In a world where love is a foreign , he has found his guiding star. Desperate and unwavering, he pleads for just one chance to prove his devotion. She, lost in a life devoid of affection, sees in him the promise of a profound connection she never be...
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2nd May'24
Prashmita stood at the front of the podium, her heart was drumming in her chest, though her face remained composed. Her fingers clutched the remote control for the projector, the cold plastic was grounding her nerves.
It was her first demonstration of the project that would soon be submitted to the national board for the competition's initial stage. The screen behind her flickered to life, casting sharp images of brain scans, accompanied by detailed slides on Glioblastoma Multiforme.
She could visualize the moments shared with Devrudra, who had played a key role in shaping her ideas. A small pang tugged at her, but she pushed it aside. This moment was hers, and the spotlight was unforgiving.
Her heart beat steadily, though there was a faint tremble in her hands. But amid the technical jargon and clinical presentations, her mind wandered briefly to the daunting hours she had poured into this, the solitary nights spent in the lab, the countless hours perfecting this presentation, preparing for every question the Neurosurgery and Neuro-medicine panel might throw at her.
The room was filled with the most esteemed doctors of the department, their eyes trained on her, waiting for her to begin.
She cleared her throat, her voice steady but soft, as she started speaking.
As she began to speak, her voice clear but measured, the room fell silent. This was her domain—the world of complex data, diagnosis, and innovation.
"Glioblastoma multiforme, or GBM, is the most aggressive type of primary brain tumor in adults. It's known for its rapid progression and resistance to conventional therapies..."
Her words were clinical, precise, but the passion behind them was unmistakable. This project wasn't just another academic requirement; it was personal for her.
As she moved through each slide, she explained the complexities of GBM, from its molecular pathology to the potential breakthroughs in treatment. She was in her element, every word calculated, every fact embedded in her mind.
But then, a slight shift in the room's atmosphere made her pause. The door at the back of the conference hall opened, and though the panelists remained focused, Prashmita caught a glimpse of someone entering quietly, settling into a seat. And her breath hitched.
It was Devrudra.
He hadn't informed her, he would come. She hadn't expected him at all. For a split second, her mind wavered, her carefully prepared flow disrupted.
She pressed a finger to the remote, but the next slide didn't advance immediately. She could feel his eyes on her, a quiet, unspoken support, and somehow, that unsettled her more than the daunting presence of the department's panel.
