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POV AUTHOR
The morning sun was sharp against the marble floors of the hospital, catching the polished surfaces and bouncing soft reflections into the sterile air. It was early, but the corridors were already bustling with nurses pushing trolleys, junior doctors clutching clipboards, and the muted sounds of pagers going off somewhere in the distance.
Tara walked through it all, her heels tapping a steady, confident rhythm.Her white coat, embroidered neatly over her heart – Dr. Tara Sharma, Head Neurosurgeon – fluttered slightly behind her with every step.
But today, something was… different.
Eyes followed her.
Whispers trailed her like shadows.
Staff that once greeted her with casual smiles now stood a little straighter, spoke a little softer, heads lowering in a respect tinged with something else – fear, awe, uncertainty.
It wasn’t because she had returned after her breakdown. No, it wasn’t sympathy.
It was last night.
It was him.
Everyone had seen it – the way Dr.Tarun Verma, the untouchable, ruthless owner of Noor Group Hospitals, had stormed into the emergency unit, carrying her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
The man known for his cold brutality, for making empires tremble with a word, had knelt beside Tara’s hospital bed, his entire world written openly across his face.
And now, they looked at her differently.
Not just as the brilliant surgeon they all respected – but as his.
The one person who had the heart of a man everyone else feared.
Tara felt the shift. She could feel it clinging to the air like static.
But she kept her chin high, her expression calm. Professional.
She was used to being strong.
Even if inside, she still felt a little breathless when she thought about last night.
Last night…
Tarun’s arms around her.
The broken way he whispered her name against her forehead.
The way his hands shook when he held her, as if he was afraid she’d vanish again.
A warmth bloomed in her chest at the memory.
The administrative block of the hospital loomed ahead – glass walls, minimalist design, cold and grand. Tara pushed the glass door open and entered her department.
Heads turned instantly.
Nurses smiled a little too eagerly. Interns scrambled to make way for her.
A few senior doctors greeted her with overly polite nods.
Tara’s lips twitched with an almost amused sadness.
She hadn’t changed.
They had.
As she crossed toward her office, she overheard two junior residents whispering – not fast enough to escape her sharp hearing.
“That’s her… Dr. Tara Sharma…”
“She’s the one Tarun Verma carried himself…”
Tara ignored them, pushing open the door to her glass-walled office.
The space smelled faintly of paper, coffee, and antiseptic.Her desk was neatly arranged – her files stacked precisely, her laptop open with her emails already pulled up.A fresh bouquet of white lilies sat on the corner of her table – no note attached, but she knew exactly who had sent them.
Tarun.
Her fingers brushed the soft petals.
A slow, shy smile broke onto her face before she forced herself to school her features back into calm professionalism.
Tara sat down, pulling up the patient file she needed.
Today was critical.
A complex neurosurgery – an aneurysm deep inside the parietal lobe – a ticking bomb that could rupture at any second.Only a few surgeons in the country could attempt it.And Tara was one of them.
She read through the patient’s reports with sharp, unwavering focus.
Every detail mattered. Every second in the operating room would count.
She was halfway through her final checklist when a soft knock broke her concentration.
She looked up to see her assigned nurse, Julie, standing at the door, clipboard in hand, a little breathless.
“Dr. Tara,” Julie said, her voice tinged with nervous excitement, “the OT is ready. The patient is prepped.”
Tara nodded, her face calm, composed – a mask she had perfected over the years.
Julie lingered by the door, shifting from foot to foot, then added in a hushed whisper, “And… sir… I mean, Dr. Verma will be accompanying you in this operation.”
For a moment – just a breath – Tara froze.
Her fingers, which had been methodically smoothing the edge of the patient’s file, halted mid-motion. A thunderstorm erupted inside her chest, beating wildly against her ribcage.
But on the surface, not a ripple betrayed her.
“Alright,” she said, her voice quiet, steady.
She closed the file with a muted snap, the sound far too loud in the sudden hush.
Julie offered her a fleeting, almost sympathetic glance before slipping out, leaving Tara alone under the sterile, humming lights of her office.
Tara buttoned her coat slowly, each button fastened with mechanical precision.But inside – inside she was trembling.
Tarun. In the OT. With her.
A lifetime ago, that thought would have filled her with laughter, warmth.
Now, it filled her with an ache so deep it echoed.
*****
The corridor outside the OT buzzed with subdued tension.
Every step, every breath, every hushed murmur died the moment Tarun Verma appeared.
He stood like a fortress of cold command, dressed in jet-black surgical scrubs. His sleeves were rolled crisply to his elbows, the veins along his forearms rigid, a testament to the iron control he wielded.
Every doctor, every nurse who passed him instinctively straightened, spoke softer, moved quicker – anything to stay unnoticed by the man who owned not just the hospital, but the very air around him.
In front of him, a junior doctor stammered nervously, reading out the patient’s pre-op chart, tripping over medical terms.
Tarun said nothing.
He simply watched- sharp, unblinking, the full weight of his presence like a blade pressed to the boy’s throat.
He absorbed the information in cold, ruthless silence, the way a wolf sizes up a battlefield before the first drop of blood is spilled.
Behind him, a young nurse struggled to tie the strings of his sterile surgical gown.Her hands shook visibly, brushing the thick fabric over his powerful shoulders.But she dared not ask him to adjust or even move – Tarun Verma didn’t tolerate incompetence.
Once she knotted the strings securely, Tarun pulled on his gloves with slow, surgical precision.The stretch of latex over his strong hands was the only sound in the heavy, charged air.
And then –
The automatic doors slid open again with a soft mechanical sigh.
Soft footsteps.
A familiar scent – lavender soap mixed with sterile disinfectant.
Tara.
He didn’t look immediately.
He didn’t have to.
The moment she entered the hallway, something in him – something he had buried for years – stirred violently.
The cold armor he wore every second cracked, if only a little.
He could feel her presence like a second heartbeat.
Fragile, fierce, unforgettable.
*******
Inside the OT
Tara stepped into the sterile, glaring white of the operation theater, her hands gloved, her expression unreadable.
Across the table, Tarun was already positioned. Their eyes met – just for a moment – across the patient’s unconscious body.
Neither smiled.
Neither faltered.
Two masters of their craft, two hearts battered and bruised, now standing side by side once again.
Tara scanned the vitals.
Tarun checked the surgical tray.
Their movements – crisp, economical, practiced.
“Scalpel,” Tara said softly, and the nurse handed it over.
She made the first incision, her hand steady, her breath even.
Tarun leaned slightly forward, assisting with absolute, almost reverent focus.
Not once did his hand falter.
Not once did he need to be told what she needed next.
Their chemistry – unspoken, electric – filled the room.
As the operation progressed, it became clear to everyone watching:
They weren’t just two surgeons.
They were two halves of a whole, moving around the table like they were dancing through life and death itself.
Every look.
Every nod.
Every brush of gloved fingers passing instruments.
It was seamless.
It was breathtaking.
******
Finally – after three intense hours – Tara sutured the final stitch.
Tara slowly leaned back, a small, exhausted breath escaping her lips behind the surgical mask.The operation had been delicate, complicated-but successful. She could feel it in her bones.
The junior doctors and nurses around the table let out tiny, relieved sighs. A few even exchanged smiles of awe.Someone clapped softly – tentative, respectful – and soon others followed.
“Congratulations, Dr. Sharma.”
“Another miracle…”
“Flawless, as always.”
Tara gave a short nod, offering a small, professional smile under her mask, though her heart was thundering for a different reason altogether.
Across the room, Tarun was peeling off his gloves, his movements precise, controlled, like a man who had learned long ago to master storms inside him.
He said nothing – just met her eyes once, silently, before stepping away, his presence like a shadow pulled from her soul.
Tara turned, allowing one of the nurses to assist her with untying her surgical gown.
The cotton fabric fell away from her shoulders, and she flexed her fingers, trying to shake off the ache of hours of rigid focus.
She had barely taken two steps towards the corridor when Julie- breathless – rushed up to her, clutching a phone.
“Dr. Sharma!” she gasped, thrusting it out to her. “Your phone… It’s been ringing nonstop during the surgery. I thought it might be urgent…”
Tara frowned, wiping her damp forehead with the back of her wrist.Her fingers closed around the familiar device – slightly warm from missed calls.
She glanced at the screen.
Multiple missed calls.
From Manav.
From Tiya.
And most alarmingly-
Ten missed calls from her mother.
Tara’s stomach twisted sharply.
Her mother never called during hospital hours unless… unless something was very wrong.
Without thinking, Tara pressed her mother’s contact and lifted the phone to her ear.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three-
The call picked up.
“Ma-?” Tara started, her voice cautious, the edge of unease already sharpening in her chest.
There was a sharp breath on the other side.
Not words.
Not yet.
Just breathing-shaky, broken.
Tara straightened instinctively, her heart beginning to hammer in her ribs.
“Ma?” she said again, louder this time.
And then-
A voice came through.
Rushed.
Frantic.
Terrified.
Tara’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers gripped the phone tighter as the blood drained from her face.
The walls around her seemed to close in, the sterile smell of antiseptic turning suffocating.
Her knees threatened to buckle.
The ground felt like it was tilting beneath her feet.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
The voice kept speaking, but Tara heard none of it anymore-only the deafening roar of her own heartbeat slamming against her ribs.
Her knees gave a small, involuntary buckle-
And just when she was about to collapse-
Two strong hands caught her.
Warm. Steady. Certain.
“Tara!!”
His voice-raw, urgent-broke through the storm swirling inside her.
But Tara…
Tara could only stare blankly ahead, frozen in a moment she already knew would change everything.
Tarun’s heart dropped in terror seeing her like this.
“Tara!” he shouted again, rougher now, his hands cupping her face, trying to force her to look at him. “Tara, talk to me! Tara!!”
Nothing.
She was staring right through him. Like a living ghost.
Panic clawed at Tarun’s chest. He shook her again, harder this time – her body swaying uselessly in his hands.
He had no choice. His own fear sliced through him like a blade.
And then-
A sharp slap echoed in the corridor.
Not hard.
But enough.
Enough to crack the glass bubble around her mind.
Tara gasped. A sharp, broken sob tore from her throat. Her whole body crumpled as she threw herself into Tarun’s chest, clutching him like he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
Her cries were violent, wrecked, her fists weakly beating against him.
“T-Tarun-” she choked, her words barely coherent between sobs. “Dad… Dad got a… a heart attack…!!”
Her voice broke into a wail.
Tarun felt like someone had driven a dagger straight into his soul.
“H-his condition… it’s critical,” she stammered, hiccuping through her cries. “D-Doctors… they… can’t guarantee if he will survive or -“
She couldn’t finish.
She buried her face deeper into his chest, sobbing like the lost, broken girl she once had been-and was again
Tarun wrapped his arms fiercely around her, shielding her, steadying her trembling body against his own unbreakable strength.
His hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer as if he could somehow absorb her pain, her terror, her grief.
“I’m here,” he murmured hoarsely into her hair.
“I’m here, meri jaan. I’m not letting you go again. Whatever happens, I’m with you.”
She clutched him tighter, sobbing uncontrollably, her world falling apart once more.
And this time, he silently vowed against his very soul-he would fight the whole damn world if he had to, but he wasn’t going to let her fall alone ever again.
*******
Hey, lovelies! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don’t forget to hit that vote button and leave your thoughts in the comments. Till then byy see you soon ❤️
Thank you for your love and support!
Love from,
Miss Sharma ❤️
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