Ranveer’s gaze kept flicking toward Dhruvika for what felt like the hundredth time as he drove back home. Normally, she would fill the car with her voice—asking about his day, telling him some random story, or insisting on his opinion about things he barely understood. But today, she was silent. Too silent.

Her eyes told him everything she didn’t say. They looked… sad. Not the kind of sadness that was loud and obvious, but the quiet kind that sat heavy inside and refused to move.

He didn’t like it.

In fact, he hated it.

Without thinking too much, he changed the route.

Dhruvika frowned slightly when she realized they weren’t heading toward home. She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could, the car slowed to a stop. Ranveer pulled over in front of a small, familiar shop—the one with the bright blue shutters and the smell of fresh kachoris .

Her favourite kachori shop.

Before she could process, he had already stepped out of the car. She blinked in surprise.

What was he doing?

And then she recognized the smell. The warm, fried aroma of her favourite snack drifted toward her, and her throat tightened. She swallowed hard.

He noticed.

Ranveer wasn’t the man he used to be—his nerves, his brain, his reactions… so much had changed. But his health...

She thought of the visit earlier today to the ayurvedic doctor in Rishikesh. She had gone there with a fragile thread of hope, asking if it was possible to repair the damaged nerves in his brain. The answer had been simple and cruel—No.

The man had told her to keep him stress-free, give him proper sleep, and all the same generic advice she had heard before.

She had nodded politely, but inside, she felt… helpless.

Was it really impossible?

Could she never bring back the parts of him that had been stolen?

Her chest tightened with anger at the people who had broken him to this point—anger so sharp it almost hurt. They had crushed him so badly that now, even the best hands in healing could do nothing. Her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. She rarely cried. In fact, she never used to. Not until Ranveer walked into her life.

A shadow fell over her, breaking her thoughts. She blinked and looked at him.

He was sitting on driving sit, holding a plate piled with steaming hot kachoris.

Her lips curved into a smile—one that wasn’t forced. Because with him, she never had to fake it. He was her one piece of real happiness in this carefully constructed, fake world she lived in. And yet, no matter how much she tried to hide it, her eyes still carried that sadness. At least… not from him. Never from him.

“Thanks,” she whispered, taking the plate from his hands.

He sat beside her, and she tore a piece, savoring the crispy, warm bite. Then, without a word, she broke another piece and held it to his lips. He didn’t protest, just leaned forward slightly and took it from her fingers.

For a brief moment, the heaviness in the air lightened.

She didn’t know if she could fix what was broken inside him. But she knew she won't give up without giving full try.

And Ranveer...he can just stare at her.

It had been five days. Five long, slow days… and yet her sadness only seemed to grow heavier instead of fading away.

Ranveer noticed it in every glance, in every small pause between her words, and even in the way she held his hand a little tighter than usual. He had tried everything—absolutely everything he could think of—to coax a smile from her.

One evening, he brought her fresh, hot kachoris from the small shop she liked. Another time, her favorite ice cream, even though he personally wasn’t fond of sweets. He bought her sunflowers . He even brought her two new plants for her her collection . But no matter what he tried, the sadness didn’t leave her eyes. It lingered there like a shadow.

Now, lying beside her in the dim quiet of night, Ranveer studied her sleeping face. She was hugging him tightly, almost desperately, as though she feared that letting go might mean losing him. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t come to any conclusion about why she was so down.

His hand moved up slowly, brushing through her hair, his touch gentle, careful not to wake her. Asking her directly was difficult for him—words had never been his strong point, especially about emotions. But he had still tried… tried in his own quiet ways to make her happy. Yet nothing seemed enough.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, still wondering what else he could possibly do for her.

---

The next morning, he woke not to the alarm, but to the soft, rhythmic sound of footsteps moving across the room. Blinking, he slowly opened his eyes and saw her moving around quietly, her movements deliberate, as if she didn’t want to disturb him.

She had already bathed, her hair still slightly damp, a faint sheen of water catching in the morning light. She was wearing a soft-colored salwar suit, the dupatta resting neatly on a chair.

“You’re awake?” she asked softly when she noticed him watching.

He gave a small nod.

“Go take a bath—it’s already six,” she reminded him gently, fastening her earrings in front of the small mirror.

He got up without a word, glancing at her once more before walking to the washroom.

---

Dhruvika, meanwhile, finished dressing and took a deep breath, steadying herself. Today was important. This was the last of the three Ayurvedic doctors she had shortlisted after weeks of searching. The one in Kerala. She had planned to visit earlier, but the bad weather had forced her to wait. Today, finally, she could go.

In her heart, she prayed—prayed that she wouldn’t return from this trip with the same helplessness she had been carrying for weeks.

She slipped a few essentials into her bag, checked her list twice, then headed into the kitchen.

---

When Ranveer came out of the washroom, fully ready and holding his coat, she was pouring milk into glasses. He watched her for a moment before moving forward. Without a word, he began arranging the breakfast dishes on a tray and carrying them toward the small dining table she had recently bought. It was a folding, four-seater table—two chairs on one side where they usually sat together, and two on the other.

He placed the plates neatly, then pulled out a chair for her. She sat, giving him a faint smile, and they began eating together.

After breakfast, Ranveer quietly gathered the used dishes and washed them while Dhruvika began packing lunch. When he returned, wiping his hands on a towel, he saw her carefully arranging their lunchboxes and placing bags by the door.

She stepped closer to him, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt and helping him slip into his coat with practiced ease.

“Have your lunch… okay?” she reminded him softly, her arms wrapping around his waist in a warm, brief hug.

He gave a small nod. She breathed him in for a moment longer before pulling away. But before she could step back completely, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

---

They stepped outside together. Dhruvika went straight to the car, placing her bags in the back seat before settling in the passenger seat. Ranveer, on the other hand, made a quick round of the house. With the rain still falling steadily, there was always a risk of snakes slipping inside. He shut every window carefully, checked the back door twice, and switched off all the lights before locking the main gate.

Only then did he walk to the car, slide into the driver’s seat, and start the engine.

“Harsh, if I can’t reach before evening five, then go to Willson and hand Veer the keys to the car — after parking it in the company lot,” Dhruvika said briskly, walking toward the waiting helicopter.

“Mam, I still think you should postpone the journey,” Harsh replied, hurrying after her. “The weather isn’t looking good…”

“I already did, Harsh. Twice. I can’t delay again.” Her tone softened but remained firm. “The more I wait, the more he drifts away from the chance of healing. It’s already late. I won’t waste another day.”

She gave him a brief nod before stepping onto the landing pad.

Harsh could only exhale a heavy sigh and silently pray for her safe return.

---

The flight to the Ayurvedic center took hours, though to Dhruvika it felt longer. The rhythmic hum of the helicopter blades became a steady, almost hypnotic background, like the ticking of a clock she could not stop. Below them, the earth stretched out in lush green patches and winding brown rivers, broken occasionally by glints of tin rooftops in small villages. The weather, mercifully, stayed calm enough to keep them moving — just a few shivers of wind here and there, nothing alarming.

When they finally began their descent, the air shifted — warmer, heavier — carrying the earthy perfume of rain-soaked soil. It was a scent she had always loved, but today it felt different, like the air itself was holding its breath.

The Ayurvedic center emerged from the green like an old friend hidden away from the world. It was small but sturdy, its walls painted in faded, muted tones that spoke of decades of service and quiet resilience. A canopy of ancient trees shielded it from the harsher wind, their leaves whispering against one another.

Inside, the air was cooler, dimly lit, and heavy with the fragrance of dried herbs, roots, and oils. Earthen jars lined the shelves, each carefully labeled in neat, old-fashioned handwriting. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint trickle of water — maybe a fountain, maybe a small stream running through the building.

The old doctor she had come to meet sat cross-legged behind a low desk, his spine perfectly straight despite his age. His face was a map of fine lines, his eyes sharp but calm. He listened quietly as she explained everything, her words tumbling out in a mixture of urgency and hope.

When she finished, he was silent for a long moment. Then he asked a few measured questions — the nature of the injury, the time since it had occurred, any previous treatments attempted. He nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful, then exhaled a long, almost regretful sigh.

“I don’t think I have any remedy for that,” he said at last, his voice low but firm.

The words landed like a stone in her chest.

“We cannot revive dead nerves,” he continued gently. “And severely weakened ones… we may slow their decline, perhaps strengthen them a little. But complete restoration?” He paused, letting the weight of the truth settle. “…It is nearly impossible.”

Her shoulders fell instantly, as though a string had been cut. She had carried a fragile, burning hope all morning, holding it close to her heart, protecting it from doubt. Now it wavered like a candle in the wind. A lump rose in her throat.

“Ca… can’t we really do anything?” The words escaped her in a whisper, as if speaking them louder would make them crumble.

“No, dear.” His tone was kind, but there was no room for misinterpretation.

She lowered her gaze, inhaling deeply through her nose to keep her composure. Her mind rebelled against his words, screaming silently there has to be something.

The doctor watched her quietly, the lines around his eyes softening. “The patient,” he asked gently, “who is he to you?”

Her heart clenched.

My world, she thought

“My husband,” she said,

Her voice steady but threaded with emotion.

The old man studied her for a moment longer, and something in his expression shifted. He leaned back slightly, as though considering an option he rarely offered.

“But…” he began slowly, “I know someone.”

Dhruvika’s head snapped up, her pulse quickening.

“I know someone who has mastered Ayurvedic medicine in a way few ever have,” the doctor continued. “People travel from far corners of the world to see him. No one has returned from him without a solution.”

A spark of hope ignited in her chest again. “Who?” she asked quickly, almost desperately.

“He is a man who has devoted his life to studying and perfecting treatments. For decades he has lived only for healing — and he has cured every patient he has taken in.”

“Where is he? How can I reach him?”

The doctor hesitated. “That… is the challenge. He lives in a place few can reach — at the very top of a mountain, in a cave surrounded by forests. He stays there to be near certain rare plants that grow only in that region.”

“Tell me his name. I’ll go.”

“You can’t,” he said firmly.

Her brows knitted. “Why not?”

“It is monsoon season. Heavy rains have made the climb too dangerous. Landslides are common. The paths disappear under mud.”

“I can go by helicopter—”

“No.” His refusal was immediate, absolute. “Up there, the mountain is home to many Adivasi tribes. They have no contact with the modern world. A helicopter flying too close will be seen as a threat. They may try to bring it down.”

She frowned. “Don’t they attack the doctor?”

“No. To them, he is a savior, a healer. They trust him. They don't really attack human... only those which they found strenge or danger.”

Her hands curled into fists. “Then when can I go?”

“When the monsoon passes. A few weeks from now, the weather will clear. You can go then, with someone who knows the path , the tribes and knows the doctor personally.”

Dhruvika exhaled slowly, forcing herself to nod. “…Can you help arrange that?”

The old man’s gaze softened. “Yes. Take the number of the telephone here. Call me when the rains are over. I will make the arrangements.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it.

“It is my duty to heal — whether directly or indirectly.”

She reached for her bag and pulled out a small bundle of cash.

He shook his head. “No, no… I didn’t tell you this for money.”

“I’m not giving it as payment. Think of it as… support for your work.”

After a moment’s pause, he accepted it with a quiet nod.

“Should I be doing anything for him in the meantime?” she asked.

“Yes. No outside food — only homemade. Avoid heavy oils. And here—” He handed her a small paper packet filled with a fine, earthy powder. “Mix this in warm milk every night. It will help him sleep, and perhaps strengthen what is left of the nerves.”

She took the packet carefully, as if it were more precious than gold. “Thank you.”

---

When she stepped outside again, the sky was a pale, restless gray. The air smelled of damp leaves and faraway rain. She stood still for a moment, clutching the herbs in her hand, feeling the odd mix of relief and frustration pressing against her ribs. She had a path now — but the path required patience.

She climbed back into the helicopter, strapping herself in. Her thoughts spun restlessly, circling around the wait, the uncertainty, the slim but real hope.

Then — a sudden jolt.

Her body lurched forward, her hands gripping the armrests. “What happened?” she asked.

The pilot’s voice was tense. “Ma’am, the weather’s changing fast.”

Her gaze darted to the horizon. The clouds that had been placid earlier were now churning, their bellies darker, heavier. The wind began to buffet the sides of the craft, the sound a low roar in her ears.

“Then land it!” she said quickly.

“I’m trying, but—” Another jolt cut him off. “—the wind’s picking up too fast.”

The helicopter swayed violently, the seatbelt digging into her shoulder. Her knuckles whitened on the armrest, and her heart began to pound in a rhythm she could feel in her throat.

The rain started suddenly — sharp, needling drops pelting the glass, blurring the world outside into gray streaks. The rotors fought against the air, the engine’s strain a deep vibration through the cabin.

Every sway felt sharper now, every tilt more dangerous, as the storm closed in around them.

Ranveer felt a strange, gnawing restlessness creep into his chest.

At first, he tried to focus on the file in front of him, but the words had long blurred into meaningless lines. He glanced at his phone, expecting at least a message from her—something as simple as “Had lunch?” or “What are you doing?”—but the screen was blank.

It wasn’t unusual for Dhruvika to be busy, but silence from her was.

He reached for his phone and dialed her number. It rang once, and then the cold mechanical voice informed him: “The number you are calling is switched off.”

His brows knit instantly. Her phone was never switched off—not in the middle of the day, not without telling him.

He set the phone down, leaned back in his chair, and tried to convince himself it was nothing. Yet the uneasy feeling only grew heavier, as if the air in his office had thickened. He found himself pacing to the tall glass window of his cabin, staring at the city outside.

Dark, heavy clouds had gathered, swallowing the brightness of the afternoon. It looked like evening had arrived too early, the sky pressing down on the buildings like an omen. His jaw tightened.

He turned back, picked up his phone, and dialed again. The same lifeless response. This time, the restless energy was sharp—almost urgent. Without thinking much, he reached for the desk phone and dialed the number to her cabin.

On the other side, Megha was busy typing something on her laptop when the landline rang. She frowned, wondering who would call in the middle of a hectic day.

“Hello, Dhruvi—” Ranveer began, letting out a small breath of relief—until a hesitant voice interrupted.

“Umm… sir, it’s Megha.”

He froze for a second, then straightened. “Oh… Where is she?” His voice was calm, but there was a thread of impatience running beneath it.

Megha’s eyes darted to the closed door of Dhruvika’s office. She remembered what Dhruvika had told her earlier—if Ranveer called, she was to say she was in a meeting. Megha bit her lip, unsure if she should really go along with it.

“Sir… she’s in a meeting,” she said carefully.

Ranveer’s grip on the receiver tightened. “When will the meeting finish?”

“I… I don’t know, sir,” Megha replied, her voice soft, as though afraid of saying the wrong thing.

For a moment, he said nothing. Just silence. Then, without another word, he ended the call. Megha exhaled sharply, realizing she had been holding her breath the whole time.

Ranveer set the receiver down slowly, but his restlessness only deepened. The air in his office felt stifling. His untouched lunch sat at the corner of his desk, the food already cooling, but the very thought of eating made his stomach twist.

Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but the feeling was growing stronger with every passing second. And Ranveer had never been the kind of man to ignore his instincts.

Finally, evening descended.

Ranveer gathered his things in an almost mechanical way, tucking away his files and checking the time before rising from his seat. It wasn’t just about leaving work—it was about getting home to her. She must be waiting… right? That thought quickened his steps as he moved toward the exit.

But his faint anticipation froze, hardening into a frown the moment he stepped into the company parking lot. There, near her car, stood Harsh—hands awkwardly stuffed in his pockets, eyes darting when they met Ranveer’s.

“Umm… actually, sir…” Harsh began, voice hesitant, “Ma’am will be late. So she… asked you to take the car and go home.”

Ranveer’s gaze stayed fixed, dark and unreadable. “Late,” he repeated flatly. “And how will she come?”

“Don’t worry, the guard will drop her,” Harsh replied quickly, scratching the back of his neck.

“I will come to—” Ranveer started.

“NO… I mean—” Harsh’s voice cracked, his words tripping over themselves. “She’s asked you to go home and take rest. She’ll… reach soon.”

Ranveer stared at him for a long, silent second. His jaw tightened, but if she had told him to go… he would go. Slowly, he reached for the keys, fingers curling around the metal before turning and walking to the car.

The sky above was already heavy with clouds. By the time he began driving, thin ribbons of rain slid down the windshield, distorting the world into shifting line

When he reached home, he stepped inside quietly, shutting the door behind him. He discarded his coat on the couch and poured himself a glass of water, swallowing it in one go. But the silence… it didn’t feel like home.

The walls seemed taller, colder—like the same abandoned house he used to return to years ago. It was her presence that made this place alive. Without her, it felt hollow.

He found himself pacing, his hand tightening around his phone as he dialed her number. Once. Twice. Again. No answer. Outside, the rain thickened, its rhythm against the windows growing sharper, the sky dimming into an early night.

By eight, a notification flashed across his phone—a message from the local alert system.

Electricity will be cut due to heavy rainfall. Risk of power outages in the next one to two hours. Heavy rain and lightning alert issued.

“That’s enough,” he muttered under his breath, a quiet but sharp decision cutting through him. Grabbing the car keys again, he walked out without hesitation.

The rain had grown into a downpour, the world outside a blur of gray and silver. His wipers could barely keep up, but he didn’t slow down. The road felt longer tonight, every second stretching as his thoughts replayed her face—her smile, her voice, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching.

When he finally reached her company, he parked sharply at the entrance and stepped out, the rain immediately soaking through his shirt and clinging to his skin. He didn’t bother with an umbrella.

He pushed through the glass doors in long strides, water dripping onto the polished floor. Staff glanced up in surprise, some whispering, but he didn’t care. Many employees were stranded due to the storm, huddled together, murmuring about roadblocks.

He went straight to her floor. Harsh, who had clearly not expected him, visibly stiffened.

“Sir—”

Ranveer didn’t stop. He walked right past, heading straight for her cabin. The door opened with a sharp push.

“Dhruvi.” His voice filled the space, but only the soft hum of the air conditioner replied. She wasn’t there.

His eyes swept the room—her chair neatly tucked in, her desk clear, the faint trace of her perfume lingering in the air. A discomfort began coiling low in his chest.

“Sir…” Harsh’s voice came from behind him.

“Where is she?” Ranveer turned, his words sharper now. They weren’t flat or robotic tonight—there was an edge, a raw note of something he rarely let anyone hear.

“Sir, she’s in a meeting—”

He didn’t wait. His strides carried him down the corridor to the meeting hall, but when he pushed open the doors, the room was empty. His hand lingered on the handle for a second longer than necessary.

“She isn’t here,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. Something inside him—it wasn’t panic, not yet—shifted. A strange feeling was pushing against the wall he always kept around himself.

“Sir… she went to attend a meeting outside,” Harsh admitted finally.

“Went to… since morning?” Ranveer’s gaze bore into him.

“Yes. And she hasn’t returned yet.” Harsh hesitated, then added, “The roads are bad. Maybe she—”

But Ranveer barely heard him. Heavy rain. Lightning warnings. Her phone switched off. His hands curled unconsciously into fists.

“Where?” The single word was low, dangerous.

“Sir…” Harsh swallowed.

“I asked—where. is. she?”

“Please… calm down,” Harsh tried, but his voice faltered. He had never seen Ranveer like this—not the man who always spoke as though nothing could touch him, who never raised his voice or even his head unless absolutely necessary.

“THEN TELL ME WHERE IS MY WIFE?”

The shout ripped through the corridor, startling everyone within earshot. And for the first time, no one could mistake it—this wasn’t an emotionless man speaking. This

was a husband whose restraint was breaking.

__★__