Jaipur City,
Mental Hospital
Inside a mental hospital in Jaipur, chaos had erupted.
The long corridors, with their white walls stained with patches of yellowed paint, had turned into something resembling a battlefield. Nurses were running in panic—one was shoving a patient into a room and locking the door, while another shouted at a ward boy:
"Quick! Lock the doors! God knows where that madman has escaped from again…!"
The guards, dressed in heavy uniforms, were drenched in sweat, their backs glistening. Fear was written clearly on their faces. Doctors' files had scattered across the floor, papers littering the halls. Everyone's breathing was heavy, their expressions frightened, their eyes filled with only one thing—terror.
Dr. Sharma, the hospital's most senior and notoriously strict doctor, wiped his sweat and shouted:
"Find him! Quickly! Catch that boy… or he'll destroy the whole hospital!"
Though he tried to mask his fear, his trembling voice betrayed that the situation was slipping from his hands.
Amidst this turmoil, a piercing scream suddenly echoed through the halls.
Everyone froze. The cry was so sharp, it felt like someone was begging for their life.
The nurses exchanged terrified glances. The guards cautiously rushed toward the sound, and soon everyone gathered there. The sight before them left their eyes wide open.
There stood…
A boy.
In his hand gleamed a large, shining knife, its edge dripping with fresh blood.
The boy seemed to be in another world altogether. His eyes were bloodshot, his breaths ragged. At his feet lay a ward boy, clutching his bleeding arm—the same arm the boy had just slashed. He had collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain, crying out desperately:
"Help me! Someone… please, save me!"
The nurse's faces turned pale. Even the doctors shrank back. The boy's disheveled hair clung to his face; his white hospital uniform was splattered with blood. He looked like someone who hadn't slept in months.
His grip on the knife was tight, his gaze sweeping the crowd—like he might slit anyone's throat in the next instant.
The wounded ward boy trembled and pleaded:
"Please… someone save me… this madman will kill me…!"
But the people standing there only stepped back further. No one dared go near him.
Even Dr. Sharma shuddered, his throat dry, sweat soaking through his clothes.
The boy suddenly screamed:
"Come! Come on, all of you! Who dares stop me? Come, I'll kill everyone… EVERYONE!!"
His voice thundered through the hospital walls. Nurses screamed and retreated. The guards whispered nervously among themselves:
"He's become even more dangerous… what do we do now…?"
Dr. Sharma muttered under his breath:
"This is out of control… God knows when Mr. Rahul will arrive…"
Just then, the boy swung the knife wildly and burst into loud, manic laughter.
The sound of it chilled everyone's spine.
There he was—the boy with the bloody knife, eyes blazing red. He raised the knife in the air and roared:
"If anyone comes near me… I'll kill them all! Not one of you will survive, do you understand?!"
His booming voice shook the walls themselves. Nurses, guards, patients—even Dr. Sharma—stood frozen in horror.
Dr. Sharma whispered, trembling:
"Oh God… it's out of hand. How will we ever control him… and who knows when Mr. Vansh will get here… If he doesn't…"
At that very moment, a deep, commanding voice rang from behind:
"Vaidehi… go to that room. I'll handle him!"
That name… that voice…
The moment the boy heard it, it was like a lightning bolt struck through him.
"Vaidehi…"
As soon as he heard it, his expression changed completely. The murderous hatred in his eyes dimmed. His breathing hitched, his ears perked, as if a forgotten name had reignited life in his veins. He looked around frantically.
"Vaidehi…? My Vaidehi…? You came? You really came?"
The redness in his eyes began to fade, but his desperation and madness only grew. He screamed louder:
"Vaidehi… my Vaidehi!! I'm here! I'm here… come to me!"
The knife slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor. But now he looked ready to bolt—driven by the obsession to find his Vaidehi.
Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed him from behind.
The boy thrashed and screamed:
"Let me go!! My Vaidehi is here… I have to go to her… my Vaidehi!!!"
The man holding him spoke firmly, though his voice carried calm authority:
"Raghav… calm down! If you truly want to see Vaidehi, you have to be a good boy. If you stay violent, if you hurt others… she'll get upset and leave."
Raghav—the same boy who moments ago had attacked a ward boy—now transformed into a fragile child. His wide eyes trembled, his lips quivered.
With pure innocence, he looked into the man's eyes and said:
"No… no, I can never upset my Vaidehi. I'll… I'll be a good boy. I won't misbehave anymore. Just… just take me to her. Where is my Vaidehi?"
His voice carried desperation, a genuine longing. His hands shook, his legs wobbled beneath him.
Dr. Sharma, wiping sweat from his brow, sighed with relief:
"Thank goodness you came, Mr. Vansh. Otherwise, this psycho—"
But before he could finish, Vansh shot him a furious glare. The doctor fell silent instantly.
Vansh—tall, broad-shouldered, with intense eyes, a faint beard, and deep lines of tension across his forehead. Pain flickered behind his gaze, especially when he looked at Raghav.
Gently, Vansh stroked Raghav's head, forcing a small, pained smile.
"Be patient, Raghav…" he whispered softly, tenderly.
"I'll take you to Vaidehi. But first, you have to eat. You must take your medicine. And you must get ready properly. Because if Vaidehi finds out you skipped your food or refused your medicine… she'll be upset. And you don't want to upset her, do you?"
Raghav shook his head violently:
"No! Never! I'd never upset my Vaidehi. I'll eat right now. I'll take my medicine. Just… just take me to her."
His words were so innocent that tears welled up in everyone's eyes.
The nurses, who moments ago were trembling, now sighed in relief.
Vansh patted Raghav's shoulder reassuringly. At his signal, two ward boys carefully approached and guided Raghav away.
Even as they led him off, he kept muttering, loudly and restlessly:
"My Vaidehi… my Vaidehi… I'm coming… I'm coming…"
Vansh stood silently, eyes glistening, watching him go. Something caught in his throat.
Softly, he whispered:
"I wonder when the day will come… when I'll see you as you once were again. The Raghav Pratap Singh… fearless, unshaken."
Tears slipped down Vansh's face. His fists clenched, breath heavy, his face torn between fury and sorrow.
Dr. Sharma finally exhaled and muttered with relief:
"Thank God… you arrived on time, Mr. Vansh. Otherwise, who knows what would've happened. That psycho boy… he truly would've killed someone."
Vansh's expression darkened instantly.
He turned slowly toward Dr. Sharma, his eyes blazing. The grief in them was replaced by fire.
"What did you just say…? Psycho boy?"
Dr. Sharma stammered, sweat pouring down his face:
"I-I didn't mean… I just… please, understand, we…"
Vansh cut him off sharply, his voice thunderous:
"He is not just 'a boy,' Doctor. He is my friend—Raghav Pratap Singh. Remember this—his name is far greater than the cheap labels you throw at him. He is not a 'psycho.' He is not just 'mad.' His identity is far bigger than that!"
Vansh's voice rang like steel.
Dr. Sharma gulped nervously, wiping his sweat.
"But Mr. Vansh… you saw it yourself. His condition is deteriorating. We are helpless. Often, he grows so violent that we have to lock him in his room. Otherwise, the entire hospital is at risk. Please, understand our helplessness."
Vansh stepped forward, his brows drawn tight, his eyes blazing.
"Helplessness?" he hissed.
"Your helplessness is to lock him in a dark cell? Where his screams echo against the walls? Where his mind breaks further? That's your helplessness?"
Dr. Sharma stammered, voice shaking:
"What else can we do? He is a patient. And it is our responsibility to control him. If we leave him free, who knows what he might do?"
Tears and rage clashed in Vansh's eyes. He raised his hand, pointing furiously:
"Enough! Not another word. From today… my friend will no longer stay here. I'm taking him with me—right now."
Dr. Sharma's eyes widened.
"What?! But… but Mr. Vansh… that's impossible! We have protocols. We can't just release a patient like that. You'll need to fill out papers, sign legal documents, there are procedures—"
Vansh's cold, steel voice cut through him:
"Prepare the papers. That's all you need to do. I'll handle the rest. Don't worry about the legalities. I said it once—I'll say it again. Raghav will not stay here another day. Do you understand?"
Dr. Sharma froze. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He knew resisting Vansh was pointless.
Still, he tried one last time:
"Mr. Vansh, please… you're being emotional. I respect your bond, but the truth is—Raghav is no longer the same man. He's dangerous now. You saw it yourself—he attacked with a knife, spilled blood. If you take him out, and he hurts someone else, then—"
"Silence!!" Vansh roared.
"Not another word! You keep calling him 'dangerous,' 'psycho,' 'mad.' But why don't you see—inside, he's broken! He's crying out, calling for Vaidehi. And what did you do? You locked him in darkness. That's your therapy? That's your treatment?"
Dr. Sharma's lips trembled. He wanted to speak, but Vansh's glare silenced him.
Vansh drew a deep breath, then spoke low and firm:
"Raghav is not just my friend, Doctor. He is my brother. We've eaten together, lived together, fought together. And you call him dangerous? No… dangerous is not him. Dangerous is this place… that cages him like a criminal."
Pulling out a handkerchief, Vansh wiped the tears from his eyes.
Then, with unshakable determination, he declared:
"Today… right now… I'm taking my friend out of here. Prepare the paperwork. And know this—if anyone dares to stop me… I will not stay silent."
His words struck like thunder. The entire staff fell into stunned silence.
Dr. Sharma lowered his head in defeat. Fear and helplessness were etched clearly across his face.
To be continued...