Her Only Saviour

79. Catastrophic

𝕳𝖆𝖆 𝖙𝖚𝖏𝖍 𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖕𝖍𝖆𝖆𝖌𝖚𝖓 𝖒𝖊𝖎𝖓 𝖕𝖍𝖆𝖆𝖌 𝖓𝖆𝖍𝖎 𝖗𝖊
𝕳𝖆𝖆 𝖙𝖚𝖏𝖍 𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖏𝖆𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖇𝖍𝖎 𝖏𝖆𝖆𝖌 𝖓𝖆𝖍𝖎 𝖗𝖊

𝕿𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖓𝖆.. 𝖔 𝖒𝖆𝖍𝖎𝖞𝖆
𝕯𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖞𝖆, 𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖏𝖆𝖟𝖊𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖉𝖊 𝖓𝖊

𝕬𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖎 𝖆𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖎 𝖆𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖎 𝖐𝖆𝖍𝖆𝖆𝖓𝖎,
𝖆𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖗𝖆 𝖆𝖑𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖆..

~~~~~

“Mujhe Anirudh chahiye!”

Her voice rang out again, raw and trembling, echoing through the ICU.

The nurses froze. One of the junior doctors along with Dr. Kaveri looked at Omkara helplessly.

“Call him,” Omkara said quickly. “Now. If she’s calling for him, she needs him more than anything else.”

Outside the glass, Anirudh was already halfway to the door. The second the lock clicked open, he rushed in.

The sight of her nearly brought him to his knees.

She looked so... broken. So small. Her face was streaked with tears, her lips quivering, eyes wide and searching like a child lost in a nightmare.

“Anirudh…” her voice cracked when she saw him, barely a whisper. She reached out both arms toward him, desperate, trembling. “A-ani… please…”

In two long strides, he was beside her.
He gently climbed onto the hospital bed, not caring about the doctors or wires or monitors. He gathered her into his arms, pressing her head to his chest as she clutched him like she would drown without him.

“Shhh… I’m here,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could without hurting her fragile frame.
“I’m here, Nandini. I’ve got you. I won’t go anywhere. Ever.”

She sobbed into his chest, violent, wrecked cries that shook through both of them. Her fists gripped his shirt, curled tight like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

“My baby, Anirudh…” she cried. “They killed my baby…”

Anirudh held her closer, his jaw tight, his eyes wide open and dry—but only because he refused to break.
Not here. Not now.

If he cried, she would drown.

He had to be her rock.

“No,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Baby didn’t leave you. She's a part of you, forever. Right here—” He gently placed her palm over her own heart. “Always here.”

Her breathing came in short gasps. She kept crying, her voice cracking again and again. “Why did this happen to me, Ani? Why? I didn’t even see my baby. I didn’t even get to hold her…”

He could feel her breaking under every word, and every one of her words cut into him like a blade. But he didn’t shed a tear.

Not when her body convulsed.

Not when her sobs turned to whimpers.

Not even when she clung to him and whispered, “I want to die, Ani. I can’t live like this. I can’t...”

His heart stopped.
But his voice remained steady.
Firm. Loving.

“You don’t get to say that, Nandini,” he said softly, tilting her face up to look into his eyes. “You don’t. Because you’re still here. And that means you're meant to stay. With me.”