⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟔˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
I don't know what the hell got into me.
Why did I agree?
Why did I say she should leave Tara here?
Because of the heat? Really, Vidyut?
Yeah right.
These mother-daughter duo are going to drive me crazy. First the mother's dead-silent stammering, and now the daughter who keeps climbing over me like I'm a jungle gym.
I looked down at the tiny creature in my arms — her big eyes were staring at me. And not the happy, bubbly kind of stare.
It was... off.
Suspicious.
Oh no... no no no no. Not now.
Her lips trembled, and then she screamed —
"Mumma! Mummaaaaa!"
Great.
And boom — full breakdown mode.
She started wailing like someone just snatched her candy for life. Her tiny fists were slapping my chest. Her legs kicking wildly.
"Hey, hey—stop that!" I barked, but obviously she didn't care.
I couldn't deal with this right now. Nope.
So, I quickly set her down on her feet, thinking maybe she'd calm down.
Bad idea.
Because the very next second, she ran.
"Hey—hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?!" I called out, rushing behind her.
She dashed straight for the main door like some mini escape artist. Just as I reached to grab her tiny arm—
THUD.
She tripped.
Flat on the floor. Right there on the damn marble.
My heart dropped.
"Tch—shit!" I muttered as I bent down immediately, my hands scooping her up before I could even think.
She had fallen flat—knee scraped a little, tiny tears welling in her big round eyes, and her lip was trembling.
"Mumma... mumma... uhuhuh..." she sobbed, her tiny fists grabbing onto my shirt like it was her safety rope.
"Hey hey... stop crying, dammit—" I started, irritated. But the moment I saw a drop of blood forming on her palm, everything in me paused.
She looked up at me. Her wet lashes stuck together, and she pointed at the floor angrily,
"Ba-boo... no ouchie... da..no... no floor... bad bad floor!"
("Bad... no ouchie... that... no... no floor... bad bad floor!")
My brows twitched.
"Floor's not bad. You just don't know how to walk straight," I mumbled, brushing some dust off her elbow.
But she wasn't listening. She sniffled loudly, her nose running now, cheeks tear-stained and red.
"Mumma... mumma... where... where mummaaa..." she cried again, resting her forehead against my shoulder.
My arms froze around her.
Why was this... doing something?
This tiny trembling weight in my arms... it was messing with my head.
And then she did something unexpected.
She gently patted my cheek twice, softly like she was the grown-up.
"No... shout... okay?" she whispered seriously. "No scare mumma... no scare Tala..."
("Don't shout, okay? Don't scare Mumma... don't scare Tara...")
I swallowed hard. My jaw clenched.
A two-year-old. She was two.
And she was already carrying the fear of my voice.
I exhaled through my nose, sharp and heavy.
"You're going to be trouble."
She sniffled again but then slowly calmed, her little hand curling against my collar. Her body softened into me like she was used to being carried like this. Like she trusted me.
Why?
"Uhh... mumma ko batana nahi, okay?" I muttered.
("Don't tell Mumma, okay?")
"Tala no cry... shhhh... biiiig man hold!" she babbled proudly, raising her scraped hand like she'd won a trophy.
("Tara no cry... shhh... big man hold!")
Big man?
I scoffed under my breath.
"Yeah... big man," I repeated, brushing a strand of her hair from her forehead. "Don't get used to it."
What the hell just happened?
One second she was screaming "Mumma Mumma" like the world was ending, and the next she slipped and landed flat on the ground like a crumpled leaf. I picked her up immediately, half-panicked, half-annoyed — why the hell was she even running?
She cried like someone stole her candy jar.
I sat her on the couch and bent down. Her knee was bleeding, not much — just a tiny scrape — but of course, for a two-year-old, it was the end of the universe.
"Stop crying, you're not dying," I muttered, reaching for the first-aid box nearby.
But did she stop? Nope.
She hiccupped and looked at me with those damn watery eyes. And then...
She raised her leg and pointed to another faded scratch, just beside her ankle.
"Nan...nani bal... she do... but Mumma shoo it," she mumbled, struggling with the words.
("Nani hit me... she did it... but Mumma told her to go away.")
I froze.
For a second, I didn't even breathe.
That mark wasn't from today. It was old. Half-healed. But the way she said it, clutching her doll and blinking at me like I'd fix it too...
Something twisted inside my chest.
Goddammit.
I shook my head, clearing the weird lump forming in my throat.
"Sit still," I muttered, applying antiseptic on her fresh scrape.
She flinched slightly.
"Ouchy..." she whispered. Then looked at me again.
"No shout... Peas?"
(Don't shout... please?)
I didn't say anything.
Because I couldn't.
I just pressed the cotton a little softer this time. That's it.
I don't know why I did it.
She stopped crying. Sat there quietly now, her scraped knee patched, her tiny doll clutched to her chest like a damn security guard.
I should've walked away. Gone back to my room. Gone back to not giving a damn.
But no.
Instead, I found myself in the kitchen. Annoyed at myself.
This is stupid.
Still, I opened the top cabinet where I kept some emergency chocolates — mostly for when Aarush or Hridhaan raided the house for snacks.
I grabbed one and walked back out.
She looked up the moment she heard my steps, still sitting exactly where I left her — like she thought moving would get her into trouble.
"Here," I said flatly, tossing the chocolate next to her on the couch.
She blinked. Then looked at it. Then at me.
"Fank you," she mumbled, clutching it tight.
("Thank you.")
God.
What is this kid?
I didn't reply. Just turned around and walked off.
I shouldn't have left her alone.
What if she did something again? Fell again? Started crying again?
Then her mother — that woman — would get another reason to blame me. As if I'm sitting here doing father duties out of love. No. Not happening.
You're a fool, Vidyut. Why did you even take her responsibility?
Shaking my head, I walked back into the living room.
She was sitting on the floor, legs stretched, that stupid pink teddy beside her like it was her partner-in-crime. Chocolate in one hand. Wrapper still sealed. Just staring at it.
I sat down next to her, sighing. Closed my eyes for a second.
And then...
A small tug on my t-shirt.
I opened my eyes.
Her tiny hand was gripping my shirt, and in the other, she was holding the chocolate up.
"Olen it," she said seriously.
("Open it.")
What the hell is olen it?
I just stared at her.
She huffed.
"Tholo," she said again, frowning now, shaking the chocolate in front of me like I was dumb.
("Kholo." / "Open.")
Oh god. She's trying to say kholo.
I took the chocolate from her tiny hand, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the situation I was in. The great Vidyut Rajvansh — CEO, feared, respected, not-to-be-messed-with — is being bossed around by a two-year-old who doesn't even know full words yet.
With a sigh, I tore the wrapper and handed it back to her.
"Here. Happy now?"
She grinned.
I was working.
Laptop open, reports pending, deadlines hovering — everything was just fine.
Except it wasn't.
Because someone — yes, that little troublemaker — was here. Sitting on the carpet with all her toys scattered like it was some fancy tea party. She didn't even like the couch. I bought that couch for comfort, and madam prefers the damn carpet.
I tried ignoring her.
Focused on my screen. Typed fast. Emails, numbers, charts — the usual chaos.
But peace?
No. That's not written in my destiny anymore, I guess.
Because all of a sudden, she appeared beside my leg. Tugging my pant, blinking up at me with those sparkly eyes like some baby deer.
And then... she tried to climb on me.
What. The. Hell.
"Hey... oh hello!" I snapped.
But of course — why would she listen? Rules? Respect? Boundaries? Nope. Not in her dictionary.
Before I could blink, she had already climbed up on my leg. Like I was a damn mountain and she was on a mission to reach the summit.
I sighed.
Deeply.
"This is not happening," I muttered.
And yet — there she was. Now fully settled. In my lap. Like a queen. Her tiny frame sinking into me comfortably like this was her rightful throne.
And my laptop?
Yeah.
It was in her lap now.
She was looking at the screen like she understood everything. Like the company's monthly revenue report made perfect sense to her toddler brain.
Wow.
As if sitting in my lap like she owned the world wasn't enough — she started tapping the screen.
Tiny fingers. Tapping confidently. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.
"Ephephant," she whispered.
Wait. What? Ephephant?
I narrowed my eyes and looked at the screen.
Oh god.
There was an elephant logo on the corner of the file.
She meant elephant.
Bhai yaar. Koi mujhe yahan se le jao. (Someone please take me away from here.)
This was too much.
And then she started blabbering.
Her own secret toddler language.
"Vileo chao jadi."
Hein?
She said it again, now a bit clearer. Enough for my exhausted brain to decode.
"Start the video fast."
I'm sorry... what?
You're giving me orders now? Wow. Just wow.
Who even raised this tiny dictator?
Aane do tumhari maa ko. I'll definitely report this. "Your daughter's turning me into a cartoon slave," I'll say.
But did I have a choice?
No. Because she gave me that deadly look again — those watery puppy eyes like I had just stolen her lollipop in a past life.
So...
I opened YouTube.
Searched some "kids animated videos." Found one with dancing animals and weird colors. Tapped play.
She squealed. Squealed. And clapped her tiny hands in victory.
And I just sat there.
Vidyut Rajvansh. CEO. Business shark. Now reduced to a baby's personal YouTube butler.
God, save me.
I entered the hospial — Cure With Care.
My feet felt heavier with each step, my mind swirling with thoughts. I walked up to the reception, clutching my purse tightly.
"Dr. Rahul Sirohi," I said, my voice trembling.
The receptionist gave me a polite nod.
"Yes ma'am, just a moment."
What's going to happen?
Why did he call me here so urgently?
I had taken the full body check-up for the first time, not even for myself, but for Tara.
I just didn't want to risk anything when it came to her health.
Lately, I had been feeling... different.
Weaker, maybe. Something didn't feel right — that's why I took the test.
But... why call me here instead of sending the reports?
Everything should be okay. No. Everything has to be okay.
"Ma'am, Dr. Sirohi is in the OT right now. We'll let you know shortly when he's available," the receptionist said kindly.
"But... he called me here to meet him."
"Yes ma'am, I understand. But sir has gone in for an emergency case. You can wait in the waiting area. Thank you."
I sighed and gave her a weak nod.
I made my way to the waiting area and sat down, but my body refused to relax. My mind was restless — overthinking, overanalyzing every possibility.
It's just insomnia... right? That's all it is. Then why... why do I feel so anxious?
A sigh escaped my lips.
My thoughts immediately drifted back to Tara
It's been over an hour since I left her... is she okay?
Did he shout at her again? Did she cry? Was she scared?
I quickly pulled out my phone... only to realise — I didn't even have his number. Nor Lata Kaki's.
Of course. Why would I?
A helpless laugh left my lips — dry and bitter.
Now how ws I supposed to know if my daughter was okay?
Please... just let her be alright.
That's all I ask.
I closed my eyes, leaned back, and whispered to myself:
"Bas sab thik ho... please sab thik ho."
(Everything has to be fine... please, just let everything be fine.)
It had been two hours now. Ritvika was still sitting in the waiting area, her heart pounding with every passing second. She had already asked the receptionist more than twenty times. And every single time, the answer was the same —
"Doctor is still in the OT, ma'am."
Her patience was running out. Her mind wasn't even fully here anymore — it was back home, with Tara.
I just want to go home to my daughter. I can't sit here any longer. She must be hungry. What if she cried? What if he shouted?
That was it. She couldn't wait anymore.
She slowly stood up, ready to leave — when a nurse approached her.
"Ms. Kapoor?"
Ritvika quickly nodded, her heartbeat rising.
"Ma'am, Dr. Rahul is available now. You can meet him."
Ritvika let out a heavy sigh and nodded again. Clutching her dupatta, she made her way to the second floor, her steps hurried yet hesitant.
Her eyes landed on a board outside a room:
Dr. Rahul Sirohi (MBBS, MD)
She took a deep breath and knocked softly.
"Come in," came the calm voice from inside.
She stepped in slowly.
The doctor looked up from his file and motioned her to sit. She followed silently, her nerves tightening with each second.
Her fingers fidgeted in her lap as her eyes stayed fixed on the doctor's face.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Kapoor," he said politely.
"Good afternoon," she whispered back.
He cleared his throat and began,
"Ms. Kapoor—"
"You can call me Ritvika," she cut in softly.
Dr. Rahul gave a small nod and continued,
"Alright, Ms. Ritvika. Your reports have come in."
His voice was calm, but there was a certain seriousness in his tone that made her throat dry.
He slowly opened the file in front of him, scanning the papers — most likely her test results.
Ritvika swallowed hard, barely able to breathe.
Her fingers curled tighter in her lap, her heart racing.
Please... please say everything is normal.
She nodded at him, almost mechanically — preparing herself for the unknown.
The cabin was silent except for the soft rustling of papers. Dr. Rahul adjusted his glasses as he scanned Ritvika's reports, his expression unreadable.
"Ms. Ritvika..." he began, his tone calm yet firm. "Before I explain your diagnosis, I just want to ask you a few things."
She shifted in her seat, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her dupatta.
"Do you often feel tired? Like you're running out of energy quicker than you should?"
Ritvika blinked. The question caught her off guard. "Umm... yes. Sometimes I do. But... I have a daughter, doctor. She's just two. Running behind her... managing everything alone—it's natural to feel tired, right?" she gave a faint smile, one that barely reached her eyes.
Dr. Rahul nodded thoughtfully, then asked again.
"Have you ever felt breathless? Maybe while climbing stairs or doing small physical tasks?"
That made her pause. Her smile faded.
"Actually... yes. Two or three times in the last year, I felt breathless. I thought maybe I hadn't eaten enough... or maybe it's stress. It went away after a few minutes, so I didn't think it was serious."
He gently closed the file and looked at her, his voice softer now.
"Ritvika... those symptoms are not just from stress or tiredness. They're signs. And your reports confirm it."
She froze.
"Signs... of what?" she asked, voice barely a whisper.
Dr. Rahul folded his hands on the table.
You have a condition called Dilated Cardiomyopathy. It's a disease where your heart muscle has become weaker and slightly enlarged. It's not pumping blood as effectively as it should
The world around her seemed to pause. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Weaker? Enlarged? Her heart...?
“It’s not something that happened overnight,” he continued. “It often develops slowly. Sometimes due to genetics, sometimes after viral infections, or prolonged physical stress — even pregnancy can trigger it in some women.”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
"Is it... dangerous?" she finally managed to ask, her throat dry.
Dr. Rahul's eyes softened. “It can be. If left untreated, it puts increasing pressure on your heart. Over time, it can lead to arrhythmias, fluid buildup, or even heart failure. But—” he quickly added, seeing the panic flood her face, “you’re lucky it was caught early. With proper treatment, many people live long, normal lives.”
She closed her eyes, her fists tightening.
"But I... I didn't even know. I thought I was just tired..."
"It's not your fault, Ritvika,” he said gently. “This condition can go unnoticed for years. And considering everything you've been managing alone — pregnancy, motherhood, stress — your heart may have been under more pressure than you realized.”
Her breath caught. Tara.
"I have a daughter, doctor. She's just two... what if something happens to me?"
Dr. Rahul looked at her with quiet reassurance.
“We'll run a few more tests to assess how much the heart is affected. Then we'll decide if medications are enough — or if we need to consider a minor surgical intervention, like a device implant to support the heart.”
The word hung in the air like a thunderclap.
Surgery.
Ritvika's breathing grew shallow. Her fingers trembled over her lap. The white walls of the cabin suddenly felt like they were closing in, inch by inch. Her mind spiraled with just one thought—what if something happens to me?
Her lips quivered. She opened her mouth to speak, but no voice came out. She could only whisper one word—
"S-surgery?"
Dr. Rahul immediately noticed her reaction. "Ritvika, please calm down," he said gently, reaching for a bottle of water and sliding it towards her.
"But... I can't... I can't do a surgery," she whispered, shaking her head, her voice cracking. "What if I don't wake up? What will happen to Tara? She's just a baby. She has no one but me..."
She broke off mid-sentence, clutching her chest as the panic started to settle deeper, making her breaths sharper, shorter. "I can't risk it, doctor. I can't—"
Dr. Rahul stood up slowly and came around the desk, crouching slightly beside her seat.
“Listen to me carefully,” his voice was steady and calming.
“I said if a surgery is needed. Not all cases require it. And if it is — it’s not open-heart surgery, but a small, safe procedure like placing a pacemaker or ICD to regulate your heartbeat.
We’re not rushing anything. No one’s going to force you. ”
Ritvika turned her face away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
"I'm not scared for me," she said, almost in a whisper. "I'm scared for her. My daughter... she's just two, doctor. She won't even understand where I've gone if something happens to me."
There was silence for a moment.
Then Dr. Rahul softly said, "And that's exactly why we want to help you. So you never have to leave her. That's the whole point of early treatment."
He handed her a tissue and gave her time to breathe.
"Let's take one step at a time, okay?" he said. "We'll run some tests. Once we have the results, we'll discuss every option in detail. You're not alone in this, Ritvika. And you're stronger than you think."
She slowly nodded, her eyes still glossy but her breathing steadying.
But that word... surgery — it had already left a crack inside her.
Dr. Rahul glanced at Ritvika's pale face—the way her fingers twisted the edge of her dupatta restlessly, how she kept blinking to hold back the tears.
"Ritvika," he said gently, "I would suggest... you get the tests done today itself, if that's okay with you."
Her eyes snapped up at him. Her throat was dry, her thoughts spiraling into a whirlpool. Tests? Today?
He continued, "These are important. The sooner we understand how extensive the defect is, the better we can help you. I'll write down the list—just some scans, ECG, echocardiogram, and bloodwork."
He turned back to his desk and began scribbling on a prescription pad.
Meanwhile, Ritvika sat frozen. Her hands in her lap were trembling slightly. Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first.
She was still stuck on the same thought—Her world... was shattering. Quietly. Silently. Without a warning.
She finally whispered, "Doctor... how much will all this cost?"
Her voice cracked.
Dr. Rahul paused and turned to face her again.
"I can't give you an exact figure," he said honestly, "but these tests typically cost around 40 to 50 thousand rupees."
Ritvika blinked, her breath caught in her chest.
40... to 50 thousand.
A lump formed in her throat. Her ears were ringing. She nodded silently, trying her best to not let the heaviness collapse her completely in front of him.
She looked down at her lap, avoiding eye contact, and muttered, "Okay..."
Okay? What else was she supposed to say? She didn't have a choice.
Her fingers moved to her purse instinctively. She opened the zip and stared at the few notes tucked inside—barely ?4,000 in total. Her phone had only ?877 in her Paytm wallet. And back at that house... that wasn't even hers.
She slowly stood up, her legs stiff and heavy.
"Thank you, doctor," she managed to say with a forced, polite smile. "I'll... see what I can do."
"Please take care of yourself, Ritvika," Dr. Rahul said softly, handing her the prescription. "And try not to stress too much. We'll figure things out."
But her mind was already drowning in numbers. Not medical ones. Money.
Because survival... wasn't free
The hospital doors slid open as Ritvika stepped out, the prescription clutched tightly in her fingers — the ink almost smudged from the way her hand was sweating.
The sun was harsh. But not as harsh as life.
She kept walking. Mechanically. Without thought. Without direction.
People passed her by. Cars honked. A child cried nearby. The world was loud. Busy. Moving.
But inside her?
Stillness. Silence. Collapse.
She found a shaded bench at the edge of the parking lot and sat down. Her hand opened the prescription again — that cursed list of tests staring back at her like a death sentence.
?50,000.
She didn't even have ?5,000.
She bit her lower lip hard, trying to stop the sob clawing its way up. But it didn't help. Her shoulders shook. Her lips trembled.
And then — she broke.
No screaming. No gasping.
Just tears.
Tears that flowed so soundlessly as if even they were scared to disturb the world.
"Why now?" she whispered to no one.
"Why me... again?"
Her fingers clenched the paper and pressed it to her chest.
She had suffered enough, hadn't she?
A forced marriage. A shattered name. A child born from loss. A life of silence.
And now... her own body turning against her?
Her free hand dug into her purse — she opened every zip, every fold. Counted again and again.
?4,901. That's it.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
She closed her eyes tightly, remembering Tara's giggle this morning.
She smiled even now... because Tara was the only light left.
"No," she whispered again, firmer this time.
"I can't fall now. I don't have that luxury."
But even as she said that, her heart squeezed again — not metaphorically.
Literally.
A strange tightness clawed at her chest. Brief. Just a few seconds. But enough to scare her.
She inhaled sharply and pressed her hand to her heart.
This... this was real. This wasn't stress. This wasn't in her head.
She had a hole in her heart. And it was only getting worse.
Her eyes looked up at the sky, and her lips trembled in a soft, broken plea:
"Bhagwaan ji... don't do this to me. Don't punish her for my fate. Let me live. If not for myself... at least for her."
And with that... she wiped her tears, tucked the prescription in her purse, and stood up.
Because she had no option but to survive.
━━━━━━?? ━━━━━━
4000+ words