Advait Yaduvanshi had spent many years mastering the art of saving lives. He had practiced his skills until they were perfect, even when he was under fire in the middle of a crisis.
He knew exactly how to steady hands that were shaking with fear in the middle of a messy emergency room. His fingers, covered in rubber gloves, moved like they were weaving through rivers of bright red blood to fix torn arteries.
He knew how to silence the loud panic when a patient's heart stopped on the table. In those moments, his voice was a calm anchor in a storm of beeping monitors and shouted orders.
He had learned how to make impossible choices in quiet, white rooms. He knew that one tiny mistake-a hand that hesitated during a cut or a wrong dose of medicine-could break a family forever.
He could still hear the echoes of grief from the people crying in the crowded waiting areas.
He had learned to sew open flesh back together.His needle moved like a quiet whisper over rough wounds, pulling muscle and skin into a fragile harmony.
He could give the most painful news with a face that showed no emotion. He kept his words soft and careful, even while a mother's loud sobs tore through the air.That sound always twisted something deep inside him, reminding him of the fears he had as a little boy. He survived shifts that lasted thirty-six hours. He kept going on nothing but cups of lukewarm coffee and a heavy duty that felt etched into his very bones. His body was like a machine that refused to break until the very last patient was safe.
But there was one thing Advait had never learned. He did not know how to save the parts of himself that medicine had slowly eaten away. He had lost his quiet dreams of a life away from the bright, white hospital lights. His kindness had been worn down by losing too many people. His spark of joy was buried under layers of mental scar tissue. And worst of all, the warmth of his family was falling apart.
His father had a will made of iron, and his mother was always quietly begging for him to find some balance.
By the time he walked into his father's office that evening, exhaustion stuck to him like a second skin. It felt heavy and damp with the ghosts of the people he had treated that day. The sharp, stinging smell of antiseptic soap still hung on his clothes. It was a reminder of the operating room he had just left-another life saved, but at what cost to his own?
He had changed out of his hospital scrubs and into a crisp black shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his collar was unbuttoned, but fatigue left deep, dark shadows under his eyes. His gaze looked hollow and far away. Outside the huge glass windows, the city skyline sparkled like a mosaic of lights, almost mocking how lonely he felt.
Dr. Rajveer Yaduvanshi looked up from his heavy mahogany desk. The leather chair made a small creaking sound under his weight. Years ago, Rajveer was a legendary heart surgeon. His hands were famous for doing miracles, fixing failing hearts with the skill of a master. Now, he ran the huge Yaduvanshi hospital chain with total command. His empire of shiny lobbies and expensive rooms was built on his fame as a doctor.
Silver hair lined his head, and his face showed his power. His eyes were as sharp as surgical knives-they missed nothing. On his desk sat a small brass lamp called a diya. It was a nod to the festivals his wife loved, even in this cold office of business.
And unfortunately was Advait's father.
His father's approval had always been a battlefield. The only thing that balanced it was the soft heart of his mother, Shalini. She moved through their big home with grace and her gentle voice was like a lifeline in their stormy house.
She was the one who put bandages on Advait's knees when he was a boy. She whispered stories of being strong while Rajveer made him study anatomy textbooks.
Her prayers and her home-cooked khichdi were the only things that helped Advait's burnout. But even she couldn't bridge the giant gap growing between the father and the son.
"Sit down," Rajveer said. His voice was calm and steady, like polished steel.
Advait stayed standing. His legs ached, but he kept his shoulders square. The polished wood floor felt cool under his shoes. "I've been awake for twenty hours straight," Advait said. "I did two major chest surgeries and saved three dying patients. If this is about the board meeting-money or buildings-just email me. I'll look at it at dawn."
"It's not about the board."
Advait paused. The air in the room felt thick and heavy with their history. He thought of his mother's worried phone calls lately, begging him to come home before you fade away. There were no hospital beeps here, just the quiet hum of the city and the tick of a clock.
His father folded his hands on the desk. His knuckles turned white against the leather. A gold ring sparkled under the warm desk lamp. "It's about your marriage. Or rather, the lack of one."
Advait's heart started to beat faster. A familiar feeling of dread grew in his stomach. He had dodged this for years. His parents kept bringing him "matches" like they were medical files. "Not this again," Advait said. "I am not a business deal for you to make."
Rajveer's eyes turned hard, but for a second, he looked almost sad. "Your mother is asking about you. She worries, Advait. We both do. The Gupta girl-Priya. Her family is perfect. They have hospital ties, the same values, and a great reputation. She is a smart doctor, too. It is time to think beyond the operating room. Secure the future."
Advait laughed. It was a bitter, empty sound that hurt his throat. He finally sat in the chair, and the leather made a soft sighing sound. But his body stayed stiff. "Priya Gupta? The one Ma showed me photos of last year? She has a perfect resume, but there is no spark. Forget it, Dad. No chance. She is a transaction, and I am tired of being traded like a piece of property."
Rajveer leaned forward. His voice got low and steady. "This is about stability. You are 31 years old, Advait. You are burning out in my hospitals. Priya understands our world. Your mother even prayed for it."
"Ma prays for a lot of things," Advait cut in, his anger rising. "Like for you to be easier on me. Like for me to have a real life. I love her, but Priya? Not happening. End of discussion."
Rajveer stopped. A tiny smile appeared on his lips-it wasn't a happy smile, it was a calculated one. He leaned back and put his fingers together. "Your mother was right. She said there was no way you would agree to Priya. She knows you better than I do. She said you would see right through the 'business' part of it."
Advait blinked, surprised. His anger faded a little. "Then why bring it up?"
"Because it was worth a try." Rajveer slid a cream-colored folder across the desk. It had a photo of a young woman with warm eyes and a confident smile. "But listen to me about this one. Ruhani Rai. She is a financial analyst in Mumbai. Her family is middle-class-no big business, no hidden plans. Her father is a retired teacher. She is a good, hard-working person. Your mother liked her right away."
Advait didn't even look at the folder. It just sat there like a prop in a play. He rubbed his temples, feeling his exhaustion come back. He stood up, his voice flat and final. "Enough, Dad. I don't want to marry anyone. I'm done."
Rajveer's hand shot out. He slammed the desk with controlled force, making the small brass lamp rattle. His voice became a command. "Sit down, Advait. You will think about this girl. Your mother and I both see it. She is right for you. No pressure, no games. Just a good woman who could pull you back from the edge of your work. Take the folder. Meet her once. For us."
Advait paused at the door. His hand gripped the knob. His eyes stayed cold. Without a word, he pulled the door open and walked out.
The heavy door shut with a thud. Rajveer stared at the empty space and the untouched folder, while the city lights outside stayed bright and indifferent.
Advait didn't go to the parking lot. He needed his keys from his office first-that small, cramped room where he kept extra clothes and old coffee mugs. It was his only place to hide. When he got there, the door was half-open, and the bright light inside felt like an accusation. His stomach dropped.
He pushed inside and let the door slam. Ruchi Sharma was sitting in his chair. His nightmare.
She was looking through the papers on his desk like she still belonged there. She wasn't wearing a doctor's coat, just those tight blue hospital scrubs that showed her curves. Her hair was down in a wild mess. She was a famous doctor now, but six months ago, she had ruined their relationship by cheating on him with a business guy while Advait was working.
"Ruchi? What the hell are you doing in here?" Advait's voice was flat. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood by the door. His heart beat faster, but it was just a reflex, not love.
She jumped up. Her eyes locked onto his-they were dark and fierce. "Waiting for you. Finally. You haven't answered my texts or calls for a month. Are you too busy saving lives to read a message?"
"Ignoring you? That was the best choice I've made." Advait didn't move. He kept his hands in his pockets.
He had deleted all her texts. Her words used to hurt him, but now they were just like junk mail. He didn't feel a sting in his heart anymore. "Say what you came to say and get out."
She stepped closer. Her chin was up and her eyes were flickering like a dying lightbulb. "I need to explain that night. It wasn't cheating like you think. That guy was just there late at the hospital. I was angry because you were gone for days. You were silent. It was a mistake. One time. I have hated myself since then."
"A mistake?" Advait stepped forward. His voice was low and serious. He was close enough to feel the heat from her body, but it felt like nothing to him. "I saw the messages, Ruchi. I walked in on you two. Don't try to trick me."
Her face turned bright red. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't stop. She poked a finger at his chest. "Okay, fine! I messed up. But you left me alone! You were always at work, and you came home smelling like soap and exhaustion. You had no time for us. I broke, okay? Give me another chance. I love you. You know you feel it too."
Feel it? That feeling used to be like a hook in his ribs. But now, there was no hum of excitement. There was just clarity. He had spent six months rewiring his brain. He liked his peace now. Trust didn't matter anymore. "Love isn't enough. We are done. Move on."
She grabbed his arm. Her nails dug into his skin. She was desperate. To her, this felt electric. To him, it felt like static on a radio. "No! We were good together. Remember the late nights? Don't throw us away. You're a coward, Advait. You're running from us. I see it in your eyes-you aren't over me."
His eyes? They were just tired. Her stories? They were just old files that were now closed.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a reminder of his world. He ignored it, but it helped him stay grounded. "Coward? No. I'm building a life that is stable. You were just chaos. It was fun until it wasn't. Let go."
She gripped him tighter, her voice becoming a whisper. "Stable? Without me, you are just surviving. You want that excitement we had. Admit it. We could start over right now."
Advait pulled her fingers off his arm, one by one. His hands were steady, just like when he was sewing a wound. "Surviving? I'm doing great. You lit me up once, but then you burned everything down. I don't feel anything for you now, Ruchi. Those nights are just data points, not my destiny. We are in the past tense."
She stepped back, her eyes wide. She looked at his face, trying to find a crack in his armor, but there was
nothing. "You're lying to yourself," she whispered. "We could-"
"I'm getting married," Advait said.
This was the first chapter, and honestly, I was a little nervous before uploading it… but nevertheless, it’s finally here now. I truly hope you enjoyed reading it. Please do let me know your thoughts because every comment, vote, and word from you genuinely means the world to me. ♡
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