⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔𝟎˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
The hospital entrance stood tall and silent—smelling of antiseptic, echoing with muted footsteps and unspoken fears.
Ritvika stood there, right beside Vidyut.
Her fingers were clenched tightly in the fabric of his sleeve, knuckles pale—not because she was scared of the place, but because of what waited inside. Behind them stood Divya, quiet and composed on the outside, though her eyes carried stories only she knew.
This meeting had come with one condition.
Siya would not meet anyone.
Except Divya.
And Ritvika had insisted—softly but firmly—that Divya had to be present. Vidyut hadn't argued. This time, he let her have it.
They walked down the corridor slowly.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Ritvika's heart was racing, her breaths uneven. She kept swallowing, as if trying to calm the storm building inside her chest. Vidyut noticed it all—how her grip tightened the closer they got, how her shoulders stiffened—but he said nothing. He just stayed close. Steady. Present.
They stopped outside the room.
Divya turned back once, giving Ritvika a reassuring look before gently pushing the door open.
She entered first.
Vidyut and Ritvika stood at the doorway, waiting—almost afraid to look.
And then they saw her.
Siya.
She was sleeping.
Curled into herself on the hospital bed, knees drawn up slightly, arms wrapped around her own body—as if the world had taught her too early how to self-soothe.
The white sheets looked too big for her, swallowing her fragile frame.
Her face looked pale, peaceful in sleep, lashes resting softly against her cheeks.
Like a baby.
Unaware. Innocent. Breakable.
Ritvika's breath hitched.
Her eyes instantly filled with tears—not loud, not dramatic. Just quiet devastation.
"That's... her," she whispered, almost to herself.
Vidyut felt something tighten in his chest.
This was the girl his wife had wanted to meet so desperately.
This was the girl.
And yet—there was nothing dangerous about her.
Only pain.
Divya moved closer to the bed, adjusting the blanket around Siya with practiced care. Her movements were gentle, familiar—someone who had done this many times before.
Ritvika took one hesitant step inside the room.
Then another.
She didn't rush. She didn't speak.
She just stood there, looking at Siya as if she were afraid that even her gaze might wake her.
Tears slipped silently down Ritvika's cheeks.
Vidyut watched his wife in that moment and realised something unsettling—
She wasn't just curious about Siya.
She felt her.
And somehow... that scared him more than anything else ever had.
Siya stirred.
At first, it was just a small movement—her fingers twitching beneath the blanket, her brows knitting slightly as sleep loosened its hold. Then her eyelids fluttered open.
And reality crashed in.
White walls.
Beeping machines.
Too many shadows.
Her breath hitched sharply.
She pushed herself back against the bed, eyes widening in alarm as she noticed figures around her. Panic flooded her face instantly—raw, instinctive, unfiltered. Her hands clutched the blanket tightly, knuckles trembling.
"Angel..." she whispered hoarsely, fear lacing every syllable.
Divya was at her side in seconds.
"Shhh... Siya, it's okay," Divya said softly, immediately crouching to her level so she wouldn't feel towered over.
Her voice was calm, practiced—the voice of someone who had pulled Siya back from panic countless times before.
"It's just me. You're safe. Hospital hai, remember? Nothing is going to happen."
But Siya's breathing remained uneven. Her eyes darted around the room again, her body curling inward as if trying to disappear.
"There are... people," she murmured, distress thick in her tone. "Why are there people?"
Divya gently held her hands, grounding her.
"They won't touch you. They won't come close unless you want them to. I promise."
Only then did Divya glance toward the door.
Ritvika was still standing there.
She hadn't moved an inch since Siya woke up.
Something inside her hesitated—should she step in or step back? Vidyut stayed beside her, alert, ready to pull her away the moment Siya showed even the slightest discomfort.
But Ritvika didn't rush.
She took one slow step forward—just enough for Siya to see her clearly.
And something unexpected happened.
Siya's eyes—wide, fearful moments ago—stilled.
They landed on Ritvika.
No panic.
No recoil.
Just... curiosity.
Her breathing slowed, little by little. The tight clutch on the blanket loosened. She tilted her head slightly, studying Ritvika with those large, innocent eyes—as if trying to understand who she was.
Ritvika felt her heart break and heal at the same time.
She didn't smile too widely. Didn't speak immediately.
She simply lowered herself to a small stool near the bed, keeping a respectful distance, her posture open—not threatening.
"Hi," Ritvika said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm Ritvika."
Siya blinked.
Still no fear.
Divya noticed it too—her eyes widening in quiet shock. She had never seen Siya calm this quickly with someone new. Ever.
"She's... not scared," Divya murmured under her breath.
Vidyut stiffened slightly, watching the scene unfold with guarded attention.
Siya's gaze drifted over Ritvika's face—her gentle eyes, her calm presence, the warmth that seemed to radiate without effort.
"You look..." Siya hesitated, searching for the word. "...soft."
Ritvika's lips trembled into a small, emotional smile.
"Tum bhi," she replied instinctively, then stopped herself—careful not to overwhelm.
"You're very brave."
Siya didn't correct her.
She didn't deny it.
She just kept looking at Ritvika—like a child looking at something familiar without knowing why.
Time passed—quietly, gently.
Siya shifted a little on the bed, no longer curled into herself. Her back rested against the pillows now, her shoulders relaxed in a way Divya had almost forgotten was possible. Every few seconds, her eyes flicked toward Ritvika—as if checking whether she was still there.
Ritvika was.
She hadn't moved away. Hadn't invaded either.
Just... stayed.
Siya watched her for a long moment before suddenly asking, very seriously,
"Angel... who is she?"
Divya followed her gaze to Ritvika and smiled softly.
"She's a good person," she said carefully. "Someone very kind."
Siya nodded as if that explanation was enough.
Then she looked back at Ritvika, her lips pursing in thought.
"You don't look like Angel," she announced.
Ritvika chuckled lightly. "That's because I'm not."
Siya studied her again, eyes roaming over her soft features, the way her dupatta fell, the calm in her presence. Then her face lit up—slow, bright, unmistakable.
"You're a Princess," Siya declared.
The word landed in the room like something sacred.
Divya froze.
Vidyut stilled.
Ritvika's breath caught.
"A... princess?" Ritvika echoed, almost unsure if she'd heard it right.
Siya nodded firmly, completely convinced.
"Angel saves me," she said, pointing to Divya.
"And Princess..." her gaze softened even more, "...makes me feel safe."
Divya's eyes welled up instantly.
"She never gives nicknames," Divya whispered, disbelief and emotion tangling in her voice. "Never."
Ritvika pressed her lips together, fighting the sudden sting in her eyes. She reached out instinctively—then stopped midway, remembering boundaries.
"Thank you," she said softly instead, her voice thick. "That's... very sweet."
Siya smiled.
A real smile.
She even reached out on her own, her fingers brushing Ritvika's sleeve briefly before retreating, as if testing the world. Ritvika didn't flinch.
The bond—fragile but real—settled quietly between them.
For the first time in a long while, Siya spoke without fear, asking small, innocent questions. Ritvika answered gently, sometimes just nodding, sometimes smiling. Vidyut watched it all in silence, his chest tight with emotions he hadn't prepared for.
Then the door opened.
Two nurses walked in, their movements efficient and practiced.
"Injection time," one of them said gently.
The change in Siya was instant.
Her body tensed. Her hands clenched the bedsheet, breath turning shallow again.
"No..." she whispered. "Angel... no..."
Divya moved closer immediately, holding her hand.
"It'll be quick, Siya. I'm right here."
But as the syringe came into view, Siya's control shattered.
She thrashed, crying out, her voice raw with fear and pain.
"No! Please—don't—"
Ritvika's eyes filled instantly.
Her hands clenched as she watched Siya's face contort in distress, the cries echoing painfully in the room. Her chest tightened, breath hitching—memories, fear, helplessness crashing in all at once.
Vidyut noticed it immediately.
He stepped toward Ritvika, placing a steady hand on her shoulder.
"That's enough," he said quietly but firmly.
Ritvika shook her head, tears slipping free now.
"She's hurting..."
"I know," he said softly, guiding her back. "And that's exactly why you shouldn't watch this."
She didn't argue.
She couldn't.
As Siya's cries grew louder, Vidyut gently turned Ritvika away, shielding her view, his arm firm around her shoulders.
"Come," he murmured. "You don't need this stress."
Ritvika glanced back once—just once.
Siya's eyes met hers through the chaos.
"Princess..." Siya cried out, reaching weakly.
Ritvika's heart broke.
"I'm here," she whispered, though she was already being guided out. "I'm here."
The door closed softly behind them.
Ritvika stopped the moment they stepped outside the ward.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, her voice trembling, eyes already wet. "I want to be with her. She needs someone. I want to stay."
Vidyut turned to face her, his expression firm but not unkind.
"Ritvika," he said calmly, grounding her with his tone, "not this time."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued before she could.
"I agreed to everything today. Everything. But not this. Not now. We're going home. No more discussion."
There was something final in his voice—not anger, not control—just concern.
Ritvika looked at him for a long second, then slowly nodded, defeated but understanding. He guided her toward the car, making sure she was settled properly before driving off.
The silence inside the car lasted barely a minute.
"Why did maa leave so early?" Ritvika asked suddenly, looking out the window.
Vidyut sighed lightly.
"She has her own home, Ritvi. And besides, she came to stay just for a week, remember? Aarush is still here though."
Ritvika nodded.
"And," Vidyut added, accelerating slightly, "we need to reach home fast. I told Aarush to pick Tara, but he's busy. And honestly," he muttered, "he can't handle her all the time."
That earned a small smile from Ritvika.
They reached home quicker than expected.
The moment they stepped inside, both of them froze.
"What... is this?" Ritvika whispered.
On the living room floor lay Aarush.
Flat.
Dramatically flat.
A small oxygen mask was strapped to his face, his eyes closed like a tragic patient in an ICU.
And hovering over him—
Their little doctor.
Tara sat beside him with a toy stethoscope around her neck, one hand placed very seriously on Aarush's chest, the other holding a clipboard—somewhere she had magically acquired.
She tilted her head, listening intently, then nodded to herself.
"Hmmm," she muttered in her tiny, serious voice.
Vidyut's jaw dropped.
Ritvika clapped a hand over her mouth, torn between horror and laughter.
"Tara..." Vidyut said slowly, carefully. "What... are you doing?"
Tara looked up proudly.
"Doctor," she announced.
Aarush groaned weakly from the floor.
"Bhai... please... save me..."
Tara immediately put the stethoscope back on his chest, completely ignoring him.
"Patient very sick," she declared. "No moving."
Ritvika lost it.
She burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the house, all the tension from the hospital finally breaking apart. Vidyut rubbed his forehead, equal parts exasperated and amused.
Aarush peeked at Vidyut helplessly.
"Bhai, you said I'll just pick her up," he whispered. "You didn't say I'll be her experiment."
Vidyut shook his head, lips twitching despite himself.
"Congratulations," he said dryly. "You survived."
Tara nodded seriously.
"Doctor good," she said.
Ritvika wiped her tears of laughter, walking closer.
"Our house," she murmured softly, warmth flooding her chest again, "is never boring... is it?"
Vidyut looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time that day, he smiled without worry.
"No," he said quietly. "Never."
The chaos slowly settled.
Aarush escaped Tara's "medical care" the moment Ritvika distracted her with promises of chocolate milk, and soon the house returned to its familiar calm.
Tara was sent to wash her hands, still muttering about "patients" and "injections," while Aarush disappeared upstairs, dramatically announcing he needed bed rest.
Ritvika was still smiling when she turned around.
Vidyut was watching her.
"Ritvika..." he whispered, but his voice faltered the moment he truly looked at her. Her face was calm, almost angelic.
Her face is so calm.
The house feels normal after so long.
I do not want this smile to vanish, not even for a second.
But I have to tell her.
How do I tell her no when I myself do not want to say it.
What should I do.
If I delay, it will be too late, and I cannot risk that.
I have to tell her. It is for her benefit only.
I was lost in my thoughts when my kitten's voice pulled me back.
"Dadddaaaa."
"Hmmm," I hummed softly and took her from Ritvika's arms.
Ritvika looked at me, silently waiting for me to complete what I had started.
I walked towards our room, and she followed me. I placed Tara on the bed with her doctor set, and within seconds she was busy checking her soft toys' heartbeat, murmuring seriously like a tiny professional.
I looked at Ritvika again.
Her face was still calm.
And again, seeing that calmness, my feet froze. But I could not delay anymore.
"Ritvika... voh... main..." I started, my voice stuttering.
Before I could complete, she spoke.
"Before, you used to say I speak slowly, that even Tara speaks faster than me. And now, only you are speaking like this," she said softly.
She inhaled gently and looked at me, waiting.
Tell her, Vidyut.
She needs to know.
She inhaled softly, waiting.
The calm on her face made it harder.
I looked away for a second, then back at her. "You remember what happened when you went into coma," I said quietly. "The doctors told you your condition became critical because of poor blood circulation."
She nodded. "Yes. But they said I survived because the medicines worked in time."
That sentence.
That lie she had built her hope on.
"They worked," I agreed slowly, "but only enough to keep you alive at that moment."
Her brows knit together. "What do you mean."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice instinctively, as if the walls could hear us. "Ritvika... medicines did not fix your heart. They only delayed what was already coming."
Her breathing changed. Just slightly. But I noticed.
"Your DCM is not fully controlled," I continued. "After the coma, the damage progressed faster than expected. Your heart is struggling to pump blood the way it should."
She swallowed. "But... I feel okay now."
I nodded once. "Because your body is compensating. Not because your heart is healed."
She stared at me, confusion slowly giving way to fear.
"What are you trying to say, Vidyut."
I closed my eyes for a brief moment.
Say it.
"According to the doctors," I said, finally looking straight at her, "this is not a long-term solution anymore."
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her suit. "Then what is."
My throat burned.
"A transplant."
The word landed between us.
"No," she said immediately. Too fast. Too sure. "That's not possible. If it was that serious, they would have told me."
"They told me," I replied. "Because at that time, you were not stable enough to handle it."
Her head shook slowly. "You're lying. You're overthinking. You always do."
"I wish I was," I said softly.
Silence swallowed the room.
Tara's soft toy fell from the bed with a dull thud. Ritvika didn't even flinch.
"A heart transplant," she repeated, almost whispering now. "You're saying I need someone else's heart to survive."
I nodded. Once.
Her eyes filled instantly, but no tears fell. Shock had frozen her.
"I thought... I thought I was getting better," she said faintly. "I planned things. I believed—"
She stopped.
Her hand went to her chest, not in pain, but disbelief.
I reached for her, holding her arms firmly. "You are getting better right now," I said. "Because we're careful. Because we caught it in time. That's why the doctors are pushing for this now—not later."
She looked up at me, her eyes finally breaking.
"You let me believe I was okay."
"I let you breathe," I said hoarsely. "I let you smile. I let you live without fear for as long as I could."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I was scared," she whispered. "But I wasn't prepared for this."
"I know," I said. "And I hate myself for being the one to say it. But I will not lose you because of silence."
She leaned into me slowly, her strength giving out at last.
The calm was gone.
And so was the illusion.
"No," Ritvika said suddenly, stepping back from me.
"No. No, this is wrong."
She shook her head again and again. "I am fine. I can walk. I can breathe. I wake up every day. This does not make sense."
"Ritvi," I said softly, reaching for her.
She flinched. "No," she whispered, louder this time. "Please don't touch me. If you touch me it will become real."
Her breathing turned uneven, sharp gasps breaking through her words. "People who need transplants are dying. I am not dying."
She pressed her palm to her chest as if to prove it. "It's beating. See. It's beating."
Her voice cracked.
"I just went shopping. I laughed. I held Tara. How can my heart be failing when my life feels normal."
She laughed then. A broken, trembling sound that scared me more than her crying would have.
"This is a mistake," she said. "Doctors make mistakes. Reports get mixed up. You misunderstood."
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her before she could fall apart further. She resisted for a second, then collapsed into me like her bones had turned to dust.
Her fists clutched my shirt.
"No no no," she sobbed. "I don't want this. I don't want someone else's heart. I don't want hospitals again."
Her body shook violently.
I pulled her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head, fingers sliding into her hair, slow and steady. The other arm held her against my chest, shielding her from everything I could not fix.
"Ritvi, listen," I whispered urgently. "Listen to me, please."
She cried harder, her face buried against me. "I was finally feeling safe."
"I know," I said, pressing my lips gently to her hair. "I know, dove. Calm down. Breathe with me."
I stroked her hair again and again, the same way I had seen her do for Tara. "Just breathe. In. Out. That's it."
Her sobs turned into broken hiccups.
"You are not alone in this," I said softly. "Not now. Not ever."
She shook her head weakly. "I am scared."
"I am here," I murmured. "I will not let anything happen to you. We will take this one step at a time."
She clung to me like a child afraid of the dark, her hands fisted in my clothes, her tears soaking into my chest.
Ritvika's sobs grew louder, her whole body shaking in Vidyut's arms.
Before he could say anything more, small hurried footsteps echoed in the room.
"Mummaaa."
Tara came running in, her little face crumpled in fear, tears already spilling as she saw her mother crying like that. She did not understand the words, but she understood pain.
Ritvika barely registered her before Tara clutched her leg, crying harder.
Vidyut reacted instantly.
He lifted Tara into his arms and pulled Ritvika closer at the same time, holding both of them against his chest. One arm wrapped around Ritvika's shoulders, the other securing Tara, his hand rubbing small circles on her back.
"It's okay," he murmured again and again. "It's okay. I'm here."
Tara's tiny fists gripped his shirt as she cried into his shoulder, frightened by the chaos. Ritvika's face was buried against his chest now, her sobs muffled but no less broken.
Vidyut swayed gently, back and forth, like grounding both of them in the same rhythm.
"Shh," he whispered. "Dadda is here."
His fingers moved through Ritvika's hair slowly, carefully, like soothing a frightened child. He pressed his cheek briefly against the top of her head, anchoring her.
Gradually, Tara's cries softened into sniffles. Exhaustion took over her small body, the emotional storm draining her completely. Her grip loosened, her breathing evening out.
Vidyut laid her down on the bed gently, covering her with a blanket. The toy stethoscope slipped from her hand and rested near her pillow.
She was asleep.
Ritvika sat frozen on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, tears still sliding silently down her cheeks. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, knuckles white.
Vidyut sat beside her and turned her toward him, carefully, slowly, like she might shatter if he moved too fast.
"Ritvi," he said softly.
She flinched at her name.
She looked at him then, eyes red, scared, vulnerable in a way that made his chest ache.
"Why is it needed," she asked in a broken whisper. "Tell me that first."
Her voice trembled. "If medicines are working then why a transplant. Why something so big."
She swallowed hard.
"What if I do not survive it," she asked, fear naked in her eyes. "What if I die."
Vidyut did not rush to answer. He held her hands, warming her cold fingers between his palms.
"You listen to me now," he said calmly, firmly. "And you listen till the end."
She nodded faintly.
"The medicines are helping," he said. "Yes. But they are helping your heart survive, not heal."
Her lips trembled again.
"When you went into a coma, your blood circulation dropped dangerously," he continued. "Your heart could not pump enough on its own. That moment changed everything."
She shook her head weakly. "But I woke up."
"You did," he said softly. "Because they stabilized you. But the damage remains."
He leaned closer so she would not look away.
"The transplant is not because you are dying," he said. "It is because they want you to live."
Her breathing hitched.
"This heart is tired, Ritvi," he said gently. "It has been fighting longer than it should. A new heart means freedom."
Her eyes searched his face, desperate.
"Freedom from medicines. Freedom from fear. Freedom from collapsing one day without warning."
She started crying again, silently.
"I am scared," she admitted in a whisper. "I do not want hospitals anymore. I do not want machines. I do not want to leave Tara."
Vidyut pulled her into his arms immediately, holding her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head.
"Look at me," he said softly.
She hesitated, then lifted her face.
"You are not going anywhere," he said with certainty. "Not now. Not ever."
His thumb brushed away her tears.
"This is not an end," he said. "This is the beginning of a life where you will not wake up afraid every morning."
He rested his forehead against hers.
"You will run with Tara. You will scold her. You will grow old with me."
Her shoulders shook as she cried harder, finally letting go.
"I cannot do this alone," she whispered.
"You are not alone," he replied instantly. "I am right here. Every step. Every fear."
He rocked her gently, like he did Tara.
"Just trust me once more," he murmured. "Let me protect you."
Ritvika clutched his shirt, crying quietly against his chest.
And Vidyut held her, steady and unbreakable, as if his arms were the safest place in the world.
Thank you for reading!!