After weeks of quiet turmoil and stormy nights, Dhwani had finally made peace with one truth-this was the life of a doctor. One foot in life, the other always brushing against death. It was harsh, heavy, but it was hers.

And so, she returned. Not as someone trying to forget, but someone who had learned to carry it all a little better.

Her shifts resumed. The white coat once again clung to her shoulders like armor. And the first surgery after her leave-a delicate, risky one-reminded her why she chose this path in the first place. Her hands, though steady, carried emotion now. But not fear. Growth.

After the successful operation, her schedule was adjusted-no more back-to-back night shifts, more breathing room, and finally, time to reconnect.

The first person she went to?

Diya.

Their bond-once bruised by silence-healed fast. Diya barged into Dhwani's home that evening with her usual flair.

"I swear to god, if you ghosted me for one more week, I was going to file a missing person's report!" Diya announced dramatically as she hugged her.

Dhwani laughed, squeezing her back. "Missed you too."

Over dinner, Diya cracked up Dhwani's parents with her stories, treating their house like her second home. Her dad offered her an extra plate without even asking. Her mom gave her a new pair of slippers for 'frequent visits'. They accepted her like family.

Later, the girls stepped out-coffee, a walk by the beach, silly selfies under streetlights. There was no rush to talk about past pain. Only the joy of reclaiming their friendship.

The next day, Dhwani took a well-deserved break. After brunch, she stopped by Diya's home-what was supposed to be a quick visit turned into an evening filled with laughter.

Indira Malhotra was there, lounging in the garden with Diya's father, sipping tea.

"Well, well," Indira called out when she spotted Dhwani. "The prodigal doctor returns."

"Oh no," Dhwani grinned, stepping onto the patio, "am I about to get scolded?"

"Not at all," Indira teased. "But Diya told us you've been ignoring all of us."

"I was healing!" Dhwani raised her hands defensively.

Diya's dad chuckled. "She's right. But Diya didn't stop defending you even once."

"Oh please," Diya rolled her eyes. "Only because I didn't want to go to your hospital to visit a sulking surgeon."

They all laughed.

The conversation flowed easily-playful arguments, light gossip, occasional jabs at Diya's cooking skills. It was the kind of warmth Dhwani hadn't realized she missed.

But everything paused-the laughter, the lightness, the comfort-when Darsh walked in.

His eyes scanned the group casually, until they landed on her.

The air grew still. Even Diya blinked in surprise.

Dharsh wasn't expecting her. And clearly, neither was she.

He offered a short nod, and then walked toward Indira, greeting everyone, his expression unreadable. But his silence around Dhwani was louder than words.

The moment Darsh walked in, the air turned heavy.

The chatter faded. The smiles dimmed-not out of dislike, but out of uncertainty. Even Diya, who always had something to say, fell quiet. The lightness was suspended, like everyone had just remembered something they didn't want to say aloud.

Darsh offered a polite smile, nodding toward Indira Malhotra and Dhwani's parents.

"Good evening," he said, his voice composed, calm.

Indira smiled softly, as did her husband. "You're late, as usual," she teased.

"Work," Darsh said simply, then leaned forward to greet them with brief warmth. "I heard about the dinner. Thought I'd drop in."

His eyes barely flicked toward Dhwani, and she didn't lift hers at all. She kept her gaze trained on the empty teacup in her hand, as if the porcelain might crack under too much pressure.

He turned toward his mother and began a small conversation about some hospital updates-normal, neutral things. Nothing important, but enough to let the silence melt slightly.

Still, Dhwani remained wordless. She didn't even force a smile.

Only when she was sure he had walked into the house, did she glance at Diya. A soft eye-roll. "He always shows up like a plot twist," she whispered.

That broke the spell.

Laughter erupted again. Diya chuckled. Her dad nudged her with a grin. Indira resumed her playful sarcasm. Within seconds, it was like he had never stepped in.

But Darsh hadn't left.

He stood just inside the hallway, leaning against the pillar, hidden from their sight but with a perfect view of them through the open space.

And his eyes-they found her.

Not the version of her that used to follow his commands or challenge him with stubbornness.

But this one.

The one who smiled so effortlessly when her dad made a terrible joke. The one who threw her head back while laughing with Diya. The one who looked at the world again like she was finally breathing.

He watched her like a man seeing color after being blind to it all.

There was no grand realization, no whispered confession in his head.

But something stirred.

And for the first time in a very long time, he didn't feel powerful or in control around her.

He just felt something unfamiliar.

Soft.

Longing.

And it scared him.

But he didn't walk away.

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