The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet cabin, accompanied by the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting diagonal stripes across the polished wooden desk. Wafa Mittal sat upright in her ergonomic chair, a stethoscope looped casually around her neck, her white coat crisp and pristine over her pale pink kurti. Her nameplate gleamed at the edge of the desk: Dr. Wafa Mittal (M.S. Obs & Gynae).
Across from her sat a woman in her late twenties, visibly pregnant, her hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. The woman looked nervous, eyes darting between Wafa and the growing bump beneath her cotton maternity dress. Wafa offered a small, reassuring smile as she adjusted the patient's file on the table and glanced at the ultrasound reports.
"You're in your sixth month now," Wafa said gently, her tone professional yet warm. "The reports look fine, but you really need to start taking more rest. Your haemoglobin is still a bit low."
The woman nodded nervously.
"Doctor, I try… but there's housework, and my mother-in-law—"
Wafa chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Arey, saas toh sabki aisi hoti hai. Rare chance hai achi saas milna."
['Mothers-in-law are just like that for everyone. It's rare to find a good one.']
The patient let out an unexpected laugh, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're right, Doctor."
Wafa's smile deepened. "Exactly. So let's focus on what really matters—your health. Iron supplements, plenty of water, and proper sleep. And strictly no heavy lifting, hmm?"
The patient nodded more firmly this time, a bit more assured by the confidence in Wafa's voice.
Just then, a knock at the door interrupted the quiet rhythm of the cabin. Before Wafa could respond, a nurse in pale blue scrubs pushed open the door and stepped inside.
"Ma'am, the OT is ready," she informed, clipboard in hand.
Wafa gave her a brief nod before turning back to the patient with a professional smile. "We'll meet again in your next follow-up. Till then, please follow all instructions strictly."
After handing over the updated file to the nurse, Wafa stood up, pushing her chair back with a soft scrape. She adjusted her white coat and headed down the corridor, her shoes clicking gently against the hospital floor.
The corridor leading to the operation theatre was familiar—a place she had walked through countless times. She passed by nurses prepping medicines, doctors engrossed in charts, and the occasional echo of a cute little newborn's cry somewhere in the distance.
As she entered the changing room, Wafa removed her white coat and slipped into her sterile green scrubs, tying her hair back into a secure bun. She washed her hands thoroughly, scrubbing up to her elbows before slipping on gloves and pulling a surgical mask over her face. Her expression, once soft and approachable in her cabin, now turned focused and firm. This was her zone—where nothing else mattered but the patient in front of her.
Inside the OT, the lights were bright and sterile. A faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. Monitors beeped steadily, tracking vitals. The pregnant woman was already on the table, prepped and under anesthesia, her swollen belly rising and falling in rhythm with the breathing machine.
The anesthesiologist gave Wafa a nod.
"Vitals are stable, Doctor."
She returned the nod, eyes scanning every detail of the setup.
"Let's begin."
With practiced ease, she picked up the scalpel and made the first incision. The room shifted into a quiet, intense rhythm—the nurses moving in perfect coordination, handing her instruments without a word. Wafa's hands moved with precision, her mind entirely focused. Every second counted.
The delivery was a C-section—a complicated one, as the baby was slightly underweight and the position wasn't ideal. But Wafa stayed calm, her fingers steady, her gaze unwavering.
Minutes passed like hours.
"Cord's around the neck," she muttered sharply. "Suction. Now."
The nurse moved instantly. Wafa worked quickly, carefully unwrapping the umbilical cord, murmuring constant updates to her team.
And then—
A small, shrill cry filled the OT.
Relief washed over everyone like a wave. Wafa handed the baby to the nurse, who carried the newborn to the pediatric team nearby.
"Heart rate's good. It's a baby boy, doctor," a nurse confirmed.
Wafa smiled faintly behind her mask, the corner of her eyes softening. But the procedure wasn't done. She focused again, stitching up the mother with meticulous care.
Only once the final suture was done and vitals double-checked did Wafa step back, peeling off her gloves, her hands aching slightly from the tension.
She exited the OT, pulling her mask down as she leaned against the wall outside for just a second. A long breath left her lips. Another life saved. Another safe delivery. Another quiet victory.
Yet deep down, even amidst the success, a strange hollowness lingered—like something was missing. Or maybe… someone.
But Wafa shook it off quickly. She didn't have time for thoughts like that. She was a doctor. A professional. Emotions only complicated things.
In a dimly lit room at the far corner of the buzzing city, the glow from multiple computer screens bathed the walls in shifting hues of blue and green. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of keys being punched at a speed that defied logic.
Ehsaan Agnihotri sat hunched forward, his tall frame curled slightly, eyes locked on the flurry of code streaming across his main screen. His brows were furrowed, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite the intensity in his eyes. His dark hair was tousled, messy from hours of absentmindedly raking his fingers through it while he worked. In front of him, several monitors flickered with encrypted firewalls, algorithms, and a digital fortress he was determined to break into.
He was in his element.
"Come on… just a little more, baby," he muttered under his breath, fingers flying over the keyboard. "You can't hide from me, sweetheart."
Just then, a knock on the door snapped into the silent space, and it creaked open before he could respond. A young girl stepped in, her presence familiar and undisturbed by his intense work environment.
"Bhai," Aditi said, leaning against the doorframe with folded arms. "Badi maa is calling you for lunch."
Ehsaan didn't even lift his eyes. "Send it to my room."