The sterile atmosphere of the hospital room felt suffocating. The white walls, the faint beeping of the heart monitor, and the ever-present smell of antiseptic—nothing about it was conducive to healing. Riya's pale form lay motionless in the bed, her breathing slow but steady, yet the stillness of her condition had begun to weigh heavily on her family. It had been more than six months since her coma, and though the medical team had done everything in their power, they had not been able to break through the wall she had built around herself.
In a small meeting room just down the hall, the Rathore family gathered once again with Dr. Iyer, the head physician. His face was marked with concern as he looked at Mr. Rathore, who sat at the head of the table, flanked by his wife and Vikram, their only son.
"Her condition remains the same," Dr. Iyer began, his voice steady but tinged with a sense of helplessness. "We're still unable to identify the trigger for her panic attacks. They are occurring more frequently now, and we've done everything we can to monitor her and minimize any external stimuli that might provoke them."
Mrs. Rathore leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly together. "But we've been so careful. We've kept the room spotless, and we've even restricted the visitors. How could we have missed something? Why is it getting worse?"
Dr. Iyer sighed, glancing at the monitors that continued their slow, rhythmic beeping. "The problem, Mrs. Rathore, is that while we've been careful about external triggers, we haven't addressed the environment itself. It's clear that the sterile hospital setting may be contributing to her condition."
The family exchanged worried glances, the weight of Dr. Iyer's words sinking in.
"You mean… the hospital itself could be making it worse?" Mr. Rathore asked, his voice quiet but firm.
"Yes," Dr. Iyer confirmed. "The coldness of the hospital, the constant sound of machines, the clinical atmosphere—it's a stark reminder of trauma. Riya may have started associating this place with her distress. It's not unusual for patients in long-term care to have negative psychological reactions to the environment, especially when they've been here for so long."
Mrs. Rathore's eyes welled up, and she looked down at her hands. "So, what do we do now? How do we help her?"
"We believe a change in environment might be the key," Dr. Iyer explained. "A place that feels more familiar, more comforting—away from the cold, clinical nature of this hospital. Something closer to home, perhaps. We need to recreate a safer space, something that could help her feel more at ease."
Mr. Rathore absorbed the doctor's words with a stern silence. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "You think moving her home will help?"
"We can't be sure, but it's the next logical step," Dr. Iyer said. "We'll make sure she's accompanied by a full medical team—nurses, doctors—to monitor her condition around the clock. The key will be consistency and a peaceful, stable environment. This will give us a better chance at understanding her triggers, and hopefully, reduce the frequency of the panic attacks."
Mrs. Rathore wiped her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what if it makes things worse? What if she still doesn't wake up?"
Dr. Iyer placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll proceed with caution, and we'll be with her every step of the way. But I believe this change is necessary. It's not just about physical recovery anymore; it's about providing Riya with an emotional environment where she can start to heal."
The family sat in silence for a few moments, the gravity of the decision sinking in.
After a while, Mr. Rathore spoke again, his voice filled with resolve. "If we're doing this, I want everything in place. Full medical support. Immediate transition. I don't want any risks."
"We will make all the necessary arrangements," Dr. Iyer reassured him. "It's the best chance we have."
As the meeting ended, the family members began to discuss the details of the move—arranging for medical staff, setting up a room in the mansion, and preparing for whatever came next. But there was an undeniable sense of hope, fragile as it was. The hospital, once a place of promise, now seemed like a cage, and they were determined to bring Riya back to a place where she could truly begin her recovery.
******
As the large, unfamiliar hospital walls became a distant memory, the Rathore family settled into their private haven. The mansion, nestled away from prying eyes, had always felt like an extension of its owners—grand yet quietly warm, a place where the strength of the family's legacy lingered in the air.
In the adjoining room, Rana sat at a grand wooden desk, discussing Riya's condition with the doctors. His expression was tight, brows furrowed in concern as he listened intently. At that moment, the door creaked open, and a tall figure walked in— Rajveer Prathap. His presence was commanding as always, and despite the seriousness of the situation, there was a warmth in his demeanor.
Rajveer and Rana had been best friends for decades, standing by each other through thick and thin. They had started their business empire together from the ground up, turning it into an unshakable force over the years. Their bond was forged in trust, loyalty, and shared struggles, making them more like brothers than friends.
Despite their differences in personality—Rana being the more calculated and ruthless one, while Rajveer was the steady and composed counterpart—they complemented each other perfectly. It was their combined vision and unwavering support for one another that had led them to the pinnacle of success.
"How is she?" Rajveer asked quietly, moving to stand beside him.
"Stable for now," Rana replied, his voice thick with exhaustion. "But the doctors can't figure out why the panic attacks keep happening. We've tried everything, Rajveer. I can't lose her. Not like this."
Rajveer nodded, his jaw tight. He'd known Riya since she was a child, and this situation was tearing at him too. He turned his gaze to the machines that beeped rhythmically, almost like a reminder that time was moving, but Riya wasn't.
Rana stood, taking a few steps back from the bed, his fists clenched by his sides. "You know, I can't even grieve properly. Not in front of Vikram or Sharatha. They look to me for strength. I have to be strong for them. But… I'm breaking inside, Rajveer. I'm losing her. And it's like I can't do a damn thing about it."
The vulnerability in Rana's voice was raw, unfiltered, and it cut through Rajveer's steely demeanor. He placed a hand on Rana's shoulder, offering silent support. He knew this was the only space where Rana could let his guard down, away from the prying eyes of Vikram and Sharatha.
"You've done everything you can," Rajveer said softly. "You're not alone in this. We're all here."
Rana's voice cracked, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "But look at our kids, Rajveer. Look at what they've become. Riya, trapped in this coma because of an accident, and Dhruv—cold, detached, emotionally unreachable. What happened to them? What did we miss? Why are they both suffering so much?"
Both Rajveer and Rana recognized the parallel between Dhruv and Riya—both lost, both unreachable in different ways. But while Riya's coma is a physical barrier, Dhruv's struggle is an emotional and psychological one. His silence isn't just grief; it's a sign that he's trapped in his own pain, unable to move forward.
Rajveer's face tightened, his own memories flickering to a time that felt far too close, yet buried under the weight of everything that had happened since.
"You don't have to carry this alone, Rana," Rajveer finally said, his voice firm yet reassuring. "She's still here. And until the moment she wakes up, we don't give up on her."
Rana exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I know that. But every day, it gets harder. I watch her lying there, unmoving, and I wonder—what if she never comes back?" His voice cracked at the end, something he rarely allowed to happen in front of anyone.
Rajveer placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Then we fight harder. You've never backed down from a battle before. Why start now?"
Rana let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Because this is different. I can't punch my way through this, Rajveer. I can't outmaneuver fate."
Rajveer's expression darkened. "Then we change the game. If this house isn't enough, we find another way. If the doctors can't help, we look beyond them. You know as well as I do that giving up is never an option."
For the first time in days, Rana felt the tight grip of despair loosen just a little. Rajveer wasn't just saying empty words—he meant every single one of them.
With a slow nod, Rana took a deep breath. "Then we find another way."
"That's the Rana I know," Rajveer said, his tone lighter now. "And don't forget—you're not alone in this."
Rana glanced back at Riya, the steady rise and fall of her chest giving him the smallest sliver of hope. He wasn't alone. And as long as Rajveer stood by him, he would keep fighting.
Rana exhaled sharply, rubbing his face before his expression darkened. "How's Dhruv ? still the same."
Rajveer's expression remained impassive, but something in his stance stiffened.
"That boy…" Rana let out a humorless chuckle. "Rajveer, tell me the truth. Do you not worry about him? I mean, really worry?"
Rajveer sighed, his fingers tightening slightly over Rana's shoulder before he withdrew. "Dhruv has always been different. You know that."
"Different?" Rana shook his head. "Rajveer, that boy is a storm waiting to consume everything in his path. He looks at people like they don't exist. He doesn't let anyone in. And when he does… it's only to tear them apart." His voice dropped, laced with something close to fear. "What if he never finds his way back? What if he's already too far gone?"
For the first time, Rajveer's stoic mask cracked—just slightly. He turned away, staring at the darkened window. "I've asked myself the same thing more times than I can count." His voice was calm, but there was an edge of something deeper beneath it. "But Dhruv isn't lost. He's just… waiting for something. Or someone."
Rana studied him. "And if that someone never comes?"
Rajveer finally turned back, his gaze unwavering. "Then I will bring him back myself. No matter what it takes."