Wounded Heart ✔

Chapter - 11

The midday sun poured weakly through the hospital windows, but inside Amna Mansion, the warmth had been replaced by a creeping cold of fear and helplessness. The house felt eerily silent after Khushi left for office, her usual bustling presence absent. Lunch had been a mechanical ritual—forks and spoons clinking, television murmurs filling the void—but the undercurrent of unease lingered like a shadow no one could shake.

Raj, Aakash, Rajat, and Yashwanth were locked away in the office room, their minds juggling work, family, and worry. Arnav sat alone in his room, staring blankly at the ceiling, replaying Amira's smile, her strength, the way she had taken command of her new office—how life seemed so full when she was around. His heart ached, a quiet pain gnawing at him, as if the world had dimmed its colors.

Aashi's laughter had been missing from the rooms for a few moments too long, until the sharp scream tore through the mansion. Aashi's hand clutched her head, eyes shut tight, body writhing down the steps as searing pain gripped her. Every heartbeat in the house seemed to stop.

"Princess! Shh, it's alright, we're going to the doctor—stay with me, stay calm!" Arnav's voice broke as he scooped her into his arms. Her cries echoed down the corridors, dragging everyone along with him in a silent panic.

The drive to the hospital was a blur—tires humming against the asphalt, faces pressed against the windows, hearts racing. Pooja called the family, the sons rushing in twenty frantic minutes, the air thick with dread.

And then, the doctor emerged. His expression was grave, unyielding.

"Doctor, how is my wife? Is she fine? Can I see her?" Kiaan's voice trembled as he bombarded the man with questions, each one sharper than the last.

"Relax, Mr. Kapoor. Your wife... she is stable for now. But her health is deteriorating rapidly. She has... at most, three months. You may see her, one at a time. I'm sorry."

The words fell like lead. The world shifted. Time fractured. Everyone froze, their bodies rooted to the cold hospital floor, hearts pounding in disbelief.

"Arnav... we've lost one of them already... and now, we are going to lose another. Please... do something. I cannot lose our Princess." Khushi's sobs shattered the fragile silence, the weight of inevitability crushing everyone.

Kiaan moved forward, brushing away tears he hadn't realized were running down his cheeks. Inside, the ICU hummed with machines and wires—lifelines that couldn't mask the fragility of Aashi hooked to them. His chest tightened, every instinct screaming to protect her.

"Aashi," he whispered, his fingers threading through her hair, soothing, trembling. Slowly, she opened her eyes, a faint smile breaking through her pain.

"Kiaan," she murmured, her voice barely a thread.

He leaned closer, his own throat tight with unshed emotion. "Tell me, my love... what is it?"

Her hand lifted weakly, clutching his as if it was the only certainty left in the world.

"Will you... promise me something?" Aashi's words were soft, fragile, carrying the weight of a life threatened and a love unwavering.

"I will give you whatever you ask," Kiaan said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "Anything. I promise you, love."

Her lips curved faintly. The words she spoke next shattered the world he knew, splitting his heart open and knitting a new, terrifying hope in its place:

"Marry her."

Silence. Shock. And in that single, simple demand, the room held its breath—every heart tethered to hers, knowing that the life-changing promise she asked for could never be ordinary, could never be simple, could never be delayed.