Zayne

"It's okay. Just don't do it again," she said, her voice softening. And with those words, everything seemed to click into place. Naina cared about me. She might not admit it openly, but I wasn't alone in feeling this way—she was right there with me.

I had been taken aback when she had sent me a photo of herself. To be precise, it was two photos of her trying on a new pair of jeans in a fitting room. One from the front, and the other... well, let's just say it showcased her butt quite nicely.

She was so cute when she was being herself. I was grinning broadly long after the call ended.

"What is wrong with you?" Prashant asked, raising an eyebrow as I arrived to take over his shift.

"Nothing," I replied with a casual shrug, though a small, contented smile remained on my face. "Just give me the sign out."

"Alright. Vishwanathan Swami, 59, is in cardiogenic shock. He's on norepinephrine and dobutamine. An LAD stent was placed, but he's still unstable."

Prashant continued detailing each patient's complex cases. The shift that lay ahead seemed grueling. To my dismay, I noticed I'd be working with Ranjana once again.

"Hi, sir!" she greeted me with a bright smile. "I'm going home for the weekend. So I switched my night shift with Sulochana."

I nodded. "Alright. Make sure to read the ACLS protocol. We've got a patient with wide complex tachycardia, and I want you to manage him."

I had given my number to the nurses and instructed them to reach out if anything seemed off.

Her eyes widened with apprehension. "Sir, I'm not sure I can do that myself."

"You passed your final year, didn't you? You'll manage," I assured her, my voice steady. With that, I strode off, leaving her to gather her courage.

The night quickly took a turn for the worse. While no new patients arrived, Vishwanathan's blood pressure plunged despite the two medications. He'd developed a new murmur—a foreboding sign. As a cardiologist, one of my greatest fears with a STEMI, a type of heart attack, is the development of a ventricular septal defect (VSD), a dreaded complication where bad blood bypasses the lungs and shunts from the right to the left heart.

I did a quick bedside echocardiogram and confirmed my suspicions. Without hesitation, I called the cardiac surgeon. "Dr. Srikaran, sir, I have a STEMI patient with a newly developed VSD. Can you come to the hospital?" I asked, urgency threading my voice.

"On my way," he responded promptly. After coordinating with the operating theater, I walked to the waiting room to speak with the patient's family.

"You people are only concerned about money!" the patient's brother shouted, his voice thunderous with accusation.
The patient's wife wept profusely.

"You forced us to make a decision about the stent, and we read online that it wasn't an emergency. You didn't give us time to think or understand the side effects. And now, you won't give us time to decide about the surgery?" He bellowed.

"Your brother had a major heart attack. The wall separating the two sides of his heart has ruptured. Without this surgery, he will die," I explained, struggling to keep my voice calm.

"What is the cost of this surgery?" he demanded, eyes flashing with suspicion.

"The nurse will go over the details with you. But please, understand the gravity of this situation. Every second that passes is precious," I urged, my heart pounding.

"We have a cousin in the USA. I'm going to ask him first. Without his approval, we're not proceeding," the brother insisted, his stance unyielding. I turned to the wife, her hands clasped in desperate prayer.

"Please, do whatever you need to do to save my husband," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, nodding before hurrying back to the ICU. Ultimately, it would be the wife who could provide the necessary consent.

Dr. Srikaran arrived swiftly, and after speaking with the family, prepared to take the patient into surgery. I resumed my duties.

Exhausted and ready to collapse after my shift, I headed towards the call room. Suddenly, someone grabbed me by the shoulder.

"What did you do? You killed my brother!" The patient's brother, his face contorted with rage, bellowed at me.

"Let go of me," I said sternly, trying to keep my voice calm and emotionless despite the fear gripping me. He clenched my arm tightly. The corridor was empty, and the last thing I wanted was a physical confrontation with a grieving family member.

I didn't have the details of what had transpired in surgery. The patient had come in well after what we call a transmural infarction, meaning the entire thickness of the heart wall had been compromised by the blockage. The prognosis in such cases is grim, worsening with each passing second.

The man continued to shake me violently, holding onto both my shoulders. "You and that other doctor killed my brother! You don't care; you got your money."

I gently removed his hands from my shoulders and tried to de-escalate. "I was in the wards; I don't have the details. Let me find out what happened and explain it to you."

He continued to yell, his voice echoing through the corridor. Thankfully, a security guard intervened and escorted him to the waiting room. I sent a quick text to Dr. Srikaran, who informed me that the patient had passed away while being placed under general anesthesia, well before the surgery had even begun.

I was still feeling shaken by the episode when I got home. Surprisingly, Naina called me.

"Zayne?" she said softly into the phone. Her voice alone brought a smile to my face.

"Yeah, Naina," I replied, holding the phone close as though it would bridge the distance between us. "What happened?"

"Advik called me." My heart raced as if running a marathon. I waited, anxious, for her to continue.

"I didn't say anything to him and hung up. I blocked the number... But hearing his voice... I just... I'm sorry..." Her voice broke, and I could hear her crying. I felt utterly helpless.

"It's okay," I tried to soothe her, though her sobs continued.

"I miss him so much..." Her words were like daggers to my heart.

"It will get better," I assured her, trying to infuse my voice with as much comfort as I could muster. "Trust me."

"I've told you about Priya, how I thought she would be the one I would marry," I began, not fully knowing where this conversation would lead. Her sobs grew softer as she listened. "And my mom threatened to take her life if I continued to see Priya. I had to end things. It was devastating. I never thought I would move on, but I did. I love you more than I ever loved her." The last part slipped from my lips before I could stop myself.

I waited several moments for a response. The silence on the other end was deafening.

"Everything's gonna be okay," I said again, more to myself than to her this time.

"Zayne, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I want... I hate that... that I'm dragging you along with me in this," she said, her voice trembling.

"Naina... I made a promise to Allah when I married you. That I'll cherish you and take care of you as long as I live. You are my wife, Naina, don't you accept that?" My voice broke as I asked her this. What did she mean she didn't know what she wanted? She was married to me. Was she still considering going back to him? A heaviness settled in my chest, squeezing my heart painfully. I would wait forever if I knew she would stay with me. But if she were to leave...

Tears pricked my eyes. Everything that had happened today was catching up to me. This didn't feel like a partnership. I needed her today, but she...

"Zayne?" she called into the phone, her voice soft and tentative, interrupting my thoughts. My voice was caught in my throat, making it hard to respond.

"You won't... you won't leave me, right?" she asked uncertainly.

And just like that, my heart felt light again. She wanted me. "I'll never leave you, Naina," I whispered with conviction.

"How was your day?" she asked me several
moments later. I leaned back in my chair, not realizing I had been sitting up straight all this while. Should I burden her with what had happened while she was in this fragile state?

"I had a rough day too," I began, then proceeded to tell her everything.

"Oh my God, Zayne!" she exclaimed, and despite everything, I smiled. "You could have been seriously hurt! I'm so glad you're okay." I was now, knowing she cared.

"Zayne, you should be more careful. Don't roam around the hospital by yourself."

I laughed softly. "Don't worry about me. That's hard to avoid."

"I guess. Are you okay, though? You know it's not your fault, right?" she asked. She knew me well. I had thought and rethought the case, wondering if we could have done anything differently.

"I'm okay, Naina." I loved saying her name. Call me insane, but I was head over heels in love with my wife.

"Hmmm..." she replied thoughtfully. A sudden urge to see her, to hold her, welled up inside me.

"I'll come see you this weekend, okay?" I suggested, my voice hopeful.

"Where will you stay?" she asked after a pause.

"I'll book a hotel for us." I imagined us in a cozy hotel room—just me and Naina. My wife. To feel her warmth against me, to kiss her again. "Naina?" I called out when I didn't get a response.

"Zayne, I don't..." she started but stopped abruptly. She didn't need to say the words. She didn't want to stay alone with me in a hotel.

"I just want to see you. I'll stay at the hotel and we can just hang out during the day," I told her, trying to hide my reluctance.

"Okay..." she replied, the hesitation clear in her voice. My heart sank. I really should stay neutral, but I couldn't help the longing that gripped me. One day, she'd love me. One day.

Thank you for reading.

Remember that you are amazing, and there is a reason for everything. You are going to be okay.
❤️Faiza