Kolkata's monsoon lashed against Chopra Mansion's marble façade, the city lights shimmering through the storm-washed windows, casting fractured glows across the grand foyer.
Dr. Anshuman Chatterjee stood beneath the chandelier's golden light, his rain-soaked kurta clinging to his frame, his stethoscope heavy in his bag.
Archana Chopra's protest still echoed across the hall:
"Mummy, no! We can't risk Papa's life with him!"
But Suhashini Devi, Giridhar's wife, had ended the argument with quiet authority:
"Enough, Anu. If N.K. trusts him, then so do we. Give the boy a chance."
Now, Suhashini's warm voice guided Anshuman toward the inner corridor.
"Come, dear," she said softly, "this way."
Archana followed reluctantly, her emerald saree shimmering with each step, her eyes sharp yet betraying the faintest flicker of curiosity.
The Patient
A wiry servant in a faded kurta — Bittoo — hurried ahead, glancing nervously toward Archana before addressing Anshuman with a gap-toothed smile.
"Doctor sahab, this way," he said, his voice carrying the tension of the household.
Anshuman nodded, Ganguly's words echoing within: Duty for humanity. Always.
The corridor was lined with carved portraits and glowing lamps, leading to a spacious room scented faintly of sandalwood.
Giridhar Chopra, broad-shouldered yet visibly weakened, lay propped against silk pillows. His tailored kurta was rumpled, his brow beaded with sweat, breath uneven.
Anshuman approached the bed, his voice steady, professional.
"Sir, can you describe the pain?"
Giridhar's eyes, clouded by discomfort, lifted slowly.
"Left side… below the chest," he murmured. "Sharp pain. Breathing feels… heavy. It comes and goes."
Anshuman checked his pulse, noting its erratic beat, then examined his abdomen with practiced care.
"Any nausea? Alcohol? Late nights?" His tone was calm, but his eyes remained watchful.
Giridhar grimaced. "Yes… irregular meals… and a few drinks last night."
From near the door, Archana stood with folded arms, her chin raised in defiance, but her gaze betrayed how closely she watched the young doctor's hands.
He's my age, she thought, hiding the flicker of curiosity behind her scorn. But N.K. would have acted faster.
Yet she couldn't look away. Something was unsettling about his quiet confidence.
Diagnosis
Anshuman listened to Giridhar's chest, the faint wheeze confirming his suspicion.
"Your blood pressure's high," he said evenly. "The pain and bloating point toward gastritis… possibly a small ulcer near the duodenum. We'll do an endoscopy tomorrow for confirmation."
He turned to Bittoo, his tone firm.
"Two omeprazole tablets, 20 mg. Two simethicone, 80 mg. Get them immediately."
Bittoo nodded and darted away, his footsteps echoing along the marble floor.
Archana's eyes followed Anshuman, her lips pressed tight as she leaned against the doorway, unwilling to admit her growing intrigue.
He's just a boy… so calm. Why doesn't he falter?
When Bittoo returned breathless with the medicines, Anshuman prepared the doses carefully.
"The simethicone will relieve the gas now," he explained to Suhashini. "Omeprazole will reduce acid production and help heal the ulcer."
Suhashini nodded gratefully. "You're thorough, dear. Will he feel better tonight?"
"The relief will start in minutes," Anshuman said softly, adjusting Giridhar's pillow. "But strict diet control is needed. No alcohol, no heavy spices."
Giridhar gave a weak smile. "Understood, doctor."
Archana lingered silently, arms folded, yet her eyes betrayed something softer — not quite approval, but no longer open hostility either.
As the medicines began their work, the tension in the room eased.
"Stay for tea, doctor," Suhashini offered warmly.
Anshuman shook his head with a shy smile. "Not today, ma'am. I have surgery prep waiting at Genesis."
Archana scoffed lightly, but her gaze lingered as he packed his bag, her diamond nose pin catching the chandelier's glow. Beneath her defiance, a quiet curiosity stirred — about the young man who had walked unshaken into her world.
Back at Genesis, the doctors' quarters were quiet, the day's chaos fading under a drizzle-lit night.
Anshuman leaned against his bed, guitar resting across his lap. His fingers found the strings, strumming the melancholy notes of Rabindrasangeet — "Badal Diner Pratham Kadam Phool" (The First Kadam Blossom of a Rainy Day — the Kadam, a fragrant monsoon flower of Bengal).
The music mingled with the sound of rain against the window.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, between one note and the next, rose the image of emerald silk… defiant eyes… and the unspoken questions behind them.
A faint smile curved his lips before the music drifted into the night.
Ending Note
Anshuman's skill earned Suhashini's trust, but Archana's defiance masked a curiosity she couldn't admit — not yet.
Will healing her father also begin to melt the tigress's guard? Or will her doubts spark new conflicts between them?
In Life and Death, Anshuman's journey deepens, balancing duty, danger, and the first stirrings of something he does not yet understand.
What did you think of today's chapter? 🌧️Do you feel Archana's walls are starting to crack, or will she fight harder than ever? 💔🔥Share your thoughts, drop a comment, and let me know if you're ready to see Genesis's secrets exposed in the next episode! 📖✨