On this cold, November afternoon, the heat from the friction of my fingers dancing across the keyboard and my thoughts is what I need. The clicking of my nails against the keys reminds me of a very unorganized tap dancer. 

My eyes and mind are only glued to the notes that I have to type up for the patients. Come on, a few more left, I think to myself, almost as a propeller to finish off strong. One wrong move and I would be slammed in the face with lawsuits, curses, and broken hearted people.

Finally, after all the notes are done, an unmistakable burst of satisfaction trickles into my bloodstream. Something about knowing that you've finished all your notes and did a good job on them is like getting an A on a test you studied really hard for. 

I slam my finger against the period key to finish off the sentence properly, and get up. "Rounds time," I tell myself, which honestly kind of sounds like a merry go round themed horror movie. I shoot up on my feet and crane my head to see how the ward is looking. Now comes what is either the most exciting or the most dreadful part of the day: talking to family members.

Each family member's face moves by in a flash. It's almost deceptively easy to debrief each of them, and it feels like they just snap in front of me and then disappear into thin air. It makes things a lot easier, since today is one of those days where I'd rather surround myself with blankets and Ben Jerry's ice cream pints. It's almost like a sluggish crawl towards the finish line, which I eventually inch towards. 

"Whew, last one," I think to myself, as I move onto the last patient's family members. I take a quick look at the patient's file so that I can jog my memory of what's going on. My eyes zoom across the file, as my feet carry me towards the patient's family. "Siddharth Bhatia. 60 years old, had a severe heart attack last night." 

They eventually dart up to face a woman standing in front of the room. Her thinning chocolate brown hair is clipped back, and at least 30 years of worry is etched into her face in the form of wrinkles. Her eyes are enlarged, glistening with worry, and frozen with fear. Clearing my throat a little bit to prepare myself, I step up a little closer to her. "Hi, I'm Dr. Balakrishnan." 

I extend my hand so that she can firmly shake it if she desires. The woman's eyes shoot towards me, with a little bit of the icy fear in her eyes melting away. After gently shaking my hand like she's taking every precaution not to rip my arm off, she says, "Oh, I'm so glad you're here, doctor. I'm Neelima, his wife. How is he doing? Is his condition stabilizing?" 

My fingers flip through the pages to get an idea of his vitals and how his heart rate is. "Yeah, he's stabilizing. He's almost there, and quite frankly, he's recovering beautifully. I don't think you have much to worry about." 

I can almost see the weight lifting off of her chest, along with the worry in her eyes dissolving, and I don't blame her. Any news of your loved one recovering back to a healthy state is good and welcome news. "Oh, that's wonderful news. When can we expect him back home?" 

Ah, the questions that require a bit of thought. What would a shift at the ICU be without them? With a few thoughts swarming in my mind, I'm able to decipher them and come up with a decent answer. "If I had to estimate, he'd probably be out of the ICU by tomorrow, and back home within three or four days." 

This time, all of her worries melt away and solidify into a grateful smile. "Thank you, doctor. That's amazing to hear. My son, Adarsh, is coming tonight and he'll be even happier to hear that." A gentle smile curls at my lips. "I can't wait to meet him," I reply, and this time, genuity is the only thing running through my voice.

Most people's days go by in a flash. It's almost like you just seem to blink and the day is over. Well, I wish it was like that for me. My day is like watching paint dry, but I think it's because I'm so used to detail and paying attention to the finer parts of things that it tends to make things go slower. 

If you watch medical shows as a doctor, you'll know how much of the opposite medical shows are to a doctor's life. On medical shows, it's like the doctors waltzed straight off the runway and straight into scrubs. And also, according to medical shows, as I'm checking my patient's heartbeat, I'm supposed to fall madly in love and have three kids with them. 

They fail to portray how completely clueless I feel at times as I'm drowning amongst the loads of paperwork that is sitting on my desk. But of course, what's the fun in showing me scribble through stacks of paperwork instead of fighting for my patient's eternal love? 

Spoiler alert: there isn't any. And I'm reminded of that lack of fun while my fingers ache from all the writing and flipping I have to do through stacks of papers.

As I conquer this war-like stack of paperwork, I can almost feel the clock ticking. There's only minutes left in my shift, and the thought that my warm apartment with a fuzzy blanket waiting for me was like a magnet pulling me and never letting me go. 

With everything on my list complete, it was time for me to do the last round before the night shift intensivist comes in and takes over everything. With that, I propel myself on my feet and start my rounds so that I won't have to rush everything. 

As I'm walking through the unit to have a better look, I can't help but remember that Neelima's son still hasn't arrived. While that thought plagues my mind, another one squeezes in and decides to cohabit. "Chill. He'll come. Give it some time."

Finally, I'm at Siddharth Bhatia's unit again, who is my last patient for the day. I take note of all his vitals and his nutrient levels so that Dr. Shapiro, the next shift's intensivist, will know what he's working with. 

As I'm taking note of all this, I turn to the nurses. "Has his son come or am I just really out of it today?" 

The nurses both flash each other clueless looks, and they do the same towards me. "Nothing yet. I didn't see him," one of them says. 

I shrug and finish up whatever thoughts I'm on. Before I can walk out of the room and officially call it a day, I hear a pattering of footsteps clicking into the room. A worried man waltzes into the room, and I can see from a mile away that he just got off of work. "Speak of the devil," I think to myself, as I turn to face him properly. 

His dress shirt and khaki pants are slightly crumpled in places, and he's trying to straighten them out to make himself look presentable. His dark hair looks like he just rolled out of bed and threw whatever nice clothes he first found hanging in his closet. 

But I don't judge, because it's the end of the work day, and I always look like I served in the Vietnam War after finishing my shift. 

"Whew, made it. Hi, are you the doctor?" 

A slight smile curls at my lips. "Yep. I'm Dr. Balakrishnan." I extend my hand to shake, which he takes. 

Like his mom, he shakes it ever so gently so that he won't rip it off like a piece of paper from a notebook. "I'm Adarsh. Siddharth's son. Mom told me that he's stabilizing?" 

I nod, as I look down at his file. "He's doing pretty good. He should be out of the ICU by tomorrow, and back home within the next two or three days." 

I feel a sigh of relief deflate out of Adarsh like a balloon. "Oh my goodness, this is great news. Thank you doctor, you rock," he says. 

I shrug, and this time, my smile blooms into one that stretches from ear to ear. "I do try." 

Chuckles escape the both of us, as I hear another set of footsteps pattering their way into the room. In the split second before he enters the room, I hear a voice say, "Sorry, Adarsh, I forgot my wallet."

 A little voice in the back of my head whispers, "That voice is familiar." It's not until he enters the room that I'm punched in the face with nostalgia. 

The man looks towards me, and my jaw drops open. He sports a slight beard, along with shorter, neater hair, but behind that mask, he's still the same. The same kind brown eyes that warm you up on a bitter day. The same smile that extends from here to Jupiter. And most importantly, the warm aura that thaws my frozen fingertips when he walks into the room. 

While shock chokes at my throat and prevents me from saying anything at that moment, he croaks, "Jaya?" 

Eventually, I overcome that shock and manage to squeak out, "Hey, Manish."

---------

Ooooh, reunions! Gotta love them. How do you think Manish and Jaya will react to seeing each other again after so long? Let me know in the comments! 

Fun fact: this chapter was originally going to be completely different. I intended for Wilted Petals to have a more dramatic story line, and this chapter was originally going to involve Jaya being Manish's patient and them reuniting when she's treating him in the ICU. The more you know! I'm not sure, do you prefer this or the original idea?

Anyways, as always, please make sure to vote/comment/share/message/follow if you like my work! See you in the next chapter!

Love you guys, 

Shree