Dhruv sat on the edge of the couch, shoulders stiff, blood smeared across his temple, fingers crusted with dried crimson. The doctor hovered near him, hesitant.
Shruti stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly, eyes locked on him like he was some kind of ghost. She hadn't said a word since they stepped inside. The silence burned more than anything else.
"I said treat her first," Dhruv repeated coolly, ignoring the blood slowly dripping down the side of his face.
Shruti's eyes flared, her voice cutting through the air like a blade." What did you say seriously druve I'm not the one with a gaping hole in my head."
Dhruv glanced at her, unfazed. "It's just a scratch."
"A scratch?" she echoed, stepping forward. "You have a dent in your skull, Dhruv. There's literally a hole. Are you planning to patch it up with duct tape and attitude?"
The doctor chuckled under his breath, caught between amusement and caution. "Honestly… she's not wrong."
Shruti ignored him. Her eyes stayed fixed on Dhruv, gleaming with unshed tears, her tone thick with biting sarcasm.
"And wow, look at your hand," she added with a bitter laugh. "Fingers swollen, skin torn… and still, here you are, trying to act like you're the Iron Man of the streets."
Dhruv tilted his head, calm." I'm fine it's not a great deal it's not that serious as you portray."
Her voice dipped, cracked at the edges. "Do you even realise how terrifying that was to watch?"
He was silent.
The doctor looked between them, clearing his throat. "So, um… who am I treating first?"
Shruti shot him a glare. "Don't even think about it. If you go near me first, I swear—"
The doctor instinctively stepped back, trying to mask his smirk. He'd treated Dhruv for all kinds of brutal injuries before—most times, it was like trying to treat a wild tiger. But now? That wild tiger was being scolded into submission by someone half his size, with twice his temper.He bit his cheek to keep from laughing..
So she's the boss, the doctor thought, biting back a smile.
"Who's the patient here, doc?" Shruti asked, sarcasm melting into fury. "Because he clearly thinks pain is just a suggestion."
The doctor hesitated, but the choice was obvious he turned to Dhruv. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, gauze in hand. Dhruv turned slightly and shot him a look—stern, cold, warning.
That signature Dhruv glare.
The kind that once made full-grown men back away.
The doctor's hand faltered.
But before he could take a step back, Shruti's voice cracked through the tension like a whip."Don't you dare try that glare on him, Dhruv!"
Dhruv tried to ease the tension, picking up a clean cotton pad and reaching for her neck. "Let me just—"
She backed away instantly. "Oh, no. Absolutely not."
He blinked, confused.
"You're bleeding from your face and you think now is the right time to play nurse?" she said, incredulous. "Seriously, Dhruv? What's next? You want to stitch your forehead one-handed while balancing tea on your knee?"
He exhaled, finally cornered. But before he could say anything, her voice softened. Just a little.
"I could've lost you out there," she whispered.
His fingers stilled.
Shruti's eyes glossed with tears, though her voice didn't lose its bite. "You scared me. I didn't know if you were going to drop dead on the way here—and you're worried about a small cut?"
"I'm not risking you," Dhruv muttered, his voice firm but quiet.
"Well, newsflash, genius—I'm not risking you either!" she snapped, voice breaking on the last word. "So sit your reckless, blood-soaked self down and let him fix that hole in your damn head before I lose my mind!"
Dhruv, for once, didn't argue.
He simply stared at her, chest rising and falling heavily. A quiet tension filled the room. Then, with a sigh that sounded like surrender, he dropped his eyes and finally leaned back a little, allowing the doctor to approach.
The doctor glanced between them, amused and slightly in awe. "Wow. Never thought I'd see the day."
Dhruv gave him a warning look—but Shruti saw it and snapped, "Don't even try it, Dhruv. You glare at him again, I'll personally bandage you with duct tape and a shovel."
The doctor paused, blinking at that threat, before deciding it was best to proceed quickly.
He cleaned the blood from Dhruv's temple, stitching the wound in practiced movements while Shruti stood rigid at his side, arms crossed, silent now—but her chest was rising too fast, her eyes locked on every tiny twitch of pain on Dhruv's face.
And then, when the doctor pulled the needle through his skin, a single, uncontrollable sob escaped her throat.
Dhruv immediately turned his head toward her.
His eyes softened as he reached for her hand. "Shruti…"
She blinked fast, trying to compose herself. "Don't talk."
"I'm okay—"
"Shut up," she whispered, her grip tightening.
Dhruv fell silent again, guilt flickering behind his usually unreadable gaze.
The doctor worked swiftly, his hands steady, though his eyes flicked toward Shruti now and then—watching the way her expression shifted with every wince on Dhruv's face. So she's the one who got through to him, he mused, quietly impressed. Never seen him this still. Never seen him let someone stand this close.
When the final stitch was done, Dhruv didn't speak right away. He just reached for her hand, held it gently, voice low. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Shruti looked at him, cheeks wet, sarcasm long gone. Just that raw fear again, wrapped in fierce love. "Then stop trying to be invincible."
Before she could say another word, Dhruv turned to the doctor. "Now treat her."
Shruti's head snapped toward him. "Dhru.."
He raised his hand without warning, gently placing his index finger on her lips. Her breath caught in her throat.His touch was feather-light, but it stopped her cold—more effective than any words could've been.
And then, with a subtle tilt of his head, Dhruv leaned in—not moving closer, just narrowing the space between thought and action. His presence pressed in, intimate and steady. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips, his scent mixing with the metallic tang of blood and antiseptic.
His eyes held hers, unblinking.
"Shhh," he whispered. "It's your turn to listen."
The pad of his finger lingered just a second longer before trailing down, brushing against the curve of her jaw letting her feel goosebumps all over her body.
"You're letting him check you. No arguments."
Shruti didn't move. She couldn't. Everything around her blurred, background noise drowned in the gravity of that single moment—his voice, his nearness, the gentleness that didn't fit his bloodied hands or bruised knuckles.
The doctor turned to Shruti and before he could check Dhruv's voice cut through the room.
"Check her wrist first."
The doctor blinked. "Her wrist?"
Dhruv stepped closer, pointing at her hand like he was presenting evidence in court. "It's bruised. There's a cut on her neck too. Could be deep. Might need stitches."
Shruti frowned, glancing at her wrist. "It's barely—"
"She didn't even flinch when I touched it," he added, now speaking to the doctor like Shruti wasn't even in the room. "That's a bad sign. Numbness. What if it's nerve damage?"
The doctor looked confused but took her wrist anyway. "It's a minor scratch. Maybe a light bruise at most. Nothing to worry about."
"She was bleeding," Dhruv snapped. "There was blood."
"Dhruv," Shruti interrupted, voice laced with exasperation. "You're acting like my hand is falling off."
He ignored her. "Disinfect it. Bandage it. Tight. No shortcuts."
The doctor looked between the two of them, slightly amused now. "Sure…"
As he began cleaning the area, Shruti turned her head sharply toward Dhruv. Her eyes were narrowed.
"You know, for someone who walked in here with his own shirt soaked in blood, you're really going hard about a scratch on my wrist."
Dhruv's expression didn't change.
"And if we're talking about nerve damage," she continued, tilting her head with a dry smile, "maybe you should get checked first. You didn't even flinch when they stitched you up—what if you're the one with damaged nerves".
The doctor stifled a laugh.
Even Dhruv blinked, taken aback.
She leaned in just slightly, voice lowering as she added, "Next time, try listening to me before ordering a full surgical intervention for something that barely qualifies for a cut."
He stared at her. Then, slowly, a faint flicker of something dangerously close to a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The doctor finally finished dressing the wound. "There. Your life-threatening injury is handled."
Shruti looked smug. Dhruv just grunted.
"I still want it re-checked tomorrow," he muttered.
Shruti rolled her eyes. "Of course you do."
The doctor stood up packing his things ready to leave " I'm done here I'll get going."
After the door clicked shut, silence returned.
Dhruv looked at her wrist again.
"I wasn't exaggerating," he muttered.
"You were very much exaggerating."
He shrugged. "You still could've lost a hand."
"And you could've lost half your blood. But sure, let's panic about my wrist."
He didn't reply, but his gaze softened, lingering on the bandage. Then, quietly, he said, "I just needed to be sure you were okay."
Her sarcasm faltered. She nodded, eyes dropping to the floor. "I know." And that single moment—between all the bickering and bruises—was the closest either of them had come to saying, I care.
The silence stretched for a beat too long.
Then Shruti looked up, her brows lifting with mock surprise. "You know… for someone who usually communicates with grunts and glares, you talked a lot just now."
Dhruv's gaze flicked to her, deadpan. "I had to."
"Did you, though?" she teased, tilting her head. "You gave a whole speech about my wrist. I half expected you to request a wheelchair."
"You're welcome," he muttered.
She smirked. "So dramatic. Who knew you were hiding an inner soap opera uncle?"
His jaw twitched. "Say that again if you dare." She laughed—a small, genuine sound that slipped out before she could stop it.
She looked at him then, really looked—and for a moment, the mask he always wore slipped. Just enough for her to see the worry that still clung to him, quiet and unspoken.
"I'm okay," she said, softer this time.
His jaw clenched like he wanted to argue. But he didn't."But I'm not," he said quietly. "Not till I found you." Shruti's breath caught, the weight of his words settling between them like dust in still air.
"I thought I was too late," he muttered. "And I don't think I've ever been that scared in my life before you entered my life."
Shruti turned her head toward him, startled by the admission. "Dhruv…"
Dhruv didn't speak for a long time. His thumb moved in a slow, absent circle against the back of her hand, like he didn't even realize he was doing it.
"I know I'm not the easiest person to be around. I push people away before they can even get close. But with you…" He looked up then, right at her. No walls. "You're already in. You always were."
Shruti blinked, her vision blurring as something hot stung behind her eyes.
"You don't have to say anything," he added quickly. "I just… I needed you to know."
Neither of them said a word after that.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable—it was thick with emotion, with unspoken things that didn't need words. Shruti slowly leaned in, resting her head on Dhruv's shoulder. His breath hitched, but he didn't move away. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her gently, holding her like she was something fragile… something precious.
There, on the couch, they just sat—together. Her head tucked against him, his arm around her. Her bruises, his cuts… none of it mattered in that moment. She felt protected, completely. Like the storm had passed and she was still here—safe. Warm. Wanted.
A small sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat steady hers.
Shift to the present—
The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of machines. Riya—Shruti—lay motionless, her face calm, almost peaceful. But then… a tear slid down her cheek. Then another. And another.
Though her eyes remained closed, the silent weeping didn't stop—like something inside her remembered.
"Dhruv…" she whispered, barely audible, her lips forming his name more than voicing it.
Rajveer, who had been sitting beside her, instantly leaned forward. "Did you hear that?" he asked, his voice laced with urgency.
Rana, standing by the window, turned around. "She spoke."
They both moved closer, eyes locked on her face.
Another tear slipped down her temple.
"Dhruv…" she murmured again.
And the room, once filled with silence, now buzzed with the haunting echo of a name—and the storm it might bring back with it.