They Don't Know about Us

Chapter 39 - Echoes of the fire escape

It had taken Anjali nearly three full weeks to gather the courage to step back into Sanjeevani. The hospital she once walked through like she owned every corridor now felt unwelcoming, every fluorescent light too bright, every pair of eyes too sharp.

She walked with her head down, avoiding looks she could still feel burning into her. The nurses she used to laugh with fell silent when she passed. Her closest friends, the ones who she started this residency with, the ones she spent most of her time with, the ones who helped her through her wedding preps, refused to meet her eyes. Some out of judgment. Some out of pity.

Both hurt the same. And then there was her biggest ache, her brother Armaan still hadn't come home. Not once he had reached out comforting her about her broken marriage. He kept his distance, kept the silence, kept whatever pieces of himself which were left, locked far away from her.

But nothing compared to the other silence — the one that hollowed her out every morning.

Atul. No messages. No calls. There was no closure.Not even anger. It was as if he had erased her from his life completely. She had sent him multiple messages and called him multiple times until he had blocked her number.

She dreaded turning the corner, terrified of accidentally seeing him in the cafeteria or across a ward. Terrified of the moment their eyes would meet. Terrified of realizing she had truly lost the man she had waited her whole life for.

Returning to work wasn't healing, it was punishment. A punishment she knew she deserved. However, their annual residency exams were approaching and she had to step out of the hole she had dug for herself.

The cardiology wing was quieter than usual, the early afternoon lull creating an unnatural stillness in the long corridor. Anjali turned a corner, clutching a patient chart to her chest as she inhaled deeply.

She was still adjusting her ID badge when she saw Armaan standing near the supply room, sleeves rolled up, splinted hand half-hidden under his coat, jaw clenched as if holding himself together required conscious effort every second.

He wasn't speaking to anyone. He was simply standing still — but there was something so heavy about his stance, so exhausted in the way his shoulders sagged that Anjali paused in her steps.

She swallowed nervously and forced her feet forward, "Armaan..." Her voice came out softer than she expected, small and almost tentative.

"You're back." Armaan monotonously spoke looking up, and for the first time in her life, she saw nothing familiar in his expression. No teasing warmth. No older-brother annoyance. No protective affection.

She had seen him debating whether to even acknowledge her. Then he gave the smallest nod, the kind people give to strangers passing by.

Anjali's heart squeezed painfully. She stepped a little closer, mustering a brave smile, "I... I'm glad we can talk. I've been—"

Armaan's voice cut through her sentence, low and cold, "Why? What exactly do you want to talk about?"

She blinked, startled. "About... us. About how things ended that night. Armaan, I didn't expect you to—"

"To what?" he interrupted. "To be in a relationship? To date Riddhima? To take a breath after everything burned down around me? To try and survive the mess you helped create?"

Anjali stiffened as if she'd been slapped. "Armaan, I didn't mean—"

He laughed quietly, but there was no humour in the sound, only bitterness. "No, Anjali. You meant every word. You meant every insult you threw at her. You meant the humiliation you gave her. You meant the slap. You meant the line you drew between 'you' and 'us.'" Armaan spat out, "You. meant. everything."