Riya heard them—like voices echoing across water. But this time, they didn't fade. They struck deep.
Dhruv.
Even with her eyes shut, she saw him—blood on his knuckles, panic on his face, the way he trembled as he whispered her name like a prayer.
He broke… because of her.
Her breath remained still, her body unmoving, but inside—a storm. Her mind recoiled at the images flashing like lightning behind her lids: his arms wrapped around her as she bled, his voice cracking, "I can't lose you… You're mine."
Pain flared in her chest.
Her throat tightened. Her heart throbbed—not from the coma, not from the scar, but from grief. Regret. Love.
And just then—Rana stilled.
His eyes dropped to her hand.
A twitch.
"Rajveer…" he whispered, uncertain. "Her fingers. She… she moved."
Rajveer looked up sharply from where he stood near the end of the bed.
"Are you sure?"
"I saw it," Rana insisted, already stepping closer. "Her fingers—she's reacting."
They both stared in stunned silence.
Then—a single tear slid from the corner of Riya's eye.
Rana's breath caught.
Another tear followed.
His heart jumped. "Rajveer, she's crying. What's happening....."
Rajveer stepped beside him, tension gripping his spine. "Riya?"
And then it came—soft, raw, barely more than a whisper.
"...Dhruv…"
Both men froze.
Rana's eyes shot wide. "Did you hear that?"
Rajveer blinked. "She just… called Did she—did she say Dhruv?"
Before they could make sense of it, another tear rolled down her cheek.
Then again, her lips parted.
"...Dhruv…"
This time, clearer. Sharper. Heart-wrenching.
The monitors began to beep faster, catching the rhythm of her rising heartbeat.
Rajveer looked stunned. "She shouldn't even remember him…"
"They only knew each other as kids," Rana muttered. "They haven't met in over a decade. It doesn't make sense."
But sense had nothing to do with it.
Because this wasn't just Riya lying there.
This was Shruti—and the storm inside her was breaking through the calm of the coma.
More tears slipped down her cheeks as her voice grew louder.
"Dhruv…"
The machines flared. Her pulse quickened. Lights blinked red.
And then again—
"Dhruv!"
Her whole body shuddered faintly as though reaching out. That name was her anchor, her plea, her memory carved into the depths of her soul.
"Dhruv!"
Her whole body shuddered faintly as though reaching out. That name was her anchor, her plea, her memory carved into the depths of her soul.
The machine beside her flared again—sharper this time. The beeping quickened, erratic and loud.
Rana's heart dropped. "Rajveer—something's wrong."
Her fingers twitched again, her lips trembling as another whisper tore out of her, drenched in pain.
"Dhruv…"
"Doctor!" Rana shouted, stepping back from the bed. "We need a doctor! Something's wrong with Riya!"
Nurses at the far end of the corridor jolted into action, but Rana couldn't move. His eyes stayed locked on her trembling form.
Rajveer barely breathed, his chest tight with disbelief. She wasn't just moving.
She was feeling.
She was calling.
And not for anyone else.
Just one name.
"Dhruv…"
More tears slipped down her face as her heartbeat thundered through the monitors, her body still locked in sleep—but her soul screaming for the one it remembered.
The room buzzed with tension.
Machines beeped in erratic rhythm, a sharp contrast to the silence that had filled the hospital room for months. Nurses moved swiftly at Rana's call, checking vitals as the monitors lit up with unfamiliar activity.
Dr. Sinha stepped in, calm but alert. His eyes scanned the monitors, then shifted to the trembling girl on the bed—tear-streaked, lips trembling, caught in the throes of some invisible war.
He approached slowly, careful not to touch her. His voice, when it came, was soft—meant more for her heart than her ears.
"Riya?" he said gently.
No response.
Not even a flicker of recognition.
She didn't even breathe differently.
But her lips parted, barely.
"...Dhruv…"
Dr. Sinha exhaled quietly, nodding to the nurses to hold back. He stepped a little closer, but still kept his hands to himself—no wires adjusted, no skin touched. Just presence.
"Riya," he tried again, softer now. "Can you hear me? It's alright. You're safe."
Still nothing. Still no sign that the name Riya even belonged to her.
Only that name—his name—mattered.
Dr. Sinha's gaze softened.
"Dhruv hasn't left this hospital since the day you were brought in," he murmured. "He sat by you through every storm, every bad hour. Even when the rest of us gave up hope."
The machines beeped faster.
"He didn't eat. Didn't sleep. We finally got him to step outside for a moment. Only because he nearly collapsed from exhaustion."
She stirred faintly at that.
"He said… if you wake up and he's not here, you'd be angry with him," Dr. Sinha added with a quiet smile. "He believes that. He believes in you."
Her throat moved with effort.
Her fingers twitched again.
Tears clung to her lashes.
"Dhruv…"
Her voice was still cracked. Fragile. But there.
Dr. Sinha kept his distance. He didn't crowd her with questions or celebration. His words stayed calm—anchored to the only thing her soul seemed to respond to.
"He's still waiting, just outside this room," the doctor whispered. "You've been fighting so long. But he's still here. And he needs you to open your eyes."
A shallow breath. Then another.
"Dhruv…"
"He's breaking, you know…" the doctor whispered, his tone heavier now, laced with emotion. "He hides it from the world. But when no one's looking—he just sits there… holding your hand like it's the only thing keeping him alive."
The machines echoed louder now, mirroring the urgency in her heart.
"He's falling apart slowly, Riya… but if you open your eyes, if you just call for him—he'll be whole again. So will you."
A shallow breath. Then another.
"Dhruv…"
And with that last whisper, another tear fell, trailing silently down her cheek.
The machines steadied.
Her body, once tense with invisible pain, began to ease… not fully awake, not yet—but closer than she'd ever been.
Closer to home.
*****
In the living room
The moment Dr. Sinha stepped into the living room, Rana was on his feet, his voice sharp.
"How is this happening again?" he demanded. "Didn't you say the change in environment would help her? That it would calm her down?"
Before the doctor could respond, the front door creaked open. Vikram stepped inside with Sharatha close behind, both faces drawn tight with concern.
"What happened?" Vikram asked quickly, eyes darting toward his father.
Rana didn't hesitate. "Riya had another episode. Panic attack."
"No," Dr. Sinha said, firmly but gently. "That wasn't a panic attack."
The room stilled.
Rana's eyes narrowed. "Then what was it?"
The doctor's gaze didn't falter. "She responded. It's a sign of recovery."
Rajveer, standing silently by the window all this while, finally turned. His voice was low, laced with disbelief. "Responded? You mean… she's waking up?"
Dr. Sinha gave a slow nod. "Yes. She cried. Moved her fingers. Whispered a name. Not once, but repeatedly."
Rana's brow furrowed. "You're telling me that wasn't a panic attack?"
"No," the doctor replied. "It was something else entirely. Something… promising."
Rana took a step forward, voice strained with frustration. "Then what's going on, Doctor? You said the change in environment would help her heal—settle her. But she's still—still having episodes. You think this is a good sign?"
Dr. Sinha's expression didn't waver. Calm, steady. "I understand how it looks. But I need you to listen."
He glanced at each of them, then finally back to Rana.
"I've had my doubts for a while," he admitted. "That perhaps Riya wasn't completely unaware. That somewhere, somehow, she was there—trapped inside herself, but listening. Feeling. It's why I asked you to bring her home. I believed a familiar environment might help her connect the missing pieces. But until now, I had no proof."
He paused, eyes softening.
"Because no matter how often we called her name... no matter how much we spoke of you, of Vikram, of her family's pain and love—she never reacted. Not once."
Sharatha lowered herself onto the couch slowly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Rajveer looked shaken. "So what changed?"
Dr. Sinha's voice turned thoughtful. "Only you and Rana should know what you did, whatever happened in that room today... whatever you and Rana said—it reached her. Something in those words pulled her from the darkness."
He looked directly at Rana.
"You triggered something real. She didn't just move. She responded emotionally. That… that's not nothing."
Dr. Sinha exhaled slowly, glancing between Rana and Rajveer, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in anger, but in contemplation.
"Let me ask you something," he said finally. "Did either of you… talk about Dhruv in that room?"
Rana blinked. "What?"
"Today," Dr. Sinha pressed. "Before she reacted—before the tears, the whispers. Did you mention his name?"
Rajveer's brow furrowed. "We might've. I don't remember exactly—"
"You must remember," the doctor said, sharper now. "Because that name didn't come from nowhere. She didn't cry out for her father, or her mother, or even you, Rana. She cried for him. Like he was the only one who existed in her world."
Silence stretched.
Rana hesitated, confused. "Dhruv and Riya barely knew each other. They were kids. We moved away. They… they never reconnected."
Dr. Sinha's voice lowered, but the weight in it grew.
"Then explain to me why his name—only his name—could pull her through months of silence. Why she responded to it like it was tied to her very soul."
Neither man answered.
The doctor looked at Rana directly now.
"You've been with her every step of the way. You've seen the worst of it. So why didn't you ever mention him to me? Why didn't you tell me there might be something there, anything worth exploring?"
Rana shook his head slowly, stunned. "Because there was nothing to tell. Dhruv was… Rajveer's son, but they never had a bond. Barely spoke. We all assumed she'd forgotten him long ago."
"But she hasn't," Dr. Sinha said, voice tightening with disbelief. "She remembered him when she was barely alive. Do you understand what that means?"
Rajveer took a tense breath, trying to hold on to logic. "Maybe she remembered a face. A childhood name. A fragment."
Dr. Sinha shook his head.
"No. This wasn't a fragment. This wasn't a memory. This was grief. Desperation. Pain so fresh it could only come from someone deeply connected to him. Someone who loved him."
The weight of the word hung in the air.
Loved.
Rana looked away.
The doctor's gaze hardened.
"You wasted time. We wasted time—chasing triggers, trying environments, introducing familiar objects, when the key was right here all along. If I had known even the slightest possibility that she shared a bond that deep with him, I would've brought Dhruv in long ago."
His voice lowered, filled with urgency.
"Do you realize how many months we lost?"
Rajveer's shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched. "We didn't know. None of us did."
Dr. Sinha didn't argue further. He just looked back toward the room where Riya lay.
"Then it's time to stop assuming," he murmured. "Time to start asking the right questions. Because if there's even a chance that girl is in love with your son, Rajveer—then Dhruv might be the only one who can bring her back."
Rana exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand down his face. "Doctor… with all due respect, there's no way Riya is in love with Dhruv."
Dr. Sinha raised an eyebrow, silent but watchful.
"The last time they saw each other, they were ten," Rana continued. "Ten. They barely had a few interactions back then. After Druve moved away, they didn't keep in touch, didn't write, didn't meet—nothing. It's impossible."
Dr. Sinha didn't look convinced. "Unless they met again and you didn't know."
Rana opened his mouth to speak but faltered.
Dr. Sinha's voice pressed forward, calm but cutting. "We always assume we know everything about our kids. But trauma doesn't lie, Mr. Rana. That girl… she reacted to his name. Her body responded as if it remembered something deeper than what you're telling me."
Rajveer scoffed quietly, breaking his silence. "This is absurd."
Dr. Sinha turned toward him.
Rajveer's tone was sharp now. "Apart from Shruti," he said coldly, "Dhruv has never been close to any human being. Not friends, not family, not even me. He doesn't connect. That boy shut the world out a long time ago."
Rana nodded quietly in agreement.
A heavy silence fell between them.
The doctor leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Didn't both of you notice how she reacted when I brought up Dhruv? That wasn't confusion or fear—it was something deeper. Her voice cracked when she said his name. She sounded like someone barely holding herself together. You think she'd fall apart like that if there was nothing between them?"
Vikram's jaw tightened, his words clipped.
"Are you saying… my sister cares more about Druve who she met years ago as a kid than me—her own brother?"
There was jealousy beneath the words, raw and unfiltered, edged with something deeper.
The doctor rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Rather than wasting time over your assumptions, wouldn't it be smarter to just talk to the one person who actually knows what's going on between them?"
He stood up, reaching for his phone. "Call Dhruv. I'll personally question him. I'm done arguing with you all."
The casualness in his tone hit harder than expected. Rajveer stiffened. Rana straightened in his seat. Even Vikram looked thrown off.
Then, his voice dropped—sharp and laced with warning. "Trust me… you don't want that. He's not someone you can deal with."
A pause.
"He'll kill you first before he bothers answering a damn thing."
The doctor stood frozen, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Vikram's words echoed louder than any medical explanation ever could.
"I know what I'm saying sounds insane," Dr.Sinha said, voice low but unwavering. "But trust me—Dhruv is the key. Whether or not there's a relationship between them doesn't matter. I can prove it."
Machines hummed softly, keeping time with the shallow rise and fall of the girl's chest. As the doctor led them inside, footsteps faltered at the threshold. It wasn't just a hospital room—it felt like sacred ground.
He moved closer to the bed, voice gentle. "Riya," he called, "can you hear me? If yes, try moving your fingers for us."
The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Every breath in the room was held, suspended like hope on a wire.
Nothing.
No twitch. No shift. Not even a flutter.
The doctor exhaled, glancing at Vikram with a look that was almost sympathetic but carried a subtle weight of finality. "You see?" he said softly, not unkindly. "This is what I meant. She doesn't respond to anyone."
He turned to the others. "You all should know—Vikram was broken. He nearly fainted outside this door, starving himself for days, just waiting for her to wake up. But she never did. Not for him. Not for any of you."
Vikram's fists clenched at his side, his eyes not leaving Riya's face, willing her to prove the doctor wrong. But she remained still.
The doctor let out a half-smile, as if confirming a theory. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added casually, "Dhruv, you came. Why didn't you come earlier? You missed it—Riya called out for you today. She moved her fingers."
A hush fell again.
"Riya," he said, this time turning to her more intently, "if you can hear me… Dhruv is here."
All eyes turned to her.
Seconds stretched.
And then—a subtle movement. The slightest twitch of her fingers.
Everyone gasped.
"Riya?" Vikram stepped forward, but it was too late.
Her dry, cracked lips moved, barely forming the word.
"…Dhruv"
The room was no longer quiet—it was trembling.