unsaid.
Vidyut carefully helped Ritvika back to bed, his arm firm around her waist while his movements remained slow and cautious, afraid even a wrong step might hurt her fragile body. Once she was settled against the pillows, he gently adjusted the blanket over her, tucking it near her shoulders.
He glanced at her IV line, then the monitor beside the bed, making sure everything was stable. His movements were precise — checking the saline drip, the oxygen level, even the pulse monitor — like a man who had done this routine a thousand times in the past months.
But before he could turn away to fetch her medicine, a faint whisper froze him mid-step.
"Why... you are... calling me... Ritvii?"
Her voice was barely audible, hoarse and fragile, but it hit him harder than anything else had that night.
He turned around slowly. She was looking at him — weak, pale, but genuinely confused. Her brows furrowed slightly, waiting for an answer.
Vidyut blinked, completely thrown off guard. For a moment, his throat tightened, and then he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze.
"Umm... it's... sorry... Ritvika," he muttered quickly, his tone hesitant, almost apologetic. "Didn't mean to— I just... got used to it."
Ritvika's eyes softened a little, but she didn't say anything. He stood there awkwardly, guilt flickering in his eyes as if he had made a mistake too personal to fix.
He sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair, unsure what else to say — unaware that the name he had been whispering to her for five long months, every single night she was unconscious, was the same one she just questioned.
It was late night. The soft glow of the bedside lamp painted the room in a calm, golden hue.
The rhythmic beeping of the monitor had become slower, gentler — almost peaceful.
Vidyut sat on the small stool beside Ritvika's bed, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on her.
She looked fragile still, but alive. Breathing.
He exhaled quietly and spoke, his voice low, steady, almost a whisper meant only for her.
"The doctor said he'll remove all these medical things tomorrow morning..." his eyes flickered briefly toward the IV and monitors, "...but you'll still need rest and medicines for a while. No skipping them, hmm?"
Ritvika blinked slowly, her tired eyes meeting his. She gave the faintest hum — a small sound, but enough for him.
Vidyut smiled faintly, leaning back a little, rubbing his palms together like he was unsure what to say next.
"It's the last day of Navratri tomorrow," he continued softly, his voice carrying a hint of warmth, "we'll be doing Kanya Pujan in the morning. I and Tara bought so many gifts for the girls — bangles, ribbons, chocolates, those tiny purses she liked..."
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head lightly at the memory of Tara insisting on choosing every single color.
"Honestly, I thought I'd be doing it all alone this time," his voice trailed for a second, emotion brushing through, "but now that you're awake.
.." he paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her again, ".
..we'll do it together. You'll get to take blessings from Goddess Durga too — maybe she's the one who finally listened. "
Ritvika's lips curved faintly — not quite a smile, but something close. The kind that spoke gratitude without words.
Vidyut stayed there, just watching her, the quiet between them filled with more emotion than conversation.
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