I can’t move. Everything tilts. Darkness is all I see.
The last thing I think is—
I never called Kajal, and I pinky promised Rudrani that I will come next month. Oh no. Please, I don't want to break her heart.
CHAPTER 16
ABHIMAAN
She was supposed to be here at nine. It’s eleven. And I’ve gone through several stages of emotions I didn’t even know I had the vocabulary for.
First, it was irritation. The kind that crawls under your skin and sits there, making everything else feel louder than it is. The lights. The sounds of keyboards clacking. Someone chewing gum in the hallway.
Then it shifted to anger—how dare she? How unprofessional. How unlike her.
Then came confusion. Because this isn’t her. Not even close.
And now—now it’s something I don’t recognize. Something dangerously close to worry. I don’t worry. I don’t do feelings. Not for other people. Not anymore. But I’ve checked her inbox—no unread mail. Called her twice. Straight to voicemail. I pace behind my desk, arms folded, trying not to let it show. Everyone else thinks I’m just in a bad mood. That’s the default setting anyway.
I sit. I stand again. My hands itch to do something—anything—but I can’t focus. Her last message was last night. 11:48 PM. “Proofread the attached doc—don’t die over it, pls :)” She’dadded a smiley face. Who the hell adds a smiley face to an almost-midnight work text? Aditi, apparently.
The phone rings, and I immediately grab it in hope that it's her, but it's from an unknown number. I consider ignoring it, but with everything going on with Anil, I can't. My gut twists, and I answer on instinct.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Abhimaan?”
My spine straightens. “Yes.”
“I’m calling from Fortis Hospital, Mumbai. Your number was on a business card found in the bag of a Miss Aditi. She’s been in a road accident.”
My mind blanks for a full second. I whisper, “What?”
“She’s stable now. Mild concussion, but we’d request someone to come in as soon as possible. And we need to notify her family.”
Family. I don’t even think. I grab my keys, shut my laptop, and bark for the car. The world narrows to the sound of my own heartbeat, thudding against my ribs like it wants out. The drive feels longer than it is. I don’t look at my phone. I don’t speak to my driver. I don’t let myself think.
I just breathe. And even that is hard.
The hospital is cold. Bleached walls. Nurses moving like they’ve memorized grief in every language. I push open the glass doors of the emergency ward, not waiting for instructions. She’s in room 308. I was informed on call.
I find her lying on the hospital bed, wires tucked under her hospital gown, a faint bruise blooming on her temple.
My lungs forget how to expand. The doctor next to her notices me rushing towards her; he opens his mouth. I know he's speaking, but it's hard to hear when she's lying on the bed like this. I force myself to listen and turn towards him. "...brakes on the vehicle failed. We’re looking into it, but the driver disappeared before the ambulance arrived. It’s strange. Luckily, she only has a mild concussion. No internal injuries, no broken bones. She’s unconscious now, but she should wake up soon. We’ll monitor her for seventy-two hours. If there’s no vomiting, dizziness, or disorientation, you can take her home.”
I nod stiffly.
“Her family—?”
“They’re... not in the city,” I say briefly. “I’ll inform them.”
The doctor leaves as he instructs something to the nurse next to him. I sit beside her. The chair is hard and too low for comfort. But I don’t care.
I lean forward, resting my hands on my knees, and stare at her.
There’s something unsettling about seeing someone so animated, so full of noise and opinion and sarcasm—reduced to silence.
She doesn’t move. Her hair’s a mess. There’s a scratch on her cheek. Her lips are pale. And still, she looks...
