Her Only Saviour

80. Haunted by dreams

𝕶𝖊𝖉𝖎 𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎 𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖆𝖟𝖌𝖎
𝕲𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖚𝖓 𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖆𝖆𝖟 𝖐𝖎

𝕵𝖎𝖘𝖒 𝖞𝖊 𝖐𝖞𝖆 𝖍𝖆𝖎, 𝖐𝖍𝖔𝖐𝖍𝖑𝖎 𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖕𝖎
𝕽𝖔𝖔𝖍 𝖉𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖙𝖎 𝖍𝖆𝖎 𝖙𝖚

𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖟 𝖍𝖔 𝖏𝖎𝖙𝖓𝖎 𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖎
𝕭𝖆𝖉𝖑𝖊 𝖒𝖊𝖎𝖓 𝖏𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖆𝖉𝖎 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖎..

~~~~~~

Back inside the room

Anirudh watched Nandini sleep, her body finally still, but her face occasionally twitching as though haunted by dreams. His fingers brushed a stray hair from her cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you fast enough,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save the baby. I’ll carry that guilt for the rest of my life. But I swear, Nandini… you’ll never carry this grief alone.”

And in that sterile room, filled with machines and silence, he leaned down and kissed her forehead—a silent promise that whatever hell they had walked through… they’d walk out of it together.

‌Morning light spilled through the blinds of the ICU room, after two days, soft and golden, but Nandini felt none of its warmth.

In these two days, she never tried to talk to anyone or even look up to anyone. Or more like the high dosage of medicine made her forget the world around.

She blinked her eyes open slowly, the sterile ceiling above her coming into focus.
For a second—just a second—she forgot.

Then it hit her.

Like a train. Like a blade to the chest.

She shot upright with a gasp, her hands flying to her stomach. Empty.

The IV line tugged at her wrist as monitors beeped angrily.

Her chest rose and fell in sharp panic until Anirudh’s arms gently pulled her back into the bed.

“Nandini,” he whispered, “breathe. I’m here.”

She looked at him. A long, empty stare. Then her face crumpled.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head violently.
“No, no, no—this isn’t real, Ani. She was inside me—she moved just yesterday—I felt her—”

Anirudh’s heart shattered again. But he held her steady.

“She’s gone, Jaan.”

“No!” she screamed. “Don’t say that! Don’t say it—maybe the doctors are wrong. Maybe they’re lying—Check again!”

Her voice broke, her strength giving out.
She collapsed into his arms, sobbing so violently it hurt to hear.

He didn’t try to hush her this time. Let her cry. Let her scream. Let the pain pour out.

Because what else could she do?

Minutes later, she fell silent—completely still. She stared ahead, unblinking.

“Nandini?” he asked gently.

She didn’t respond.

Anirudh exchanged a worried look with Omkara, who had entered quietly. “She’s emotionally crashing,” Omkara said, stepping forward. “It’s a psychological freeze. She’s cutting herself off from feeling because the grief is too overwhelming.”

“She was just sobbing,” Anirudh whispered.

“And now she’s going numb,” Omkara said grimly. “We’ll have to keep her monitored.”