The hallway outside the emergency room became a line of silent prayers.
One by one, nurses drew blood.
Ranveer went first.
He didn't flinch.
"Take as much as you need," he said.
The nurse shook her head gently. "We'll see if you're a match."
Minutes passed.
Then Rangeer.
Shruti clutched her dupatta as the needle slid in.
Jodha whispered prayers under her breath.
Saraswati closed her eyes, lips trembling.
The doctor returned.
His expression was unreadable.
"Mr. Sign," he said to Ranveer, "your blood type is incompatible."
Ranveer's breath left him sharply. "Test again."
"We did," the doctor replied. "Twice."
Twinkle's hands began to shake.
"What about the others?" she asked.
The doctor hesitated.
"Still processing."
A nurse hurried in, holding a clipboard.
"Doctor—Rangeer's sample."
Everyone turned.
The doctor took it, scanned the results—and froze.
"This…" he murmured.
Ranveer stepped forward. "What?"
The doctor looked up slowly.
"He's a match."
The world tilted.
Shruti gasped.
Sasha stiffened.
Twinkle stared blankly.
"How?" Saraswati whispered. "They're not—"
The doctor raised a hand. "We don't know why yet. But biologically, he is compatible."
Twinkle's heart pounded violently.
"What does that mean?" she demanded.
"It means," the doctor said carefully, "he can save her."
Inside the emergency room, Najma's vitals dropped again.
"We're losing her," a nurse shouted.
"Prepare the transfusion," the doctor ordered.
Rangeer was already rolling up his sleeve.
"I don't care why," he said hoarsely. "Just do it."
As the blood flowed, the monitor steadied—slowly.
A single, fragile line of hope.
Twinkle sank to the floor, sobbing in relief.
Ranveer stood frozen.
A hundred questions screamed in his head.
Why Rangeer?
Why not us?
Who is Najma—really?
Hours later, the doctor emerged.
"She's stable," he said. "For now."
Relief crashed over them.
But the doctor didn't leave.
"There's something else," he added quietly.
Everyone looked up.
"This kind of match doesn't happen by chance."
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.