Tripati mension
After the chaotic scene at the mansion, Manish, the driver, was in a state of disarray. His clothes were stained from inspecting the car after the accident, but his focus remained on his duty. As he watched the Tripathi family emerge from the mansion, he quickly retrieved several gift boxes from the trunk. These were intended for the Tripathis as a gesture from Ayaat's biological mother.
Unfortunately, the accident had crushed the boxes, making them look battered and unimpressive.
Manish approached Rajiv with the utmost respect. "These are some gifts that Little Miss's mother sent for all of you. Please, accept them," he said politely.
Rajiv, his voice heavy with the reality of the separation, declined. "There is no need for these gifts. It is enough that you take our Ayaat home safely. Everyone there must be waiting for her".
While Kavita and Naina watched—Naina barely hiding a sarcastic smirk before following her mother inside—they had no idea what was actually inside those "shabby" boxes.
Beneath the dented cardboard lay:
Original ownership papers for several magnificent luxury villas.
Multiple bank cards with millions of rupees deposited in them.
Rare medicines that were nearly impossible to find anywhere else.
To the Tripathis, the gifts looked like junk from a poor family. Manish wanted to explain, but he struggled to find the words to tell Rajiv the truth about the wealth he was turning away. He simply turned to Ayaat and said, "Miss, it is time to go home".
Ayaat climbed into the car without a single backward glance at the house where she had spent her life. As Manish watched her in the rearview mirror, he was reminded of her mother—his Madam. He felt a surge of pride; today, their household's "Princess" was finally coming home.
Inside the mansion, Kavita was busy lecturing Naina. "Naina, I'm telling you, from today on, you have no relationship with Ayaat. Don't even treat her as a sister. Block her number. If she ever calls for money, make an excuse that you have none".
Naina, however, was focused on the car. "Mom, did you notice? That car had a special VIP number plate".
Kavita laughed it off. "Naina, you know only the rich get those plates. Ayaat's family lives in some remote village. It must have been a misunderstanding. How could a broken-down car like that have a special plate?".
While Kavita assumed Ayaat was heading to a village, the car was actually speeding toward South Mumbai—the most elite and expensive area of the city.
As they drove, Ayaat turned to Manish. "South Mumbai is a very wealthy area... all the big people of the city live there".
Manish smiled. "Little Miss, you are a very 'big' person too".
Ayaat smiled back, but then her expression grew serious. "Manish, can we stop at the City Hospital first?".
Manish grew concerned. "Is everything okay, Miss? If you are unwell, I can speed up. We have medical staff available at home 24 hours a day".
"I'm fine," Ayaat reassured him. "But the Tripathi's grandmother—Lakshmi Tripathi—is admitted there. I want to see her".
Room 301
Lakshmi Tripathi was the only person in that family who had truly loved Ayaat. When she had heard that Ayaat wasn't her biological granddaughter, the news had been too much to bear, and her health had failed.
Manish, touched by Ayaat's kindness, redirected the car. Ten minutes later, they arrived. Ayaat stepped into Room 301 and saw a frail woman with snow-white hair. The long illness had left her pale and thin. Finding her grandmother asleep, Ayaat's sharp exterior finally softened as she stood by the woman who had truly cared for her.
As Ayaat stood in Room 301, watching over the sleeping Vandana, her old friend Dr. Rishabh entered the room. Rishabh was more than just a colleague; he was a close confidant who had been with Ayaat through the highs and lows of the past few years. He had always been deeply impressed by her medical instincts, but his respect for her grew into a deep friendship as they shared their lives' burdens.
Rishabh was still processing the miracle he had just witnessed. Vandana Tripathi had been at death's door, and despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to stabilize her. It was Ayaat who had stepped in, using her mysterious "Cruk Strength" to literally pull the elderly woman back from the brink of death.
"Why the long face?" Rishabh asked, noticing her somber expression. "Did something happen at home?"
"I've left that house," Ayaat replied, her voice devoid of emotion. "I'm going to my real parents now. Please, keep an eye on Vandana dadi. The Tripathis think their responsibility ends with paying the bills, but no one there is willing to give her the time or love she actually needs".
Ayaat nodded to Rishabh and stepped out of Room 301, only to find the hospital in a state of absolute turmoil. Doctors and nurses were sprinting past her, their faces etched with panic, all heading toward Room 306.
A group of senior doctors was rushing to treat Ravindra Pratap Singh, whose condition had suddenly turned critical. Ravindra ji was a stubborn man; he had been refusing his life-saving medications, insisting he wouldn't take a single pill until his grandson arrived. That stubbornness had finally caught up to him, and now his body was failing.
Ayaat followed the crowd and stood at the edge of the room, watching the chaos unfold. Ravindra ji lay on the bed, a man in his 70s struggling for every breath. The senior specialists were arguing over the next steps, their voices rising in frustration.
"It's Rheumatic Heart Disease," Ayaat said quietly, her voice cutting through the noise.
The senior doctors stopped and stared at the 18-year-old girl standing there in a lab coat. Dr. Vijay, a top heart specialist, looked at her with disbelief. "What does a child like you know about medicine? Ravindra Pratap Singh's condition is extremely serious".
Ayaat didn't flinch. She explained that Ravindra ji had undergone multiple heart surgeries in America and other countries, but each time, he was plagued by recurring infections and valve leaks. She pointed out that the doctors were using the wrong antibiotics, which had allowed the infection to spread and worsen the valve failure.
The 10% Risk
Dr. Vijay was stunned into silence. He knew she was right—the success rate for the surgery Ravindhra ki needed was now less than 10%. He was paralyzed by the risk, knowing that if they didn't act within 20 minutes, Ravindhra ji wouldn't survive long enough for his family to arrive.
As the hospital staff waited in fear, Ayaat stood there with a calm, mysterious confidence. She knew exactly what needed to be done, and she held the key to a treatment that no one else in that room could even imagine.