Avantika stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her. She exhaled slowly, rubbing her forehead with two fingers.

Dramatic, she told herself. That’s all. Just another dramatic patient.

She walked down the corridor, file tucked under her arm, her pace steady. She had seen worse reactions, worse complaints. Nothing about his condition was unusual.

And yet—His stare lingered in her mind.

Just… fixed.

As if he hadn’t been looking at her, but through her.

She shook the thought away and moved on to the next patient. Vitals. Notes. Instructions. Routine grounded her, as it always did.

Later while washing her hands, while signing charts, she caught herself replaying his words.

If you touch me like that again, I’ll faint.

Ridiculous.

She had dismissed it easily. But something about the way he had said it not playful, not flirtatious it unsettled her more than it should have.

“He’s just recovering,” she muttered to herself. “Nothing more.”

-------

“Doctor Avantika,” the admin officer called out.

She looked up from her desk. “Yes, sir?”

“You’ve been reassigned,” he said, handing her a printed sheet. “For the next few days, you’ll be overseeing only one patient.”

She glanced down. The room number. His room.

Her eyebrows knit together. “Only one patient?”

The officer nodded. “He specifically requested it.”

“Requested what?” she asked.

“That only one doctor should check on him,” the officer said carefully. “No rotations. No other doctors.”

Avantika straightened. “That’s not how we usually work. I have other patients too.”

“I know,” he replied quickly. “But he insisted.”

She looked up sharply. “Why me?”

The officer hesitated, then said, “Because you did his surgery. He believes you’re the best person to monitor his recovery.”

She closed the file slowly. “No, sir,” she said firmly. “I’ll ask him to change his decision. I can’t stop checking on other patients.”

The officer shook his head immediately. “No, Avantika. We shouldn’t speak to him like that.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

His voice dropped. “Because he’s a billionaire.”

The word landed heavier than it should have.

“So?” she asked quietly.

“Don’t ask him about this. We have to respect his preferences,” the officer said. “Reduce your other workload. Focus on him.”

Silence stretched between them. Avantika didn’t argue again. She simply nodded once and turned away.

But as she walked back down the corridor, irritation simmered beneath her calm exterior.

Oh, she thought bitterly. So he’s a billionaire. That’s why.

She tightened her grip on the file. Money decides everything. Even doctors become servants. The admin’s words echoed in Avantika’s head as she walked away.

Don’t ask him about this. The irritation didn’t fade.

Why me?

The question refused to stay buried. Without overthinking it, she turned back.

She pushed open the door to his room. Raghav was lying back against the pillows.

For a split second, he wasn’t watching the ceiling.

He was watching his phone. Her face glowed on the screen. The moment he saw her, he reacted too fast.

The phone was switched off instantly and set aside, his gaze snapping up to meet hers as if nothing had happened.

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t comment.

Professional first.

“Any pain?” she asked curtly, walking in. “Discomfort? Breathing issues?”

“No,” he replied calmly. “I’m okay.”

She closed the file with a sharp snap.“You’re okay?” she repeated. “No pain. No discomfort. Then why did you choose me?”

The question came out sharper than she intended. The room went still. Raghav stiffened.

Not visibly, but something in his posture changed. His shoulders squared. His jaw tightened.

“You asked for only one doctor,” she continued, frustration slipping through. “You disrupted my schedule. My patients. So tell me why me?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Then—

She coughed. Again. And again.

The familiar burn flared in her throat, sharp and sudden. She turned slightly, covering her mouth, trying to breathe through it. The coughing didn’t stop.

Raghav was on his feet instantly. Too fast for a patient who was supposedly “fine.”

“Doctor,” he said sharply, moving toward her. “Sit.”

He reached for the glass of water immediately and held it out to her.

“Drink,” he said, firm but controlled.

Avantika didn’t argue. She took the glass from his hand and drank quickly, emptying it in one go. A little water spilled at the corner of her lips as she lowered the glass, chest rising and falling unevenly.

Slowly, the coughing eased.

She leaned forward slightly, one hand braced against the table, focusing on her breathing.

In.

Out.

Raghav didn’t look away.

As she straightened, his gaze caught something just above the collar of her coat.

A faint line.

Thin.

Healed mark.

Almost invisible unless someone was looking closely.

His breath stilled.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, movements slower now, careful. “Your throat,” he said quietly. “That mark… what happened?”

The question landed like a strike. Avantika’s fingers tightened around the empty glass.

For a second, she didn’t answer. Then her shoulders stiffened.“I—” Her voice faltered.

She swallowed hard. A slight tremor ran through her hands. Not enough to be obvious. Enough for him to notice.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, already stepping back. “Old injury.”

She turned away, but the control slipped just for a moment. Her breath hitched. Her body shook faintly, like she was cold.

Raghav stood, instinctively taking a step toward her.

“Doctor—”She didn’t let him finish.

“Excuse me,” she said sharply, and walked out of the room.

The door closed behind her with a soft click that sounded far louder than it should have.

Raghav remained standing there, the empty glass still in his hand.

The image burned into him, the faint scar, the way her hands trembled, the fear she had tried to hide.

And suddenly, the truth settled heavily in his chest. He wasn’t just watching a survivor. He was watching the damage he had caused.

The guilt didn’t explode. It sank. For the first time since that night, he didn’t try to justify it. Didn’t blame lies or fear or loyalty.

It was his hands. His decision. And no matter how quietly he watched her now, no matter how carefully he tried to protect her.

He was the reason she flinched at her own breath. And that realization hurt more than any wound near his heart ever could.

---------

Avantika didn’t stop walking until she reached the end of the corridor.

Her back pressed briefly against the cool wall as she closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to steady.

Get it together.

Her hands were shaking not violently, not enough for anyone to notice, but she curled her fingers into her palms anyway, grounding herself in the familiar sting.

It was nothing.

She straightened, adjusted the collar of her coat, and ran a thumb unconsciously along her throat stopping herself the instant she realized what she was doing. She swallowed hard.

She had survived worse than a curious glance. Worse than a question asked at the wrong moment. She walked toward the washroom, splashing cold water on her face.

The reflection staring back at her was calm. Composed. Professional. No one would guess how quickly the past could rise , how a single word, a single look, could pull her back into a place she refused to name.

She dried her hands carefully. He doesn’t know, she told herself. And he never will. That thought steadied her more than anything else.

She stepped back into the corridor, shoulders squared, expression neutral once again.

Patients waited. Charts needed signing. Lives needed tending.

Whatever unsettled her, whatever stirred too close to old wounds would not follow her beyond this moment.

--------

Raghav :

The door closed behind her. Raghav didn’t move at first. He stood there, staring at the space she had just occupied, the echo of her footsteps still ringing in his ears.

His chest tightened. Slowly, his vision blurred. He hadn’t expected that.

Tears gathered without warning. He turned his face away instinctively, jaw locking as shame washed over him in a heavy, crushing wave.

That mark…The faint scar on her throat replayed in his mind.

My hands.

His breath hitched. The reason her voice faltered. The reason her body remembered pain even when her mind tried to move on.

He had done that.

The weight of it pressed down on his chest harder than the surgery ever had. His heart felt heavy, not medically, but emotionally. Too much. All at once.

Control it, he told himself. You just had surgery.

He turned abruptly and walked toward the washroom attached to the room, movements stiff, deliberate.

The cold water hit his face as he leaned over the sink, gripping the edges tightly. He splashed again. And again. “Get it together,” he muttered.

When he looked up—The mirror didn’t soften anything. His reflection stared back at him, clear and undeniable.

This was the face behind the hoodie. The face behind the mask. The face that had stood in front of her while she begged.

His stomach twisted. “I tried to kill you,” he whispered to his reflection. The words tasted bitter.“And you saved my life.”

The contradiction cracked something inside him.

His hand rose suddenly, striking his cheek hard. The sound echoed sharply in the small space. Pain flared, sharp and grounding.

“You did this,” he said hoarsely. “You.”

Another slap followed, harder this time.

He leaned forward, forehead resting against the mirror, breath uneven.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words breaking free at last. “I’m the reason you’re like this. I’m the reason you’re hurting.”

But she wasn’t there to hear it. She never would be.

Raghav straightened slowly, staring at himself once more. Apologies didn’t erase scars. Regret didn’t undo blood.

If he ever spoke those words to her, it wouldn’t be enough.

He wiped his face, forcing the tears back, rebuilding the mask he wore so well.

Sorry isn’t redemption, he thought grimly.

And for the first time, the truth was clear. If he wanted to protect her, it would cost him far more than guilt. It would cost him himself.

-----

Avantika had just settled at her desk when her manager approached.

“Doctor Avantika,” he said gently. “The patient you operated on, he’s asked to give you a leave today.”

She looked up, surprised. “Leave?”

“Yes,” he continued. “He said you’re not well. He recommended that you take rest today and check him properly tomorrow. For now, another doctor will handle his case.”

She blinked. “He… said that?”

The manager nodded. “So you can leave early today. Go home. Take care of yourself.”

Avantika didn’t argue. She just nodded once. As she gathered her files and slipped her bag over her shoulder, a strange weight settled in her chest.

He helped me, she thought. He noticed when I wasn’t okay.

The memory of him holding out the glass of water, the urgency in his voice, refused to leave her mind.

Guilt followed.

She packed her bag fully, checked her desk one last time, then turned back down the corridor, toward his room.

She stepped inside quietly. The bed was empty. Sheets neatly arranged. No sign of him.

She turned, feeling foolish, ready to leave.

“Doctor.” His voice stopped her. She turned sharply.He was standing near the window.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.“I—” she began, then stopped. Her voice steadied. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at her.

“For my behaviour earlier,” she continued. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. You were my patient.”

A pause.

He took a step closer. Not too close. Just enough.“I’m sorry too,” he said quietly.

Her brows knit together. “For questioning you,” he added, eyes fixed on her. “For bringing up things that shouldn’t have been touched.”

She thought his apology was about a question. She thought his concern was kindness. She had no idea how close she was to the truth. And he had no idea how long he could keep pretending that sorry meant anything at all.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know you were concerned.”

She hesitated, then added, “Thank you… for noticing my health. For the water. For asking them to give me leave.”

He watched her carefully. “That wasn’t concern,” he said softly.

She frowned. “Then what was it?”

His gaze darkened. “You’re not allowed to fall apart,” he said. “Not when I’m watching.”

The words landed heavier than they should have. “That’s… unnecessary,” she said lightly, brushing it off. “But thank you.”

He didn’t smile. “I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he continued. “And I won’t.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I do,” he replied immediately. “Whether you want me to or not.”

Silence stretched between them. She stepped back, unease flickering for just a second.

“Well,” she said, forcing calm, “take rest. I’ll check you tomorrow.”

She turned to leave. Behind her, his voice followed. " I'll be waiting."

She paused at the door. Almost free of the room.

“Doctor,” he said again.

She stopped, shoulders tightening just a fraction before she turned back.

“Yes?”

His gaze dropped deliberately to her throat. “You didn't tell about that mark,” he asked softly. “How did it happen?”

Irritation flickered across her face. Just for a second. Then it vanished. She took a breath, schooling her expression back into calm professionalism.

“A theft,” she said evenly. “Someone tried to snatch my chain.”

She met his eyes without hesitation. “I was lucky,” she added. “That’s all.”

A lie. of course it was. It had to be.

Raghav felt it hit him like a weight. “Oh,” he said.

Nothing more. No questions. No reaction.

She nodded once, satisfied that the answer had ended the conversation, and turned away. She reached the doorway.

Then stopped. Something pulled at her.

Avantika turned back. Their eyes locked. “Why did you do this?” she asked suddenly.

The question landed without warning. Raghav’s breath caught. For a split second, his mind spiraled.

She knows. She recognized me. She remembers.

His heart slammed violently against his ribs. She took a step closer. Then another.

He barely registered it. Her gaze shifted slightly. “Why is your cheek red?” she asked, suddenly.

He stiffened.

“It’s fine…” he stammered quickly. “Nothing.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she lifted her hand. She touched his cheek.

“Why were you slapping your cheek?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

The tension inside him cracked. Relief rushed in so fast it almost made him dizzy.

“I—” he swallowed. “No. I’m okay.”

She didn’t believe him. “Liar,” she said calmly.

Her fingers closed around his wrist, turning his hand slightly. She looked at his palm. It was red.

Her eyes lifted back to his face. “Your palm is red too,” she said quietly. “You slapped your cheek.”

He went still.

Silent.

His mind raced with lies, excuses. None of them fit. Then, suddenly, one absurd thought crashed into place.

“A mosquito,” he blurted out. “It was irritating me. Again and again. It landed on my cheek.”

He paused, then added weakly, “So… I slapped it.”

For a heartbeat, she just stared at him. Then she laughed softly.

“A mosquito?” she asked, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Really?”

He nodded, serious as he could manage. She tilted her head, studying him.

“Did the mosquito die,” she asked, still smiling, “or did it survive too?”

The question hung there, light on the surface, strangely heavy underneath.

Raghav didn’t answer. He only looked at her. And for the first time since she had walked into that room, the tension between them shifted not gone, not resolved just suspended.

Like something dangerous pretending to be harmless. And neither of them realized how much truth hid inside a joke about a mosquito.