The Rhythms Of Her Dreams✨️

15. Fighting the Clock✨️

Shubman’s heart pounded in his chest as he sped through the streets of Mumbai, the world outside a blur of lights and sounds. His mind was racing, a flood of thoughts crashing over him in waves. The words Meera had spoken echoed relentlessly in his head: “She’s in the ICU, Shubman. She’s in critical condition. It’s really bad.”

His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. The image of Kaira—her bright eyes, her infectious smile, her laugh that could light up even the darkest day—flashed in his mind with an intensity that made his stomach churn. How had everything gone so wrong? How could this have happened?

The city passed by in a haze, each street corner blurring into the next. He didn’t care about anything except getting to the hospital. Time seemed to stretch and break around him, the minutes dragging on like hours. All he could focus on was Kaira, fighting for her life.

When he finally reached the hospital, he rushed through the doors, ignoring the front desk staff who called after him. He barely registered their words as he bolted past them, his heart in his throat, his breaths shallow and rapid. He needed to see her. He had to.

Meera was waiting in the hallway, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with sorrow. The moment she saw him, she stood up, her hands trembling.

“Shubman…” she whispered, but her voice cracked, unable to convey the gravity of the situation. She stepped aside, gesturing toward the ICU.

Inside, the scene was more harrowing than he could have ever imagined. Kaira lay in the bed, her body pale and motionless, hooked up to a series of machines that beeped rhythmically. Her face, though still beautiful, was drawn, and her breathing came in shallow gasps. A mask covered her nose and mouth, helping her breathe, but even that couldn’t hide the struggle, the desperate fight for air that was too hard to come by.

Shubman’s breath caught in his throat as he saw her—his heart shattering all over again. His knees felt weak, and he stumbled slightly as he moved closer to her bed. The sight of her so fragile, so vulnerable, was a blow to everything he had believed. Kaira, the girl who had made him smile, who had made him laugh, who had brought warmth into his life—she was fighting to stay alive, and there was nothing he could do.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear them, but the weight of the moment crushed him. He placed his hand gently on the edge of the bed, his fingers trembling.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if speaking any louder might make everything more real, more painful. "Kaira, you have to fight. You can't leave me like this."

The room seemed to close in around him. Every beep of the machine, every breath she struggled to take, was like a reminder of how fleeting life could be. How quickly everything could change.

He reached out and took her hand, his own trembling fingers brushing against hers. He had been here so many times before, but never like this. Never with this overwhelming sense of helplessness.

Flashback: "Do We Have Enough Time?"

The memory came to him in an instant, vivid and raw.

It was the day after their conversation about time, about the future that Kaira had so quietly hinted at—one that he wasn’t ready to face. He had been trying to keep his emotions in check, trying not to dive too deeply into the idea of something more between them, but the words she had said kept echoing in his mind.

They had been standing by the lake, the setting sun casting golden hues across the sky, painting everything in the most serene light. He had tried to brush off her question—about time—but she had asked it so earnestly.