Madam sir 2.0

At Hospital pt.2

Amar Vidrohi sat alone on a cold, metal bench in the hospital corridor. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, and the antiseptic air was thick with an uneasy stillness, broken only by the distant beeping of machines and the hurried footsteps of nurses.

His heart raced, memories swirling in his mind like autumn leaves caught in a storm.

He could see her—Haseena Malik, the woman who had once sparked both rivalry and respect in him as the new Station House Officer (SHO).

Haseena, known to everyone as Madam Sir, was a force of nature in the police department.

She was fiercely dedicated, unyielding in the face of adversity, and too often, at odds with him. Their debates had been legendary, their jabs sharp and unrelenting. Haseena's taunts often hung in the air long after the argument had ended—a blend of admiration and exasperation.

But these delightful encounters now felt distant, overshadowed by the specter of her condition after the violent incident at the station.

Suddenly, the emergency room's light dimmed, and Amar stood up. His heart pounded in his chest as he spotted a doctor emerging, removing his mask to reveal a face marred by fatigue.

“Haseena Malik is stable now, but we need to monitor her closely,” the doctor stated, his voice a calm oasis amidst the storm of worry.

The relief that washed over Amar was palpable. “Sir, I am always here,” Amar vowed, the warmth of their bond rekindling in the melting tension.

It was a bond built on mutual respect and admiration, much deeper than the triviality of their past quarrels.

“Dr., is there any internal damage?” Amar pressed, desperate for details.

“No, there’s no internal damage,” the doctor replied, a note of assurance in his tone. “She has some superficial injuries. Bruises, mainly. They will heal in a few days, but she will need to rest. No strenuous activity for at least a week,” he advised.

“Understood. I will keep an eye on her, but what about the others?” Amar’s mind raced as he recalled the members of the team, the MPT—Madam Sir’s trusted squad.

He took a quick step to find out where Karishma Singh, Pushpa Singh, and Cheeta Chaturvedi were being treated.

“Doctor, how are my colleagues?” Amar inquired, urgency threading his voice.

“SI Karishma has sustained several bruises on her arms and shoulders," the doctor replied, focusing intently on his notes. "The other two are fine. They’re all undergoing routine checks just to be safe. We should have their test results by tomorrow morning. If everything is okay, both of them can be discharged. But if there are complications, they might need further observation for maybe two days.”

“Hmmm…” Absorbing the information, he nodded.

“Thank you, Doctor. Please let me know if anything arises. And when can we expect My SHO to be discharged?”

The doctor smiled, but the weight of his words made Amar pause.

“She is out of immediate danger, but due to the nature of her injuries and the smoke inhalation that led to her temporary loss of consciousness, we’ll need to keep her under observation for at least a week—followed by another week of strict rest.”

“Okay,” Amar responded slowly, realizing he had just subconsciously referred to Haseena as “my SHO.”

The realization brought a smile to his lips—a flicker of companionship amidst the shadows of authority.

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