DESTINED TOGETHER

18. || His Poetic Phrase ||

Sach haii kyaa aur juth hai kya,
Kya galat aur kyaa sahii
Jisko sunkar tu haase,
Mere liyee haii sahii wahi
Ho raste do samne ek jeet ka ek haar ka,
Chodh kar dono ko mein rasta chununga pyaar ka.

MONDAY, AT CITY LIFE HOSPITAL.

Debu stood motionless, his eyes fixed on Ananya's unconscious form lying in the hospital bed. The steady hum of medical equipment filled the room as doctors worked urgently around her. A deep sense of anxiety and panic gripped him as he leaned against the wall beside her room.

The nurse gently tended to his shoulder wound, removing the bullet with practiced precision, but Debu hardly noticed. The vivid images of Ananya's fierce battle against Ray's goons replayed in his mind, along with the haunting moment when she had been shot. The metallic tang of blood lingered in his senses, suffocating his thoughts.

Fear clawed at his heart; the thought of losing her was unbearable.

Hours stretched into the early morning, marked by the persistent red glow of the operation theater. Debu remained rooted in place, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness until finally, the light dimmed. He staggered forward as the doctor emerged.

"Doctor—my wife—" Debu's voice cracked with desperation, his eyes pleading for reassurance.

"We've removed the bullet, but her condition remains unstable. She's alive, thankfully," the doctor's words were a mix of relief and caution.

"Will... will she wake up soon?" Debu's voice trembled with hope.

"She will, but it's hard to say when. She's heavily sedated due to her injuries. It could be days, weeks, or even longer," the doctor's reassuring pat on his shoulder offered little comfort.

Debu's gaze never left Ananya through the glass wall, her still figure barely visible under the hospital sheets. The mere thought of losing her threatened to unravel his every nerve.

A comforting hand on his shoulder made him turn. It was Farukh Siddique, the Chief Executive Officer of CBI's undercover agents, a man shrouded in mysteries and unspoken motives.

"I know you must have a thousand questions, Debu, but now isn't the time. Ananya needs you," Farukh's voice was gentle yet firm, a rare display of empathy from the usually stoic chief.

"My doctor has given permission for you to see her, but please, do not disturb her recovery," Farukh's hand offered a reassuring squeeze before he departed.

Debu's hands felt cold as he pushed open the metal door to Ananya's room. The sterile whiteness of the hospital walls greeted him as he approached her bedside, his touch gentle as he stroked her hair.

"You were never this obedient," a lone tear slipped down his cheek, landing softly on her bandaged hand.

"I told you to leave and you almost did. I wouldn't have known what to do... I'm not as composed as you think. You always argued with me over everything, yet this time, you understood so easily," his voice trembled with emotion.

"If you leave, I'll spend a lifetime stuck in that pressure cooker. Who will teach me cooking?" he chuckled softly, his eyes closing as he held her hand tightly, as if holding onto a lifeline.

48 HOURS LATER

Debu entered the room dressed in fresh clothes, but his demeanor remained shattered. His steps were slow and heavy; he knew she wouldn't wake up, and the thought weighed heavily on him.

He settled beside her, caressing her face delicately, his heart skipping a beat when she didn't respond to his touch.

"Another day without you, Annu. I was foolish to think I'd find peace leaving you with that maniac, Ray," he sighed softly.