PIHA'S POV:
[A WEEK LATER]
4TH MARCH

It's currently 11 pm, and I'm wondering why fate won't leave me alone. It has been seven days since that incident, and I'm having a pretty hard time forgetting it. One, I have no idea why he was at Fortis that day. And two, why is he the only person I keep thinking of?

I pray to God that we don't cross paths ever again. Why, you may ask. That’s because he reminds me of Roman.

I huff in annoyance. Well, this week has been quite good from a professional viewpoint; I got to do things I've always wanted to. Additionally, my appointment is with a VIP patient tomorrow. It's as weird as it sounds. Well, VIPs are just normal patients who are rich or popular and get additional facilities like an entire luxurious ward for themselves. Sounds plain.

I toss and turn in bed, hoping that sleep would engulf me soon, but nah! Instead, I see a blue-eyed man who's been dominating my thoughts ever since I met him.

____________

I ignore the pimple on my forehead that has been begging for treatment. No thanks; I'm already late.Nice way to start your day, Piha!

I look like shit right now, and dear future husband, if you see me, just treat me like an invisible entity. I'm a cent percent sure I'm going to end up being yelled at by the VIP guy or girl.

I fight back my urge to slip into a cute and comfy skirt. Instead, I choose a pair of denim jeans and match them with a purple knit-style top. I adorn myself with accessories and leave for Fortis.

It has been two days since it has started raining. I hope it doesn't lead to flash floods, considering the useless drainage systems we have. The road ahead is barely visible due to the heavy rain and smog, the droplets pitter-pattering against the windshield with full force despite the wipers working at full throttle.

I sigh. Eww! The day cannot get any worse.

I park my car in the upper parking lot because I don't want it to flow away with the receding water. Shoving the backpack on my right shoulder, I slam the door behind me. I stop myself from getting into the car again and drive to the nearest chai (tea) stall. Enjoying the rain, I could sip on my masala tea, but no, I'm not that lucky.

As soon as I reach the reception, I see the receptionist guy wink at me. He looks somewhat familiar. I throw him a questionable look and take my report. As I open the door of the VIP ward, I stop dead in my tracks.

I blink twice to make sure that I'm not hallucinating.

Please, no!

Furtively glancing at the dossier in my hands, I quickly open the reports.

(RAGHVANSH BIRLA, 31 YEARS AGO, M)

Yes! It’s evident. God hates me so much.

I see him lift his gaze from the newspaper he had been reading, and his angry eyes meet mine.

Why wouldn't he be angry? You're 20 minutes late.

I bite my lower lip nervously and see his gaze soften as if saying something, and he continues staring at me—staring at my soul—for a good five minutes.

Then, he gets up and leaves, banging the door behind him.

My eyes shut on their accord due to the loud noise. I'm pretty much sure he broke the door. But I can't figure out why he did that. Thinking over what just happened, I feel a pang in my heart. What went wrong? Does he think I'm not qualified enough to examine him, or is it because I crashed into him the other day?

My eyes well up as I think of the possibilities. Am I not a good doctor? Does no one want to be treated under me? This might be my first job, but I've already worked in most of the respectable hospitals in India during my internships. I've saved numerous lives.

I glance at my feet, disappointed with myself, as the tears cloud my vision. Will I ever be a successful doctor?

Right then, I hear the door creak open. I look up and find myself gazing into his blue orbs, searching for a glint of hatred but finding none.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to return the newspaper to Dr. Patel."

I smack myself inwardly for thinking too much. This is the first time I hear his voice for the first time, and it’s totally different from what I had heard in his interviews. His husky voice is enough to make my senses numb. God! I hope I stay alive till the end of the session.

"That's fine." I flash him a professional smile.

_________________

"The doors have been sealed due to flood-like situations and will open after a couple of hours if the condition gets better. We request your co-operation. I REPEAT. The doors have been sealed due to flood-like situations and will open after a couple of hours if the condition gets better. We request your cooperation. Thank you!"

I curse my luck.

‘We don't mind spending time with him, Piha,’ my entire body shamelessly admits.

I turn to my side only to find Raghvansh Birla staring at me. Why does he have to look at me that way? I feel the heat creep up my neck.

Tearing my eyes away, taking a deep breath, I send a quick text to the family group, informing them about the delay.

Let me just give y'all a small glimpse of the past one and a half hours:

Well, I was just reading his MRIs, analysing his medical conditions, and conducting my mini session. He takes his physical health quite seriously, I must say. No wonder he's one of the fittest sportsmen across the globe.

But then I discover something that leaves me astounded. His medical report states that he's a FORMER PANCREATIC CANCER PATIENT.

My breathing turns ragged when I read through the report. He's much stronger than I've imagined.

Coming back to the present, I ask him, "Sir, would you like to have anything? Coffee or snacks?"

"Coffee would do,” he says in his rough voice.

That turns me on; I won't lie.

"And stop calling me Sir, Dr. Deshmukh."

I'm a bit dazzled by that as no one calls me Dr. Deshmukh. But what should I call him, though?

"Okay, Raghvansh Bhai-—(Bro)"

He cuts me off. "Don't complete your statement. Raghvansh it is."

I cringe inwardly at what I was going to say. "Off work, you can call me Piha too." I give him a genuine smile.

Is there going to be an 'off work' too? My insides scream as I see him smirk. Gulping, I run towards the reception to get us coffee. I had embarrassed myself enough today.

Wait!

I could've just ordered coffee over the intercom, right? Ugh! I smack myself. "Can't do one thing properly."

"Hey, Pihu," I hear someone call me.

His high-pitched voice is nowhere close to that of Raghvansh sir. I turn to find the source. Oh, it’s the receptionist guy.

OH!

"DHRUV SHARMA?" I whisper. Dhruv Sharma—the Fortis hospital heir. He was a senior of mine in college.

"Yes, Pihu—"

"Don't call me that, please. Only my family has that right."

"Fine! Want to grab coffee?" he asks, winking.

I can't cringe any harder. "I'm a bit busy right now." Why wouldn't he just go and get coffee for himself?

"Pihu, don't be stubborn."

How am I stubborn now? I'm busy; I gotta order coffee for Raghvansh sir and me. I mean... Raghvansh. "Stop it, Dhruv," I say in a low-pitched voice, not wishing to be the centre of attention.

"Pihu—"

He was about to say something when a deep voice cuts him off. "Shut up before I break that face of yours."

Oh no! Raghvansh Birla!

I turn around to meet his blue orbs reflecting fire. Am I in trouble? I see Dhruv gulp in fear too, and I frown. Well, I know Dhruv wasn't right, but he shouldn't have been rude, no?

"Cafeteria. Now," he whispers into my ear.

I hold the corner of the reception table just in case I faint. It scares me—the effect he has on me, which no one's ever had.

I nod and follow him as he puts on his shades and mask. Walking ahead, he stops at the end of the lobby and looks around, taking his shades off.

He turns to me, staring into my eyes. "He was hitting on you creepily. Couldn't you just run away? You need to be careful. This is Pune and not Delhi. It isn't that populated. He would've misbehaved with you, and no one would've ever known. Take someone with you the next time you go anywhere. Do you get it?"

I nod. Does it look like we met a week ago?

Guys! Isn't this the way Roman would behave?

I don't get why the media always frames him. He seems to be such an amazing person. He has been quite respectable and nice since we've met. I instantly feel guilty about calling him rude.

"Let's go, Piha."

I can't help but gasp. The thought that no one else should call me that creeps within me. I wonder how Pihu would sound in his voice.

~√~√

Chapter cast*

Neil Nitin Mukesh as DHRUV SHARMA

Author's note*

Hey, hope you're doing well!
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The next update will be out on 2th, Wednesday.
Take care!