Her mother let out a strangled sob, clutching onto him. "She's not… she's not…" Her voice broke, unable to finish the sentence.
"No," her brother muttered, shaking his head. "No, no, no." He hurried to her bedside, pressing two fingers to her neck, searching—praying—for a pulse.
For a terrifying moment, nothing.
Then—faint, but there. A heartbeat. A breath.
His own exhale came out in a rush. "She's unconscious," he announced, as though saying it could undo the nightmare of the last few moments. "She's breathing. She's alive."
Their father closed his eyes, pulling their mother into his arms as she wept against his chest, relief and fear blending into her sobs.
"We need an ambulance," the brother said, already dialing. His fingers fumbled, shaking, as the dial tone rang in his ears.
Bani was rushed to the hospital. The doctors wasted no time and sent her for several tests.
She lay unconscious on the hospital bed, her body frail and exhausted. Even before her collapse, she had been visibly weak. Marriage had drained her—mentally, emotionally, and physically. She had become a lifeless version of herself, overworked and deprived of proper care.
The test results revealed the truth: severe weakness, malnutrition, and the effects of prolonged stress. Her body had been pushed to its limits for far too long. The doctors noted that she hadn't been receiving proper nutrition, and the constant strain had only worsened her condition.
Bani remained in a deep sleep, her body finally forcing her to rest.
Doctor, wearing his white coat, entered the room, offering a small, reassuring smile. But it did little to soften the weight of his words.
"She's not in immediate danger," he began, his voice calm but heavy with the seriousness of the situation. "Her condition is serious, but stable. The sleep she's in is a response to the strain her body has endured. It's as if her body has entered a protective state—essentially, a deep rest mode to conserve energy."
Bani's father stood up, concern evident in his eyes. "Will she wake up soon?"
"In time," Dr. Kapoor replied, his tone unwavering. "It's crucial that she gets rest. There's nothing more we can do at this point but let her body heal. She's not in immediate danger, but it may take a while for her to regain consciousness."
Bani's mother wiped her eyes again, letting out a soft sigh. "Is it the stress? Has she been ill for long?"
"We've been monitoring her for a while. The pressure, the fatigue—it all caught up to her. Stress and exhaustion can manifest in extreme ways, and this is her body's reaction. But she will wake up. It's just going to take time."
A heavy silence settled over the room. Her family exchanged quiet glances, grappling with the new reality of their daughter's condition.
"She will wake up. Just give her time."
Outside the room, the sound of a heart monitor beeped rhythmically, a constant reminder of life and its fragile thread.
Bani lay motionless in the sterile hospital bed, her family remained by her side, waiting.