Hospital Emergency Ward
The boutique's lights were still flickering in the distance. Diyas still burned. But Khushi Kumari Gupta sat in a hospital corridor where no stars blinked, no music played—just the steady beep of a heart monitor somewhere behind a cold, closed door.
Her hands were trembling.
His blood was still on her saree.
> Khushi (whispering): "This can't be how our story pauses."
The drive here had been a blur of sirens and screaming. Arnav had lost consciousness halfway through, his lips whispering something that might've been her name—or maybe it was a memory.
All she could hear now was the echo of the moment his body hit the road.
The way his arm flung around her before pushing her away.
Flashback – Seconds Before
> Arnav: "Watch where you're going—Khushi, STOP!"
She hadn't seen it.
Too focused on her fury, on Rhea's words, on the strange ache of betrayal in her chest. They were arguing. Right in the middle of the street outside the boutique. Her eyes blurry with tears. His jaw tight with guilt.
And then—
The firecracker went off. A car swerved. She stumbled.
And he lunged.
> CRASH.
He took the hit.
She took the scream.
---
Present – Hospital Corridor
Lavanya arrived first. No heels. No sass. Just red-rimmed eyes and a grip on Khushi's arm like she might fly away.
> Lavanya (softly): "They're stabilizing him. The doctor said it's a cranial injury… there's bleeding but they're doing everything—"
> Khushi: "He didn't even let me say I love him properly."
Aman walked in. Pale. Speechless. Payal followed, holding Buaji, who had stopped mumbling mantras and just sat beside Khushi, quietly placing her hand over hers.
The doctor emerged. Coat blood-smeared. Expression unreadable.
> Doctor: "He's in surgery. You should prepare for a long night."
Khushi stood.
Slowly. Like her legs remembered how.
> Khushi: "I want to see him."
> Doctor (gently): "We can't let anyone in right now."
> Khushi (firmly): "I wasn't asking for permission."
---
ICU Observation Window –
She saw him.
Through glass.
Still. Pale. Covered in wires.
The man who once stood like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, now laid down as though the world had finally collapsed on him.
Khushi pressed her forehead to the glass.
> Khushi: "You absolute rakshas. Who told you to be a hero?"
> "I hate you for doing this."
> "I hate that you made me love you like this."
> "Come back. Come back and let me be angry at you properly."
She pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the ICU window.
> "Please... I need you. You don't get to leave like this."
A nurse passed by with tissues.
She didn't take them.
She wanted to feel every tear.
The sterile white walls blurred at the edges.
Her knees were drawn up to her chest. Her saree was soaked in his blood and her tears. The fabric she once held close to feel brave—now stained with the only man who ever made her feel… seen.
> "I yelled at you. I doubted you. And you still chose to save me."
Her fingers shook as she clutched the small pendant he'd given her just hours ago.
The tiny silver thimble, engraved with "Thread by Thread." A promise. A confession.
> "You stitched me back… and now you're the one tearing."
Payal held Buaji's hand and whispered quiet prayers.
She didn't know what scared her more—the silence of the doctors or the storm in her sister's eyes.
> "Khushi's never loved halfway. If she loses him... I'm not sure we'll get her back."
Buaji had seen a lot in her life.
But never this.
Not her fiery, loud-mouthed bitiya sitting so small. So still.
She pressed her hand to her chest.
> "Hai Re Nandkishore... if you have even a sliver of mercy—let that boy live."
---
Arnav's POV (Unconscious)
There was no sound. No pain. Just floating.
He was somewhere between dream and memory. A dark corridor made of stars and old shadows. And through it—he heard her.
> "You idiot. I love you."
That voice. It anchored him.
He saw flashes.
Khushi dancing in the rain. Khushi yelling at a tailor. Khushi with wind in her dupatta and fire in her eyes.
And then—Khushi on the road, crying, calling his name.
He wanted to move. To speak. But he was caught between stitches of memory. And each tug hurt.
Still, something inside whispered—
> Wake up. She's waiting.
---
Anjali sat on the edge of the plastic hospital chair, hands trembling around her rudraksha beads. Her eyes were red. Her voice—a breath away from breaking.
> "Chhote doesn't lie still. He doesn't stay silent like this..."
She looked toward the door as if she could will it open with prayer alone.
> "He was supposed to meet the priest tomorrow. For the Diwali aarti. He promised."
> "Now he's fighting to breathe."
She hadn't cried like this since their parents' funeral.
> "I already lost one part of my family. I can't lose another."
Nani sat with her back straight and a dupatta pulled over her head.
Silent. Stoic. But her hand never stopped trembling around her rosary beads.
Her Chhote.
The boy who once tore his kurta to make a blanket for Anjali's doll.
Now fighting to live because he'd thrown himself into death's path for love.
> "If only his mother could see him today…"
> "So full of love. So willing to bleed for it."
> "I wish I had seen sooner—how Khushi lit up the darkness in him."
Aakash stood by the window, fists clenched, jaw tight.
He had always admired his brother.
The ruthless businessman. The storm in a boardroom. The rock of the family.
But now?
All he could do was curse the road, the car, and the fact that he hadn't been there fast enough.
> "He saved Khushi ji. Like it was the only thing that mattered."
> "That's what love looks like, I guess."
> "Loud. Fierce. Stupidly brave."
> "Bhai was never the type to love halfway. When he chose… he burned for it."
Mami wiped her tears with the corner of her pallu, mascara smudged like some tragic soap heroine.
> "Hamre Arnav bitwaa… lying like that like some Bollywood villain's victim!"
She looked around at the rest of the family, her usual sass nowhere to be found.
> "Why always him? Why not the driver? Why not that champagne-wali auntie?"
Then she whispered:
> "He's not just my nephew, he's my first child. My gold chain. My ASR."
> "If he doesn't wake up, I'll never forgive this world."
---
Lavanya's Thought
She watched them all.
One family, knitted in pain.
Yet—it wasn't grief alone that filled the room.
It was hope. Fragile. Flickering.
Because they'd all seen something in Khushi.
And in Arnav, when he looked at her.
> "He used to walk alone. Now he runs toward love."
She whispered:
> "That Raizada finally found his rhythm."
> "Now he just needs to come back to it."
ICU Room –
A soft beep echoed.
Then a shift.
Fingers twitching.
Eyes fluttering.
Somewhere in that white room—he stirred.
A quiet hospital room.
A stitched-up storm.
A pendant still pinned near her heart.
And a heartbeat monitor ticking—
Not just life.
But the beginning of something worse or beautiful.