Riya stared at the wheelchair beside her bed as though it had personally offended her.
"No."
Vikram, who had already moved it into position, looked at her. "That wasn't a question."
"Then why are we having a conversation?"
"Because you enjoy making everything difficult."
Riya folded her arms. "I can walk."
"You can stand."
"I can take steps."
"You can take three steps and then look at the nearest piece of furniture like you've suddenly discovered true love."
Riya's eyes narrowed.
Aadhira, who had been leaning against the doorway watching them, covered her mouth badly enough that the laugh escaped anyway.
Riya pointed at her. "Thank you. At least someone understands how unreasonable he's being."
"I wasn't agreeing with you."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"Because Viki is right."
Vikram turned immediately. "Don't call me that."
Aadhira smiled sweetly. "Of course, Viki."
Riya's irritation vanished beneath a grin. "Viki."
"Absolutely not."
"It's cute."
"I'm leaving both of you here."
Riya glanced at the wheelchair. "Perfect. Take that with you."
Vikram gave her a look, then crouched in front of her before she could attempt getting up alone. "The doctor said no unnecessary walking until they assess your balance properly."
"I know what the doctor said."
"Apparently not."
"I remember everything perfectly well."
The words left her easily, but something about them made the humour falter for half a second.
Not everything.
There was still a section of her life that everyone else seemed to know better than she did.
The accident.
Riya remembered the life before it. She remembered home, her parents, Vikram, friends, arguments, birthdays and ordinary mornings that had once seemed too unimportant to remember. She remembered leaving home that day.
After that, there was nothing.
No impact. No hospital. No doctors. No moment that explained how her life had suddenly become divided into before and after.
She pushed the thought away.
"Fine." Riya sighed dramatically. "Take me downstairs."
Vikram immediately reached for the wheelchair.
"I said take me downstairs. I did not say look happy about winning."
"I'll try to contain myself."
With his support, Riya stood. Her legs accepted her weight, but not with the confidence they once had. There was a faint trembling through her thighs, and she hated how instinctively her hand tightened around Vikram's arm.
He didn't comment on it.
That irritated her slightly less.
Once she was settled in the wheelchair, Aadhira opened the bedroom door with an exaggerated flourish.
"Your carriage awaits."
"My carriage has terrible wheels."
"Your carriage also has an unpaid driver," Vikram said as he pushed her into the hallway.
"Then I definitely want a refund."
Their voices followed them downstairs.
For the first time since Riya had opened her eyes, laughter was beginning to sound normal inside the Rathore house again.
At breakfast, Vikram made the mistake of stealing from Riya's plate.
She noticed immediately.
"Why are you eating my breakfast?"
Vikram looked at the piece of toast in his hand. "This is yours?"
"It was on my plate."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"It was in front of my chair."
"Circumstantial evidence."
Aadhira reached across the table and stole something from Vikram's plate.
He stared at her. "What are you doing?"
"Justice."
"You just stole my food."
"Because Viki doesn't deserve nice things."
"Stop calling me—"
Riya leaned across and stole the remaining toast from his plate.
Vikram looked from one woman to the other.
"You two are unbearable."
"Recovery makes people unpredictable," Riya said solemnly before biting into the toast.
Aadhira nodded. "It's medical."
"Neither of you knows anything about medicine."
A voice came from behind them.
"She's right."
Riya turned.
Druve had entered without anyone noticing.
For some reason, the sight of him made her sit a little straighter.
He looked as controlled as ever, phone in one hand, expression giving away almost nothing.
Riya pointed her toast at him. "Don't judge me."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
"My face doesn't talk."
"Trust me. It does."
Something changed in Druve's expression.
It was tiny. So small Riya might have imagined it.
He looked away first.
Vikram noticed him checking his phone again. "Security?"
Druve nodded. "Everything's ready."
Riya's smile weakened.
The hospital.
She had almost forgotten.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the toast.
Only for a moment.
Then she deliberately took another bite.
---
The uneasiness returned when the hospital came into view.
Riya had spent most of the drive talking with Aadhira and arguing with Vikram about whether passing a rehabilitation assessment would allow her to throw away the wheelchair immediately.
She had been halfway through informing him that she intended to celebrate her first independent walk by walking somewhere he couldn't follow when she saw the hospital through the window.
The rest of the sentence never came.
Riya stared at the building.
Nothing about it was frightening.
People entered and left through broad glass doors. Cars stopped near the entrance. Nurses moved between buildings. A woman walked out carrying a sleeping child.
Ordinary.
Yet something tightened beneath Riya's ribs.
She shifted in her seat.
The feeling remained.
It wasn't pain. She couldn't even confidently call it fear. It was a deep, inexplicable resistance, as though some part of her had recognised the place before her conscious mind had.
She didn't like it.
More importantly, she didn't understand it.
Vikram opened her door.
"You've gone quiet."
"Enjoy it while it lasts."
He smiled and brought the wheelchair around.
Riya concentrated on transferring into it. Her feet touched the ground, Vikram steadied her, and within moments she was seated.
Easy.
Normal.
Nothing was wrong.
Aadhira walked beside her. Druve remained a short distance behind, answering a call while Vikram pushed the wheelchair toward the entrance.
The glass doors grew closer.
Riya rubbed her palms against her clothes.
She considered saying something.
Then the doors opened.
Cold air touched her face.
The smell reached her next.
Disinfectant.
Something sterile and sharp settled in the back of her throat.
Riya's fingers curled around the wheelchair armrests.
The entrance disappeared.
A white ceiling filled her vision.
She was lying flat beneath a light so bright it hurt her eyes. Something covered her mouth and nose. People moved above her, faces hidden behind masks, their voices overlapping.
Someone called out numbers.
Hands pressed against her chest.
Her body wouldn't move.
She tried to open her mouth.
Nothing happened.
Somewhere nearby, someone was crying.
The ceiling vanished.
Riya blinked.
She was still outside the hospital.
The glass doors remained open ahead of her.
"Riya?"
Vikram had stopped.
She swallowed.
"Go."
"You okay?"
She nodded quickly.
Vikram waited another second before pushing her forward.
The wheelchair crossed the entrance.
The doors closed behind them.
Immediately, Riya wanted them opened again.
The smell was stronger inside.
Her chest tightened.
She tried to take a deeper breath.
It didn't feel deep enough.
A nurse passed them pushing a metal trolley. One of the rails rattled softly as the wheels crossed a join in the floor.
The sound struck through Riya.
The bright corridor disappeared.
She was sitting on the floor.
Cold concrete pressed against her legs. Her back rested against a rough wall, and the room around her was almost completely dark. A narrow strip of yellow light showed beneath a closed door.
Something heavy rested beside her ankle.
She moved.
Metal scraped across the floor.
Riya looked down.
A chain circled her ankle.
The skin beneath it was raw.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Her whole body went rigid.
They came closer.
The door handle moved.
Riya sucked in a breath.
The hospital crashed back around her.
Her hand flew to her chest.
She tried to breathe again.
Air entered, but the strange pressure beneath her ribs remained.
Aadhira said something.
Riya turned toward her.
"What?"
"I asked if you want some water."
"No."
Her voice sounded thinner than before.
Vikram slowed the wheelchair.
Riya noticed.
"Keep going."
He looked at her over his shoulder.
"Vikram."
He continued.
Riya focused on the floor.
Just a hospital.
That was all.
Perhaps her body remembered being here after the accident even if her mind didn't. Maybe smells and sounds could do that. There had to be some perfectly ordinary explanation for the strange images.
She tried to hold onto that thought.
Then a hospital bed appeared from a side corridor.
Two attendants wheeled it toward them.
A white sheet covered the mattress.
Riya's stomach dropped.
Suddenly she was beneath one.
The fabric rested over her body.
She couldn't move.
Couldn't open her eyes.
Voices surrounded her, but they sounded far away.
Someone was crying.
A man's voice said something with terrible finality.
Then the sheet began moving over her face.
Riya jerked upright in the wheelchair.
Her breath tore into her lungs.
"Stop."
Vikram stopped instantly.
Riya leaned forward.
One hand pressed against her chest.
She needed air.
She opened her mouth and pulled in another breath.
Too small.
Again.
Still not enough.
The more she tried to fill her lungs, the less air seemed to reach them.
"Riya?"
Aadhira crouched beside her.
Riya shook her head.
She couldn't answer.
Her heart was pounding now, each beat hard enough to hurt. Her chest seemed to tighten around every breath before she could finish it.
She tried again.
In.
Out.
But there was no rhythm anymore.
Her breaths came rapidly, shallow and uneven.
"Riya, look at me."
Aadhira's face blurred.
Behind her, the white hospital wall darkened.
Concrete.
A closed door.
A thin line of light beneath it.
Riya could hear footsteps again.
She could hear the chain move when she tried to pull her leg away.
The door opened.
A man's shadow stretched across the floor toward her.
Riya gasped.
The corridor returned.
Her fingers had begun to tingle.
She stared at them.
They didn't feel like her hands.
Coldness spread through them while sweat gathered along the back of her neck.
She tried to tell herself to breathe slowly.
Her body wouldn't listen.
Another breath.
Another.
Another.
None reached deep enough.
Her throat felt narrow. Her chest hurt. Panic rose because she couldn't breathe, and the panic made breathing even harder.
Voices gathered around her.
She couldn't understand them anymore.
Vikram moved in front of the wheelchair.
His mouth was moving.
Riya couldn't hear the words.
Behind his voice came another.
A man shouting.
Then another.
A door slammed.
Metal dragged violently across concrete.
Riya gripped the wheelchair arms and tried to push herself up.
She didn't know where she was trying to go.
Only away.
Away from the smell.
Away from the lights.
Away from the voices.
Away from whatever kept forcing itself into her head.
Her legs weren't strong enough.
The moment she tried to stand, they folded.
Vikram caught her.
His hands closed around her arms.
Everything disappeared.
She was being dragged backward.
A man's fingers were locked painfully around her wrist. Another arm caught her from behind as she twisted violently, trying to break free.
Her shoulder struck the wall.
"Leave me!"
She kicked.
Someone cursed.
She tore one hand loose, clawed at the arm around her and almost escaped before fingers closed around her again.
A man laughed.
Another hand reached toward her.
Fear became rage.
She screamed.
The memory shattered.
But the scream didn't.
It tore from Riya in the middle of the hospital corridor.
Vikram released her immediately.
Her knees buckled.
Aadhira and a nurse caught her before she hit the floor.
More hands.
Riya fought them.
She didn't know who was touching her anymore.
Every hand became another one.
Every voice belonged somewhere else.
Her chest convulsed around desperate breaths that gave her nothing.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't—
Tears blurred everything.
The ceiling lights stretched above her, painfully white, then changed.
Smoke rolled across a dark corridor.
Heat struck her face.
She was running.
Bare feet slapped against the floor. A chain dragged behind her, the metal anchor striking the ground every few steps.
Smoke filled her lungs.
She coughed but kept moving.
Men shouted somewhere behind her.
"She's getting away!"
She looked back.
Fire climbed the wall.
They were coming.
She ran harder.
Her foot slipped.
Her knee struck the ground.
Pain shot through her leg.
For a moment she couldn't get up.
Then something inside her forced her to move.
Not because she wanted to survive.
Because of him.
A man she couldn't see.
A face that refused to form.
But the feeling attached to him was unbearable.
Love.
Pain.
A desperate need to keep him away.
He can't see me like this.
She forced herself upright.
Don't find me.
The hospital returned.
Riya was sobbing now.
She couldn't tell when she had started.
Her body trembled so violently that the people supporting her were struggling to keep her steady.
Someone called for a doctor.
Someone else told her to breathe slowly.
She couldn't.
That was the problem.
She was trying.
Her lungs simply would not give her enough.
She dragged in another breath and felt it stop halfway.
Her chest burned.
She tried again immediately.
Worse.
Fear surged higher.
She wanted to tell them she couldn't breathe, but she couldn't gather enough air to form the words.
Then one voice reached her.
"Riya."
Her head turned.
Druve stood several feet away.
For a second, the corridor changed again.
But this memory wasn't dark.
Warm evening light spread across a balcony.
She was laughing.
Really laughing.
Someone stood behind her with both arms wrapped around her waist. His chest was warm against her back, and she was trying to pry his hands away while failing miserably because laughter had stolen her strength.
His face was somewhere behind her shoulder.
She turned.
"Druve!"
The name left her with laughter.
The memory vanished before she saw his face.
Present Druve remained in front of her.
Riya stared at him through tears.
He took one step closer.
She didn't move away.
Another.
Something inside her pulled toward him before she could understand it.
Druve stopped within reach.
Riya reached for him.
There was nothing graceful about it.
Her fingers caught his shirt first. Then she pulled herself toward him with what little strength remained in her body and wrapped both arms around him.
Druve froze.
Riya buried her face against his chest.
She couldn't think.
She didn't want to.
His heartbeat was beneath her ear.
Steady.
Real.
Not footsteps approaching a locked door.
Not metal dragging across concrete.
Not men shouting through smoke.
A heartbeat.
Her fingers tightened against the back of his shirt.
Druve remained motionless for one stunned second before his arm came around her, taking her weight. His other hand settled carefully behind her head.
Riya breathed.
The first breath still broke halfway.
She pressed closer.
Another came.
Still too fast.
But deeper.
She concentrated without meaning to on the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.
Her breathing slowly tried to follow it.
One trembling breath.
Then another.
The terrible pressure around her ribs began to loosen.
She could still smell the hospital.
She could still hear people around them.
But the locked room didn't return.
Neither did the chain.
Riya's grip on Druve's shirt slowly softened.
Her shoulders stopped shaking quite so violently.
The panic didn't disappear all at once. It drained from her gradually, leaving exhaustion behind so heavy that she could barely hold herself upright.
She didn't try.
Druve was holding her.
For those few seconds, that was enough.
Her body relaxed completely against him.
Druve felt the change.
"Riya?"
Her fingers slipped from his shirt.
Her head became heavier against his chest.
He pulled back just enough to see her.
Her eyes were closed.
"Riya."
Nothing.
Her body went limp.
Druve caught her more securely before she could slide from his arms.
And the world inside him stopped.
For one horrifying second, the woman in his arms wasn't Riya.
There was no vision. Her face didn't change. He knew exactly whom he was holding.
But his mind betrayed him anyway.
A bubbly voice.
Quick comebacks.
Embarrassed arguments.
That bright irritation that disappeared into laughter.
Arms around him.
And now a body suddenly limp against his chest.
Seven years vanished.
"Sr—"
The name caught in his throat.
His face drained of colour.
"Riya."
No response.
Fear struck so violently that Druve tightened his arm around her.
"Riya."
Still nothing.
The control everyone around him had come to expect disappeared.
"Riya!"
Vikram stared at him.
Aadhira did too.
Neither had ever heard fear in Druve's voice before.
Medical staff rushed toward them.
"Sir, we need to take her."
Druve didn't move.
The nurse repeated herself.
"Sir."
His eyes remained fixed on Riya's face.
For one terrible heartbeat, some part of him was still trapped seven years away, holding the loss he had never been allowed to hold.
Then Vikram's hand touched his shoulder.
"Druve."
Reality returned.
Riya.
This was Riya.
No response.
Fear struck hard enough to crack through the control he wore like armour.
The medical staff reached them almost immediately. Aadhira moved with them, her earlier shock disappearing beneath instinct as she checked Riya while a doctor crouched beside them.
"Put her on the stretcher."
Druve shifted to do exactly that.
The moment the nurse tried to lift Riya's arm away from him, her fingers tightened in his shirt.
Everyone stopped.
Riya didn't wake.
Her face remained against Druve's chest, her body otherwise completely relaxed, but her fist had closed firmly around the fabric.
The nurse tried again, carefully easing her fingers loose.
Riya's brows drew together. Her breathing, which had finally settled against Druve only moments earlier, changed.
Druve noticed first.
"Wait."
The nurse stopped.
Almost immediately, the faint tension in Riya's face eased.
Aadhira stared at her. The doctor checked her again while Druve remained exactly where he was, one arm supporting Riya's back and the other beneath her.
"She fainted after the panic episode," the doctor said. "Give her a moment."
Vikram stepped closer.
"I'll take her."
He reached for his sister.
The instant Riya felt herself being shifted, her arm tightened around Druve.
She pulled herself closer against him without ever opening her eyes, fingers bunching his shirt as though some part of her had registered that she was being taken away.
Vikram froze.
Aadhira looked at him.
Then at Riya.
Vikram tried once more, much more carefully. Riya's reaction was immediate. Her grip tightened. Her face turned farther into Druve's chest. A small crease appeared between her brows, and her breathing began to lose the slow rhythm it had only just regained.
Vikram's hands stopped in midair.
For several seconds, nobody said anything. Then Aadhira looked at him. Vikram's expression was priceless.
It held confusion, disbelief and something dangerously close to personal betrayal. His own sister was unconscious. She had no idea where she was. And somehow she was still refusing to come to him. Aadhira would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so unsettling.
Druve looked down at Riya.
He didn't understand it either.
He hadn't asked her to hold him. He wasn't holding her any tighter than necessary. Yet every time someone tried to separate them, she reacted as though losing contact with him meant returning to whatever terror she had only just escaped.
The doctor glanced at Aadhira.
She already understood.
They had seen versions of this before.
During Riya's coma, there had been unexplained periods of restlessness in the hospital—her pulse climbing without an obvious cause, changes in her breathing, tension appearing and disappearing while she remained unconscious. Once she had become stable enough, continuing her care at home had helped.
Today had given those old episodes a far more disturbing context.
The hospital itself had barely allowed Riya through its doors before something inside her had broken apart. Keeping her here until she woke could send her straight back into it.
"We're not doing the rehabilitation assessment today," the doctor said.
No one argued.
"We'll check her here. If she's stable, take her home. I don't want her waking up in this environment after what just happened."
The necessary checks were done where she was.
Through all of it, Riya remained unconscious against Druve. And through all of it, she held him. Eventually the doctor straightened.
"She can go home. Keep her monitored. Call immediately if anything changes."
Vikram looked at his sister and then at Druve.
"I'll—"
He stopped himself.
Riya's fist was still buried in Druve's shirt. Aadhira's lips twitched despite herself. Vikram caught it.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You're thinking it."
Aadhira wisely looked away. Druve adjusted Riya carefully in his arms. That tiny movement made her fingers tighten again. Vikram stared at them. Then he exhaled through his nose and stepped aside.
"Fine."
Druve looked at him.
"Just take her."
There was something in Vikram's expression that almost made Aadhira lose her composure again.
Druve didn't comment.
He simply lifted Riya properly into his arms.
Her head settled against his chest as naturally as though she had chosen the position herself. One of her hands remained twisted in his shirt, her other arm resting against him.
She relaxed almost immediately.
Druve carried her through the hospital.
People moved around them, doors opened, voices passed, wheels rattled over the floor—the same sounds that had reduced Riya to terror minutes earlier. She slept through all of it. Not once did her breathing break its rhythm.
Vikram walked beside them, occasionally glancing at his sister.
Then at Druve.
Then at the fist still clutching Druve's shirt. By the time they reached the car, his expression had gone from worried to bewildered to mildly offended. Aadhira saw every stage.
She stored the memory away for later. The journey home changed nothing.
Riya remained against Druve.
Once, when the car turned sharply, her fingers loosened.
A second later they curled back into his shirt.
Vikram, sitting opposite them, stared.
"How is she doing that?"
Aadhira turned toward the window before he could see her smile.
Druve looked down at Riya but said nothing. There was nothing to say. She was unconscious. She shouldn't have known when his body shifted beneath her. Shouldn't have known when someone tried to move her. Yet somehow she did. When they reached the Rathore house, Vikram got out first.
This time he didn't even offer.
He opened the door and looked at Druve.
"Go."
Aadhira bit the inside of her cheek.
Druve carried Riya upstairs.
Her mother was already waiting anxiously in the bedroom, but Aadhira reassured her before panic could spread through the house. The doctor had checked Riya. She was stable. She needed rest, quiet and familiar surroundings.
Druve reached the bed and lowered her carefully onto the mattress.
For the first time since leaving the hospital, he began to straighten.
He couldn't.
Riya's hand was still holding his shirt. Druve looked down.
So did everyone else. Vikram closed his eyes briefly. Aadhira looked away before he caught her expression. Druve gently moved his hand toward Riya's fingers.
Before he touched them, her grip tightened.
He stopped.
Riya shifted restlessly against the pillow.
A faint line appeared between her brows.
Druve sat down on the edge of the bed.
Within seconds, the tension disappeared from her face.
Vikram stared at his sister.
Then at Druve.
Then back at his sister.
Aadhira would remember his face for a very long time.
Druve, however, didn't look at anyone. He remained beside the bed. Minutes passed. Riya slept. Her breathing stayed deep and even. Gradually, the desperate strength in her fingers began to fade.
Her fist loosened.
Then tightened once when Druve shifted.
So he stayed.
No impatience.
No attempt to pry her hand away.
He simply waited until whatever part of Riya had been holding onto him finally seemed convinced that she was safe.
Eventually her fingers relaxed completely.
They slipped from his shirt and fell softly against the mattress.
Riya turned her face into the pillow. She didn't reach for him again. Druve remained there for another moment, watching her breathe. Then he stood. This time, Riya didn't react.
He looked at Aadhira.
"If anything changes—"
"We'll call."
Druve nodded.
His gaze returned to Riya once more. Then he walked out.
Vikram remained near the foot of the bed, staring after him.
Aadhira finally looked at him. He caught her expression.
"Not one word."
She raised both hands innocently.
"I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to. Your face does."
Aadhira almost laughed.
But when she looked back at Riya, the humour softened.
At the hospital, Riya had fought every hand that tried to help her. She had screamed when Vikram caught her.
She had struggled for air until Druve called her name.
Then she had gone to him.
And even after consciousness left her, she had held onto him as though letting go meant falling back into the dark.
Neither Vikram nor Aadhira understood it.
And neither of them had missed the other impossible part.
When Riya had gone limp in Druve's arms, fear had torn through him so completely that, for the briefest second, another name had almost left his lips.
Sruthi.
But neither of them said it aloud.