Inside Room 207, the sterile air, thick with the smell of antiseptic clung to Kavya's skin like a second, suffocating layer was.
And there she was.
Her Aai.
Anita Desai lay motionless, a ghost of the woman she once was. Her skin was sickly pale, the faint beeping of monitors the only sign she was still alive.
Kavya walked slowly to the bedside. She didn't cry. She hadn't cried in a long time. The Kavya who once wore her heart on her sleeve had been buried under layers of betrayal and rage. She was a shell now — colder, harder, and infinitely more dangerous.
She took her mother's limp hand into hers and whispered, "Kaisi ho, Maa?".
No answer. No movement. Just silence.
Kavya squeezed the hand tighter, feeling the fragile bones beneath her fingers. Memories flooded her — her aai brushing her hair, teaching her to sit straight, cheering at her school recitals, singing lullabies when she was sick.
Now, the woman who had been her anchor was fighting a battle she hadn't deserved.
The machines beeped steadily, indifferent to the heartbreak saturating the room. Her mother lay motionless, the flickering green line on the monitor the only sign she was still tethered to this world.
Kavya clutched Anita's hand tighter. It was cold. Too cold.
She bowed her head, pressing it gently against the frail fingers.
The door creaked open behind her. She stiffened, instinctively shielding her mother with her body.
A nurse wheeled in a small cart with medicines and supplies. Kavya's eyes, sharp and distrustful, narrowed immediately.
There was something... off.
The woman moved too quickly, glancing nervously at the monitors but never actually recording anything. She fiddled with the IV bag unnecessarily.
More telling, her hospital ID badge was flipped backward, hiding her name.
And she wore shoes that squeaked — new shoes, stiff and unused — unlike the seasoned nurses whose movements were silent and practiced.
Kavya didn't say a word. She simply watched. Memorized.
Every nerve in her body was on high alert.
The nurse finished hastily adjusting the drip and, without a word, exited the room as fast as she had entered.
Kavya remained seated, motionless. Her mind whirred with suspicion.
Someone must have sent her. But why?
To harm her mother?
Was it Vikram? But why now?
While he was still outside
To harm her?
Her jaw tightened. Whatever the truth was, she would find it. And she would end it.
Minutes later, the door swung open again — this time, more aggressively. Vikram Yadav sauntered back inside, smugness plastered across his face.
"I trust you've had enough time to cry over your mummy, darling?" he sneered. "Shall we talk business now?"
Kavya rose slowly from the chair, standing toe-to-toe with him.
Her voice was ice. "I want my mother's medical files. Admission documents. Treatment history. Everything."
Vikram laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Why the sudden interest? Feeling guilty for abandoning her all these months?"
Kavya's eyes didn't even flicker. "Hand them over. Now. Or I swear, you'll regret it."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"You think threatening me will work? Cute." He smirked. "Here's my counter-offer. I'll give you the documents... but you'll sign over your brother's company shares to Kunal. And you'll drop out of the competition. No questions asked."
Kavya didn't flinch.
The old Kavya might have screamed. Might have broken.
But this Kavya?
She just stared at him, unblinking.
"You have three days to decide," Vikram said with a satisfied grin. "Otherwise... well, let's just say Anita's medical care might suffer some... delays. Or, you know....accidents happen in the hospital always ."
His meaning was clear.
Kavya turned away from him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"Get out."
This time, there was no hesitation in her voice. Only raw, commanding power.
Vikram chuckled as he backed out, mock-saluting her.
Later, outside the hospital, as Kavya slid into her car, she noticed two hospital staffers exchanging hurried words by the side entrance, casting glances at her.
She filed it away silently.
Inside the hospital, Vikram Yadav leaned against a marble pillar, dialing a number on his phone.
"She's out," he said coolly when the line connected. "I want her watched. I want every step tracked, every meeting recorded. Don't let her out of your sight."
He pocketed the phone, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.
That afternoon, Bangalore's buzzing streets gave way to the serene, sun-dappled interiors of Estella Restaurant. But for Kavya, the world narrowed to a single moment as she spotted the figure rushing toward her across the patio — a tall, confident woman dressed sharply in casual jeans and a white top, her stethoscope tucked away for the day.
Sneha
Dr. Sneha Malhotra.
One of India's finest surgeons. Bangalore and Mumbai's pride.
And still, after everything, Kavya's person.
She didn't slow down.
In seconds, Kavya found herself engulfed in a hug so fierce, so desperate, it nearly knocked the breath out of her.
Neither of them said a word at first.
They just stood there — two hearts reconnecting after a silence too heavy to bear.
Seeing Sneha again didn't bring tears to Kavya's eyes. She was beyond tears now. But there was a flicker of light in her, a tiny warmth she hadn't felt in ages.
Finally, Sneha pulled back, gripping Kavya's shoulders like she was afraid she might disappear again.
"I thought you died, you idiot!" Sneha almost cried, her voice thick. "Do you even know what you put me through? I almost needed therapy because of you!"
Kavya smiled — a real one — and hugged her tighter.
It wasn't the broken, jagged smile she wore for the world.
"I missed you too, Sneha," Kavya murmured.
Sneha pulled back, mock-glaring at her.
Her voice cracked, even as she tried to tease, "You absolute moron. You just vanish for a year? No call, no message, nothing?"
Kavya smiled faintly, the old warmth returning for a fleeting second.
"I thought...I thought I lost you," Sneha whispered, the words falling heavier than either of them expected.
There was a tremble there, something deeper than anger or sadness. Something that spoke of roots — of a bond chosen, not given.
Without thinking, Sneha rapped her knuckles against Kavya's forehead, a childhood habit. "You deserve to be throttled. Seriously."
Then, softer, "Don't you ever do that again."
Kavya just pulled her into another tight hug, whispering, "I'm here now, Sneha. I'm not going anywhere."
Sneha sniffed dramatically, blinking fast, before slapping a grin on her face. "Well, for starters, you owe me. Big time. I expect royal treatment today. Shopping, lunch, dessert, new shoes—"
"Anything you want, your highness," Kavya laughed, a genuine sound that melted the last traces of distance between them.
The two friends ordered unfamiliar dishes, teased each other relentlessly, and talked to nothing else was left to be said.
For a few precious hours, Kavya allowed herself to feel normal again.
But somewhere, lurking in the shadows of Bangalore's busy streets, a pair of cold eyes watched her every move.
The game had just begun.