Chapter 12
Viya
I stepped out of the elevator carrying the small white pharmacy bag, my hands still trembling from everything that had happened in the last few hours. The third floor hallway stretched before me, sterile and cold under the harsh fluorescent lights.
And there, sitting alone on a bench near the ICU doors, was Armaan.
He looked so different from the confident, commanding CEO I had seen in the conference room.
He looked lost. Broken. His elbows rested on his knees, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly together.
His perfectly styled hair was disheveled, as though he had been running his fingers through it repeatedly.
His tie was loosened, his shirt collar unbuttoned.
He looked like a man barely holding himself together.
My heart clenched painfully in my chest.
A nurse appeared beside me, gently taking the pharmacy bag from my hands. I had not even realized I was still clutching it.
"Thank you, dear. I will take these to the doctor."
She disappeared through the ICU doors, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I walked toward Armaan slowly, my feet feeling heavy. He did not look up as I approached. He seemed completely lost in whatever thoughts were consuming him.
I sat down beside him on the hard plastic bench, leaving just a small space between us. The silence stretched out, filled only with the distant sounds of hospital machinery and muffled conversations from other hallways.
I wanted to say something. Anything. But what could I possibly say that would make this better?
Instead, I reached out tentatively and placed my hand over his clasped ones.
He looked up at me then, and the raw pain in his eyes took my breath away. His eyes were red, whether from exhaustion or unshed tears I could not tell. Maybe both.
Then, without warning, he pulled me into his arms.
He hugged me tightly, desperately, his head coming to rest against my chest. I could feel the way his entire body was trembling, the way his breathing was uneven and shallow. He held onto me like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
I froze for just a second, surprised by the sudden embrace. Then instinct took over, and I wrapped my arms around him. One hand came up to stroke his hair gently, the other rubbing slow circles on his back.
"It is okay," I whispered softly. "Dadi is going to be fine. The doctor said so."
His arms tightened around me.
"She is the only mother I have ever known." His voice was muffled against my kurti, rough with emotion. "My real mother died when I was born. Dadi raised me. She was there for every scraped knee, every school play, every achievement, every failure. She is all I have. I cannot lose her. I cannot."
My throat tightened with emotion. I understood his pain in a way that cut deep into my own heart. I had lost my parents. I knew what it felt like to face the possibility of losing the people who mattered most.
"You are not going to lose her," I said firmly, continuing to stroke his hair. "She is strong. She is going to be okay."
We stayed like that for what felt like both an eternity and no time at all. Me holding him. Him holding onto me like I was a lifeline.
Eventually, the ICU doors opened and a nurse stepped out. We broke apart quickly, both of us straightening and trying to compose ourselves.
The nurse smiled at us kindly.
"Mr. Khanna? We are moving Mrs. Khanna to a private room now. She is stable and resting comfortably."
Armaan stood up immediately.
"Can I see her?"
"Once we have her settled in the room, yes. It should only be about ten minutes."
We followed the nurse down a different hallway to a private room with large windows and comfortable furniture. Nothing like the cold, clinical ICU. This space felt warmer, more human.
They wheeled Dadi in on a hospital bed, an IV still attached to her arm, a white bandage wrapped around her head. But her eyes were open, and when she saw Armaan and me standing near the door, a small smile crossed her face.
She did not speak. She looked tired, her skin pale against the white hospital sheets. But she was alive. She was okay.
Armaan went to her immediately, pulling a chair close to her bedside and taking her hand in both of his.
"Dadi, you scared me half to death. Why didn't you call someone if you were not feeling well."
His voice was stern, almost scolding, but I could hear the love and fear beneath the words.
Dadi gave him a weak smile but did not respond. She was probably still too tired to speak.
Armaan continued, his grip on her hand tightening.
"I am hiring a full time nurse. Someone who will be with you around the clock. No arguments on this.”
I stood back and watched them, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the worry still churning in my stomach. The love between them was so evident, so pure. This was what family looked like. This was what it meant to have someone who would move mountains for you.
I had never really had that. Uncle had cared for me in his own way, but it had always been overshadowed by Aunty's resentment and Avija's indifference. But watching Armaan with his grandmother, I could see what unconditional love looked like.
And something in my chest ached with longing for that same kind of connection.
◆◆◆
One week later, we finally brought Dadi home from the hospital.
Armaan had arranged everything with meticulous care.
He had hired not just one but two nurses who would rotate shifts to ensure Dadi was never alone.
He had converted one of the ground floor guest rooms into a temporary bedroom for her so she would not have to climb stairs.
He had consulted with the doctors about diet, medication, physical therapy, everything.
He carried Dadi from the car into the house himself, refusing to let anyone else help, and settled her gently onto the bed in her temporary room.
I watched from the doorway as he adjusted her pillows, made sure her water glass was within reach, checked that the call button for the nurse was working properly.
"Armaan, beta, I am fine," Dadi said with a tired but amused smile. "Stop fussing over me like I am made of glass."
"You hit your head and lost half your blood supply. I will fuss as much as I want."
I left them alone and went to the kitchen to prepare soup. Mamta ji had already started it, but I took over, wanting to do this myself. I made a simple dal soup with vegetables, something light and nourishing that would be easy on Dadi's stomach.
When it was ready, I poured it into a bowl and carried it carefully back to Dadi's room.
Armaan was still there, sitting in a chair beside her bed, talking to her in low tones about something. They both looked up when I entered.
"I brought soup for you, Dadi," I said softly, approaching the bed.
Dadi's face lit up.
"You made this yourself, beta?"
I nodded, settling onto the edge of the bed.
"Yes. It is very simple, just dal and vegetables. The doctor said you should eat light foods for the next few days."
I brought a spoonful to her lips, and she accepted it obediently. As I fed her slowly, one spoonful at a time, I could feel Armaan's eyes on me. When I glanced over at him, there was something in his expression I could not quite read. Something soft and warm that made my cheeks heat up.
After Dadi finished the entire bowl, she leaned back against the pillows with a contented sigh.
"That was delicious, Viya. Thank you, beta."
Then she looked between Armaan and me, a mischievous glint appearing in her eyes despite her weakened state.
"You know, I am feeling quite bored being stuck in this room all day. The doctor said I should move around a little, get some fresh air. I would like to sit in the garden for a while."
Armaan immediately looked concerned.
"Dadi, are you sure? You are supposed to be resting."
"I have been resting for a week, beta. I need to see the sky and feel the breeze. Please. Just for a little while."
Armaan could never deny her anything. He sighed and stood up.
"Alright. But only for thirty minutes. And you are not walking there yourself."
He scooped her and put her on wheelchair, and I followed them out through the house and into the garden.
The garden was beautiful in the late afternoon light. Mango trees laden with fruit cast dappled shadows across the well maintained lawn. Flower beds burst with color. A stone pathway wound through it all, leading to a sitting area with comfortable chairs.
Armaan settled Dadi into one of the cushioned chairs. Mamta ji appeared moments later, having seen us from the kitchen window, and took a seat beside Dadi. They immediately began chatting about something, their voices low and companionable.
I looked up at the mango tree nearest to us, its branches heavy with ripe fruit. An idea struck me.
"Dadi, would you like some fresh mangoes? I could try to get some down from the tree."
Dadi's face brightened.
"Oh, that would be wonderful, beta. Fresh mangoes are the best medicine."
I looked around and spotted a long bamboo stick leaning against the garden shed. It was the kind used for reaching high branches. I had seen gardeners use them before.
I picked it up and positioned myself under the mango tree, looking up at the fruit hanging just out of reach. I raised the bamboo stick and tried to hook it around a branch to shake loose a mango.
Nothing happened.
I tried again, pushing the stick higher, wiggling it back and forth.
Still nothing.
The mangoes hung there stubbornly, refusing to fall despite my best efforts. I could hear Dadi and Mamta ji laughing softly behind me, clearly amused by my struggle.
"This is harder than it looks," I muttered to myself, adjusting my grip on the stick.
I was so focused on the task that I did not hear footsteps approaching behind me.
Suddenly, I felt a warm hand close over mine on the bamboo stick. Strong arms came around me from behind, guiding my movements. I could feel the solid presence of Armaan's body pressed against my back, his chest against my shoulders.
My breath caught in my throat.
"Like this," he said softly, his voice close to my ear. His breath ghosted across my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "You need to hook it around the branch and then pull down sharply."
I could not concentrate on the mangoes anymore. All I could focus on was how close he was. How I could feel the warmth of him radiating through my clothes. How his arms surrounded me completely, making me feel small and protected.
He was looking up at the tree, completely focused on the task. But I could not look anywhere except at his hands covering mine, at the way his forearms flexed as he manipulated the stick.
Those butterflies in my stomach that seemed to appear whenever he was near were going absolutely wild now.
"Are you even trying?" His voice held a hint of amusement. "I can feel you just standing there."
Heat flooded my cheeks. I forced myself to focus on the mango tree, to help him push and pull the stick.
Together, we hooked the bamboo around a branch laden with fruit. Armaan pulled down sharply, and with a soft thud, a perfectly ripe mango fell to the ground.
"Got it!" I exclaimed, immediately dropping the stick and running forward to retrieve the mango before it could roll away.
I picked it up triumphantly and turned back to show Armaan, a huge smile on my face.
He was watching me with an expression that made my heart skip. There was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, genuine and unguarded.
"See?" he said, walking over to stand beside me. "Plucking mangoes is not as easy as coding, is it?"
I laughed, looking down at the mango in my hands.
"Definitely not. I think I will stick to my laptop."
We plucked a few more mangoes together, though this time Armaan just handed me the stick while he steadied the branch from a safer distance. I was grateful for the space. Being that close to him made it impossible to think straight.
Once we had gathered half a dozen mangoes, we brought them over to where Dadi and Mamta ji were sitting. Mamta ji went to get a knife and plates, and soon we were all sitting together in the garden, peeling and eating fresh mangoes.
The fruit was sweet and juicy, perfectly ripe. The juice ran down our fingers, and we laughed as we tried to eat them without making too much of a mess. Dadi looked happier than I had seen her since the accident, her eyes bright with joy as she watched Armaan and me.
The afternoon sun filtered through the mango tree leaves, casting golden light across the garden. Birds chirped in the trees. A gentle breeze carried the scent of flowers.
It felt like family. It felt like home.