The man she loves

Moments of Darkness

Blood... It pooled across the room. In the center lay a pale, cold body, so still that anyone could have mistaken her for lifeless. Yet, a faint heartbeat fluttered beneath the surface, a whisper of hope in the overwhelming despair. Rudrani's heart shattered as she watched the paramedics carefully lift her daughter, who now seemed like a fragile wisp of the girl she once knew. Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of anguish and fear, each drop a plea for her daughter's survival. If not for her son's steady grip, anchoring her in that moment, Rudrani felt she would have crumpled to the ground, swallowed by the weight of grief.

"Rudra... Rudra... Nik," Rudrani stammered, her trembling finger pointing desperately at her daughter. "Rudra... She..." The tightness in her chest, the terror constricting her heart, stole the very words from her lips. "Was it... this... bad? Were we th-this b-bad? Wh-what if something happens to her... I..." Her voice faltered, breaking into incoherent murmurs, barely making sense even to herself. She was rambling now, lost in the storm of her own fear and guilt. "I won't be able to f-forg... forgive myself, ever, Rudra..." she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her helplessness.

When she finally glanced up at her son, his red-rimmed eyes mirrored her pain. Though his face was stoic, it was clear he was barely holding himself together. If not for his iron-willed restraint, he too might have given in to the tears threatening to break free.

Rudrani's eyes frantically searched the room until they found her husband. Mr. Rana sat slumped on the floor by the entrance, his face buried in his hands, looking like a man who had lost all hope. On his lap, their granddaughter clung tightly to his kurta, her small fists trembling as silent tears fell down her cheeks.

"Rana ji," Rudrani whispered, her voice barely audible as she leaned on her son for support and moved toward him. "Ra... Rana ji..." Her voice broke as her heart shattered at the sight of him. He looked more broken, more lost than he had the day Arnika left home and ran away.

"I... I saved her once," he murmured, his voice hollow, like a man caught in a nightmare. "I knew I could. I knew I could pull her away from that monster’s clutches... nothing in this world could have stopped me then." The powerful and feared businessman of India now sat before them, utterly broken. His words tumbled out in a whisper, lost in his grief. "But now... I... I don’t know if yesterday was the last time I’ll ever hear her call me 'Papa.' I asked her not to call me that... and what if... what if I never hear it again?" His lips quivered, tears streaming down his face unchecked as he mumbled, "I... I don’t know what I’ll do... I can’t... I can’t lose her."

Then, as if shaken awake, he wiped his tears harshly, shaking his head as if trying to dismiss the crushing fear. His eyes darkened with a fierce determination as he stood abruptly, his granddaughter still clutching onto him. Without a word, he strode out of the room, heading downstairs, his purpose renewed. "Nothing will happen to her," he muttered under his breath, gripping the car door. "I’ll make sure nothing happens to her."

Just as he was about to get into the driver's seat, Rudra grabbed him from behind, gently but firmly. "I’m driving us to the hospital, Papa," he said quietly, guiding his father to the backseat. Mr. Rana hesitated, his resolve faltering for just a moment, but then he nodded, too drained to argue. Rudra climbed into the driver’s seat, and they sped toward the hospital.

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The doctors and nurses rushed around the private room, their movements a coordinated frenzy of emergency care. They worked diligently to suture the deep laceration on her wrist, attempting to repair severed tendons and stop the profuse arterial bleeding. An intravenous (IV) line was inserted to administer necessary fluids and blood transfusions, combating the onset of hypovolemic shock due to significant blood loss. Monitors beeped urgently, displaying her tachycardic heart rate and dangerously low blood pressure. A nurse called out vital signs while a surgeon applied a tourniquet to control the hemorrhage before proceeding with vascular repair.

Outside the operating room, the Rana family sat in tense silence, waiting for any update. Mr. Rana appeared composed and collected on the surface, holding firmly onto the hope that nothing would happen to his daughter. His jaw was set, but his eyes betrayed a deep-seated worry. Rudrani Rana clung to her son's arms, softly sobbing into his shoulder as he tried to offer comfort. Little Naina sat on the bench beside her grandfather, her small hand gripping his tightly, eyes wide with fear and confusion as she looked around the sterile hospital corridor.

Every passing minute felt like hours, and each hour dragged on like an eternity. Mr. Rana was on the verge of losing patience, nearly ready to storm into the room for news about his daughter. Just as he was about to act, the senior doctor stepped out, exhaustion etched on his face. The weary look made the Rana family’s anxiety deepen, their fears amplifying in the silence that followed.

“She’s fine, right?” all three members asked in unison, their voices laced with desperation. When the doctor nodded affirmatively, a collective sigh of relief swept through them.

“She’s stable and doing well,” he reassured them, though fatigue lingered in his tone. “It will take some time—several hours—before she regains consciousness. We’ve sedated her with anesthesia to allow her body to rest and heal properly. She experienced significant blood loss, so we performed a transfusion to restore her blood volume. The wound has been sealed, but it will take a while to heal completely.”

He paused, his gaze steady but somber. “The blade she used to cut her wrist was rusted, leading to an infection. Her hand will likely be swollen for weeks as we treat this. We’ll monitor her closely for any signs of complications, but right now, she is stable.”

Rudrani felt the weight of relief wash over her, tears filling her eyes as she grasped her son’s arm tightly. Mr. Rana’s posture relaxed slightly, though the concern in his eyes remained. Naina, still clutching her grandfather’s hand, looked up at him, completely unaware about everything, looking down at his grand daughter Mr Rana let the tear of relief he was holding fell down and placed a kiss on her forehead before pulling her close to his heart and smiling with tears.

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