"तेरी मोहब्बत में ऐसा असर है,
दिल के हर कोने में तेरा ही घर है।
तुझे महसूस करूँ तो लगे ऐसे,
जैसे तू मेरे हर साँस में बसर है।"

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A

uthor Pov

The room was a flurry of movement, doctors and  evident in every step. Even his chote papa, usually the calmest among them, had a look of dread on his face as he murmured silent prayers.

A nurse approached Avyansh, a clipboard in hand. "Sir, we need your signature here," she said, her voice calm yet somber, hinting at the gravity of the situation.

Avyansh took the clipboard, gripping it tightly as he struggled to steady his trembling hands. Behind him, the doctor stepped forward, his expression grave.

"Sir, I must be honest with you. The surgery is critical, and we can't guarantee the outcome. It could go either way, and... it's serious. I need you to understand that the hospital can't be held responsible if..." The doctor trailed off, his gaze solemn, as if even he dreaded the thought of finishing that sentence.

Avyansh's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening with determination. He could feel every fiber of his being screaming for something, anything, to save her. He looked down at the form in his hand, knowing that one signature would determine the next step.

His fingers shook as he took a pen from his pocket, pressing it to the paper, but he couldn't bring himself to sign.

Shaswat placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for him. "Avyansh, if there's even a chance-no matter how small-she deserves it.

Avyansh swallowed hard, looking up at his father, whose steady gaze reflected both the strength and fear they all felt. He turned to the doctor. "Do whatever it takes," he said, his voice laced with both command and plea. "I'll sign. Just... save her."

The nurse nodded, relief and understanding flashing briefly in her eyes as she took the signed form and rushed away.

Avyansh clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he stared at the closed doors of the operating room, a silent prayer tumbling from his lips.

This was out of his hands now, and that thought filled him with an almost unbearable weight. He could do nothing but wait, every second stretching painfully, an endless agony in which hope and despair waged war within his chest.

Avyansh's voice cut through the tension like a blade, cold and sharp. His gaze bore into the doctor, each word laced with a dangerous intensity.

"If anything happens to her," he said, his tone low but threatening, "be prepared to face my wrath. Every single one of you."

The doctor's face paled slightly, the weight of Avyansh's words sinking in. Even Shaswat and Dev exchanged uneasy glances, knowing how serious he was.

Avyansh was a man who rarely raised his voice or lost control, but today, it was clear that he wouldn't hesitate to unleash his fury if anything went wrong.

"Mr. Raghuvanshi," the doctor responded, trying to remain calm. "We'll do everything we can. But please understand, the situation is-"

"I don't want explanations," Avyansh interrupted, his jaw clenched tightly. "I want results. I want her safe."

He turned away, his hands clenched at his sides as he stared down the sterile, white hospital hallway. His heart pounded with a mix of rage and helplessness, every second dragging out the torturous wait.

"If anything goes wrong," he whispered to himself, almost as if making a promise to the walls around him, "this hospital won't be able to erase what I'll do."

The hospital staff carefully began to move Avantika to another room, her fragile form lying still as they wheeled her bed down the hallway. She looked so small, so breakable, with the machines beeping softly around her, monitoring her every breath.

Avyansh walked beside her, his hand hovering close, aching to hold hers but too afraid of disturbing her rest. They stopped just before entering the new room, and Avyansh leaned down, his face inches from hers.

In a low, trembling whisper, he spoke, his voice almost a secret, shared only with her.

He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Please... just open your eyes. I need you here."

He lingered for a moment, his breath hitching as he searched her face for even the slightest sign, hoping for a flutter of her eyelids, a response, anything to show him she was still with him.

But there was only silence, only the faint, rhythmic sounds of her breathing.

He straightened, his expression a mixture of longing and pain. And as he stepped back to let the doctors continue, a single tear traced a path down his cheek, his composure cracking for just a heartbeat.

He quickly brushed it away, forcing himself to hold steady. But inside, he felt his heart splinter, the fear of losing her clawing at him with each silent second that passed.

The lights of the operation room glared brightly, harsh and clinical, as doctors and nurses moved swiftly around Avantika's still form.

Each beep of the machines echoed into the tense silence, punctuating the stakes of every second. Behind the glass, Avyansh stood rigid, watching, his hands clenched at his sides, every muscle tense as he waited, helpless and aching.

His family gathered silently beside him-Maanyata, Pakhi, Anjali, Devika, Ajay-all their faces set with worry, each one holding onto a fragment of hope for her survival.

Inside Avantika's mind, amidst the fog of unconsciousness, there was a sanctuary of memories-a place where moments of warmth and happiness flickered softly like candles in the darkness.

She remembered Dev teasing her endlessly, his playful laughter filling the room as he joked about how she always tried to avoid spicy food, just to see her squirm.

His laughter had always been contagious, lightening her days with his carefree spirit.

Then, another memory bloomed-Avyansh, his eyes gentle as he handed her a cup of tea his gaze lingering on her as he softly asked if she was okay, a subtle worry shadowing his expression.

Pakhi's face appeared next, her motherly warmth enveloping Avantika in a gentle embrace during her difficult days.

Pakhi would sit beside her on those painful days when cramps took over, bringing hot water bags and painkillers without her asking, her comforting presence an anchor that always steadied her.

Anjali's smile was the next memory to surface, her choti maa's teasing laughter echoing in the kitchen as they worked side by side.

Anjali had always had a knack for making Avantika laugh, gently teasing her until she forgot her worries, her voice like a balm that soothed all her hidden anxieties.

Then, Maanyata's tender, protective gaze came into view-dadi, who had always taken her side, standing by her in moments when she'd felt isolated, her calming words a quiet promise that Avantika was part of this family, no matter what.

And Ajay chote papa, cracking his signature, terrible jokes that had the whole family groaning, yet somehow, they made her smile every time, brightening even the dullest of days.

Each memory flickered through her mind like precious fragments of light, holding her in a cocoon of warmth amidst the shadows surrounding her.

The clock in the corridor ticked past six in the evening, the sterile hospital air thick with an anxious silence that had settled over the remaining family members.

The door to the operation room opened, and the doctor finally emerged, fatigue clear in his eyes. The sight drew everyone's attention immediately.

Avyansh, who had been standing rooted to his spot outside the door for hours, his face a mask of tension and sleeplessness, straightened instantly, his gaze sharp, unwavering.

Shashwat, seated beside him, looked up, his worry written clearly in the lines on his face. Anjali and Ajay exchanged a tense glance, waiting with bated breath for the doctor's words.

The rest of the family-Maanyata, Pakhi, Devika, and Dev-had reluctantly returned home with Vijay, urged to rest.

They'd left only after Ajay and Shashwat promised to keep them updated on any news, though they'd all left their hearts behind in that waiting room, carrying their hope and prayers for Avantika.

The doctor pulled off his mask, looking at the gathered faces, each one strained, desperate for any sign of hope. He hesitated, reading the intensity in Avyansh's eyes, before he finally spoke.

"The surgery was challenging and took longer than expected," he began, his voice cautious. "She's stable for now, but her body is extremely weak. The next 24 hours will be critical as we monitor her response."

Avyansh's shoulders tensed even more, his jaw clenched tightly, but he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. He had waited, suffered in silence, through each agonizing hour of the operation, and now he was willing to wait through another if it meant she'd be safe.

Ajay placed a comforting hand on Avyansh's shoulder, squeezing it as though to ground him. Shashwat looked at the doctor with grim determination. "Can we see her?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The doctor nodded slowly. "One at a time, but please, keep it brief. She's still heavily sedated and needs all the strength she can muster."

An hour after the operation, Avantika was carefully moved to a recovery room. The soft hum of machines surrounded her, each one monitoring her fragile state as she lay there, pale and fragile under the stark hospital lighting.

Her family, still reeling from the tense hours of waiting, gathered outside, taking turns to see her.

Ajay was the first to step into her room. He moved quietly to her bedside, his voice a gentle murmur as he whispered, "Avantika, bachi..." He paused, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out to touch her hand. He stayed only a moment before exiting, his face clouded with unspoken worries.

Anjali was next. The moment she saw Avantika's fragile form on the bed, her composure broke, and she muffled a slow cry. She approached carefully, swallowing back her guilt. "I should have been there... I should have stopped you," she whispered, voice shaking.

Her fingers brushed Avantika's arm, the faintest touch of motherly warmth, before she turned, tears slipping down her face as she left the room.

Outside, Avyansh stood in silence, his gaze fixed blankly on the door, lost in a world of regrets he couldn't bring himself to voice. He was numb, his mind flooded with memories, guilt, and wishes that felt hollow now.

A warm hand landed on his shoulder, breaking his trance. Avyansh turned, his eyes meeting Shashwat's, the depth of their shared pain reflected back at him. Shashwat's hand tightened slightly, urging him. "Go now."

For a brief second, Avyansh hesitated, afraid of the flood of emotions waiting inside that room. But with a faint nod, he steeled himself and walked in.

As he closed the door softly behind him, he let himself breathe. He moved slowly towards her, every step feeling heavy.

Standing by her bedside, he let his eyes take in her form-so small, so still. He felt a strange, unbearable weight in his chest, a mix of sorrow and anger at the world, at himself.

"Mishti," he whispered, his voice barely audible, almost as though he were afraid to break the quiet. The single word hung in the air, raw and full of pain.

For the first time, Avyansh let his emotions show, his face crumpling, the stoic facade breaking down as he reached for her hand.

A lone tear escaped his eyes, tracing a path down his cheek as he looked at her, his heart heavy with the words he hadn't said, the apologies he'd never voiced.

"You missed your college today," he said softly, his voice laced with concern.

"And what about my sleep? You worry me too much-I can't even rest properly," he continued, a hint of frustration mixed with worry in his tone.

"Apko apne naye pati ki fikr nhi hai?" he asked, pretending to scold her, a playful smile hiding the worry in his eyes. "Humari shaadi ko abhi do mahine bhi nahi hue hain, aur itna pareshan kar diya hai apne hume," he added, his tone softening as he held her hand.

Then, bringing her hand close to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss on it, as if hoping that his touch could convey all the emotions he struggled to express.

The next day, Avantika slowly opened her eyes, the familiar, sterile hospital room coming into focus. After what felt like ages, she had finally regained consciousness.

A few hours later, after she freshened up with the nurse's help, Pakhi sat beside her, carefully spooning soup as Avantika lay on her bed, still weak but showing a faint smile. Pakhi's gentle hands adjusted the spoon, her eyes soft with motherly concern.

"Thoda aur lo, Avantika," Pakhi murmured, encouraging her with a warmth that made Avantika feel a little more at ease.

Anjali sat nearby, slicing fresh fruits into delicate pieces, glancing over at Avantika every few seconds with a mixture of relief and love in her eyes.

"These are your favorite, na? The apples are extra sweet today," she added with a small smile, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

On the other side, Devika animatedly shared stories from home, filling the room with warmth and laughter as she recounted her little mishaps and funny moments, making Avantika chuckle softly.

"Bhabhi, you won't believe the mess I made while trying to bake that cake for you," Devika laughed, rolling her eyes. "It was supposed to be a surprise, but... let's just say the kitchen wasn't very happy with me."

Avantika managed a soft laugh, feeling a bit more like herself surrounded by their comforting presence. In this quiet moment, with his family around her, she felt an unexpected sense of belonging-a feeling she hadn't experienced in so long.

Suddenly, the doors opened with a slight creak, and there stood Dev. His face was a mixture of worry and guilt, eyes red, as if he was on the verge of tears.

"Bhabhi..." he stammered, his voice breaking as he stepped into the room. His face crumpled as he made his way over to her, looking like he could burst into tears any moment.

Without hesitation, he came to her bedside, grabbing her hand gently, his head bowed. "I'm so sorry, bhabhi. I should never have left you alone that day. I shouldn't have listened to you-at least not then. I should've stayed with you, no matter what."

Avantika's heart softened seeing his guilt-ridden expression. She reached up, resting her hand over his in a silent gesture of forgiveness.

Dev's lips trembled as he tried to control his emotions, clearly grappling with regret.

Pakhi placed a reassuring hand on Dev's shoulder, "It's alright, beta. She's here with us now. That's what matters."

Avantika gave Dev a faint smile, hoping to ease his guilt. "Dev ji... koi baat nahi," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. "You were only doing what I asked you to. I'm okay now."

But Dev shook his head, looking away, tears welling up as he struggled to accept her forgiveness. "I'll make it up to you, bhabhi. I promise."

Avantika's head shot up as she noticed another figure standing at the door. Her heart stilled, but she kept her gaze lowered, avoiding his eyes, the weight of their last interaction pressing down on her.

Avyansh stood in silence, his hand resting on the door frame as he looked at her, his face unreadable.

Anjali glanced between the two, sensing the tension, and placed a gentle hand on Pakhi's shoulder. "Hum abhi aate hain," she whispered, gesturing for Devika and Dev to follow.

One by one, they slipped out, casting a last, hopeful glance back at Avantika before closing the door softly, leaving the two alone in the quiet room.

The silence lingered, thick and heavy, until Avyansh finally took a step forward, his gaze steady but softened by something deeper, something he hadn't shown before.

His footsteps were slow, almost hesitant, as if he was treading on fragile ground, unsure of what awaited him.

"Kaise hai aap?" he asked, placing a few medicines from the polybag onto the table with a gentle care that belied his inner turmoil.

Avantika's gaze flickered to his face, then to his eyes-dark circles encircled them, and the redness was a testament to sleepless nights. She felt a pang of guilt.

"Avyansh ji," she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hm..?" he responded, not quite meeting her gaze.

"I am sorry I-" she started, but he cut her off.

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze unreadable. She couldn't quite place the expression in his red-rimmed eyes-an intensity she hadn't seen before. For a second, he seemed like he was about to say something, but he remained silent.

"Aap sun bhi rahe hai?" she asked, trying to meet his gaze again.

"Haan..." he murmured, looking at her with an expression that made her heart skip. His eyes were tired, but there was something else-something that felt both raw and unreachable.

She hesitated, unsure of what to say next. "Why are you sorry for?" he finally asked, his voice soft but probing, like he was trying to understand something she wasn't saying.

She looked away, the weight of his question hanging between them. There was no easy answer, no words that would explain the guilt, the doubts swirling inside her.

"Did my parents come?" she asked, her tone detached, as if she were asking about strangers.

He shook his head. "No."

"Samarth?" she asked, almost as if she were holding onto the last bit of hope.

"He's in Delhi. He has some sort of exam," he said, watching her closely. "And everyone else was... busy. Your father said they would come after... after you're okay." He paused, gauging her reaction, expecting some flicker of hurt or disappointment.

But she just sat there, expressionless, her face a mask of indifference. It stunned him. No pain, no shock-just a hollow acceptance, like she had stopped expecting anything from them long ago.

For a moment, Avyansh couldn't comprehend it. Her family, the people who should have been here, waiting anxiously, hadn't even bothered to show up.

He felt a flash of anger, but more than that, a pang of sadness-for her, for the silent scars she carried from those who should have been her support.

"Avantika..." he started, unsure of what he was even trying to say. Her resilience, her quiet acceptance of the neglect, made his heart ache in a way he didn't understand. How many times had she faced this kind of indifference? How long had she been carrying that burden alone?

"I'm here," he said finally, almost a whisper, the words feeling like a promise he hadn't meant to make but couldn't hold back.

Her eyes met his, a faint spark of surprise crossing her face. The silence between them softened, and for the first time, she saw something in his gaze that felt genuine, like a sliver of warmth in the midst of all the emptiness.

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