The hospital smelled like antiseptic and bad coffee.
Rahul carried Isha through the ER doors at 9:17 PM. He didn't wait for a wheelchair. He didn't fill out forms. He walked straight to the trauma desk, Isha unconscious in his arms, blood on her kurta, dirt on his suit.
"My name is Rahul Malhotra," he said. His voice was not loud. It didn't need to be. "This woman was abducted. She escaped. She needs a doctor. Now."
The nurse took one look at him, one look at Isha, and hit the red button under her desk.
Vikram was two steps behind. He wasn't carrying anything. He was carrying guilt. He'd been three feet behind her for a year and still missed the two minutes she was taken.
"Name?" the nurse asked, rolling a gurney over.
"Isha Sharma," Vikram said before Rahul could. "Age 24. No known allergies. Last meal was..." He paused. He didn't know. He'd never asked. "Probably 12 hours ago. Train food."
Rahul laid Isha down. Gently. For the first time in his life, he touched something like it might break.
Her eyes fluttered. Not open. Just... fighting.
"You're safe," Vikram said. He didn't touch her. He stood at the head of the gurney. A wall. "You're at Breach Candy. Best trauma unit in Mumbai. You're safe."
Isha's hand moved. Half an inch. Searching.
Rahul caught it. He didn't mean to. It just happened. Her fingers were cold. His were warm.
"Don't," she mumbled. Her first word since the farmhouse.
Rahul froze. "Don't what?"
"Don't... fight," she said. Her eyes opened. Barely. She looked at Rahul. Then at Vikram. Then back at Rahul. "Not... over me."
Then she passed out again.
The doctors took her.
---
*10:40 PM. Private Room, 7th Floor.*
Isha had a fractured ankle. Non-displaced. A boot for six weeks. Cuts on both palms. Bruises on her cheek, her ribs, her wrists. Dehydrated. Exhausted.
"Physically, she'll heal," Dr. Mehta said. She was 50, tired, and had seen this story too many times. "Mentally? That's not my department. She needs rest. She needs quiet. She needs to not be in a room with two men who look like they're about to have a war."
She was looking at Rahul and Vikram. They were standing on opposite sides of Isha's bed. Rahul on the left. Vikram on the right. Three feet from the bed. Three feet from each other.
Isha was asleep. Finally. Real sleep. With an IV drip and a painkiller and a bandage on her hand.
"I will take care of Isha," Rahul said. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a statement. "I have a private nurse. A physiotherapist. She can recover at the mansion. Full security."
"No," Vikram said.
Rahul looked at him. Slowly. "No?"
"No," Vikram repeated. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "She doesn't need a mansion. She needs peace. My flat is small. But it's quiet. No staff. No cameras. No memories of being kidnapped from the back gate."
"She is my responsibility," Rahul said.
"She was your responsibility," Vikram corrected. "For a year. On paper. You failed. I won't."
The air went cold.
Dr. Mehta cleared her throat. "Gentlemen. She is 24. She is conscious. She is not a custody battle. She will decide where she recovers. When she wakes up. Until then, visiting hours are over. One of you can stay. The other leaves."
Rahul didn't move.
Vikram didn't move.
"I'm not leaving," they said. At the same time.
Dr. Mehta sighed. "Fine. You can both sit. In silence. If she wakes up and your testosterone levels spike her blood pressure, I will have security remove you both. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," Vikram said.
Rahul just nodded.
Dr. Mehta left.
Silence. For seven minutes.
Then Rahul spoke. "You knew about her brother."
Vikram didn't look at him. He was watching Isha's heart monitor. Steady. 72 bpm. "Yes."
"You paid his fees."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Vikram finally looked up. "Because you didn't ask. And she wouldn't ask you. And he needed surgery."
Rahul's jaw locked. "I would have paid."
"She didn't want your money, Rahul. She wanted your respect. You gave her a contract. I gave her a book."
Another silence. Longer.
"I will take care of her better," Rahul said.
"You don't know how to take care of anyone," Vikram said. "You know how to own things. There's a difference."
"And you do?"
"I know how to stand three feet away for a year and not touch her," Vikram said. "I know how to listen when she talks about her brother. I know how to buy her _Femina_ instead of diamonds. So yes. I think I do."
Rahul stood up. He walked to the window. Mumbai was a sea of lights. Somewhere out there, Tanya was probably drinking water and pretending she didn't just order a kidnapping.
"I stood outside her door for twenty-two minutes," Rahul said to the glass. "After Agra. I didn't go in. I wanted to. I didn't."
"I know," Vikram said.
"You were there?"
"No. The night staff told me. They tell me everything. Because I ask. Because I say thank you."
Rahul turned. "Are you in love with her?"
Vikram didn't flinch. "That's not the question."
"It's my question."
"Then no," Vikram said. "Not the way you think. I don't want to own her. I want her to be okay. If she's okay with you, I'll walk away. If she's okay alone, I'll walk away. If she's okay with me..." He shrugged. "I'll still walk three feet behind her. Because that's where she's safest."
Rahul stared at him. For a full minute. Then he sat down. On his side of the bed.
"Fine," Rahul said. "We compete."
"Excuse me?"
"We both take care of her. She decides who's better at it. No sabotage. No money. No orders. Just... care. May the best man lose."
Vikram almost smiled. Almost. "You think this is a game?"
"I think it's the only way we don't kill each other in this room," Rahul said. "And the only way she gets what she needs. Two idiots trying to be useful for once."
Vikram looked at Isha. Her face was finally relaxed. No furrow. No fear.
"Fine," Vikram said. "But if she chooses neither of us, you don't burn the city down."
"Deal," Rahul said. "And you don't disappear into the army again."
"Deal."
They didn't shake on it. They just... agreed.
---
*2:18 AM.*
Isha woke up.
Her mouth was dry. Her ankle throbbed. Her hand stung.
Two men turned their heads at the exact same second.
"Water," she croaked.
Rahul moved first. He had a bottle already open. Room temperature. As recommended. He held it out. With a straw.
Vikram moved second. He had her book. _The Palace of Illusions_. He'd gone to the farmhouse. In the chaos. Got it. He set it on the bedside table. Within reach. Not touching her.
Isha took the water from Rahul. She drank. She saw the book. Her eyes softened.
"Thank you," she said. To both of them.
"Pain?" Vikram asked.
"Everywhere," Isha said. Honest. "Ankle's worst."
"I'll get the nurse," Rahul said.
"I'll adjust your pillow," Vikram said.
They both moved.
Isha watched them. Two billionaires. One by birth. One by war. Both trying to fluff a pillow and press a call button without bumping into each other.
She laid back. She closed her eyes.
This was going to be a long six weeks.
---
*Day 2. Morning.*
It started with breakfast.
Rahul ordered from the hospital nutritionist. Quinoa. Avocado. Egg whites. Protein shake. "For healing," he said.
Vikram walked in five minutes later with a paper bag. From the stall outside. "Poha," he said. "With extra onions. And chai. Not the hospital kind. The good kind. From the guy who's been there 20 years."
Isha looked at both trays.
She picked the poha.
Rahul's jaw twitched. He didn't say anything. He ate the quinoa himself.
Point: Vikram.
*Day 2. Afternoon.*
Physical therapy.
The therapist said she needed to start moving her ankle. Small circles. In the bed.
"I'll help," Rahul said. He reached for her foot.
"I've got it," Vikram said. He didn't touch her. He sat on the bed. Far from her foot. "Do the circles, Isha. I'll count. One. Two. Three. Like on the train. Remember?"
Isha did. She remembered the train. The tea. The _Femina_.
She did the circles. She counted with him.
Point: Vikram.
*Day 2. Night.*
Isha couldn't sleep. The painkillers made her head fuzzy. The room was too quiet.
Rahul noticed. He didn't turn on the TV. He didn't call a doctor.
He started talking. Quiet. About the city. Not business. Not stocks. About the first time he saw the sea. He was eight. His father brought him. "It was bigger than I thought," he said. "I thought I could own it. I was stupid."
Isha listened. She didn't answer. But her breathing slowed.
Vikram didn't interrupt. He just listened too. From his chair.
Point: Rahul.
---
*Day 4.*
Devyanshi came to visit. She brought paperwork. "For the police report," she said. "We have to file it. Tanya's name will be on it. Unless..."
"File it," Isha said from the bed. Her voice was stronger. "With her name. All of it."
Rahul nodded. "Do it."
Vikram didn't say anything. But he took Isha's hand. Just for a second. Squeezed. Let go.
Point: Both.
*Day 6.*
Isha could sit up. She could brush her own hair.
Rahul brought a hairbrush. Silver. From a brand she couldn't pronounce.
Vikram brought a comb. Wooden. From the market. "My mother used one like this," he said. "Said it was better for the scalp."
Isha used the wooden one.
Rahul threw the silver one in the trash.
Point: Vikram.
*Day 10.*
Discharge day.
Dr. Mehta signed the papers. "She needs rest. No stress. No stairs. No idiots. Can you two manage that?"
"Yes," they said. Together.
Isha was in a wheelchair. Boot on her foot. Book in her lap.
"Where to?" Rahul asked.
"Mansion," he said.
"Flat," Vikram said.
They looked at Isha.
Isha looked at the door.
"I want," she said slowly, "to go home."
Silence.
"Which one?" Rahul asked. Voice careful.
Isha looked at both of them. At the competition. At the care. At the three feet they'd both been keeping.
"Mine," she said. "The staff quarters. Behind the kitchen. Room 4. That's home. That's where I feel safe."
Vikram nodded. Like he knew.
Rahul's face did something complicated. Then it cleared.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay," Vikram said.
They both pushed the wheelchair. One on each side.
All the way home....
Author's Note:-
Hey lovelies!! 💗
Chapter 14 "The Aftercare" is here... and welcome to the Hunger Games: Hospital Edition 😂
This chapter was about one question: What happens after the rescue?
Answer: Two grown men forget how to act normal and start a care competition over poha and wooden combs.
Rahul brought quinoa and a silver hairbrush. Vikram brought poha and his mother's advice. Isha chose the poha. That tells you everything you need to know about love versus ownership.
Important note: This is not a love triangle. This is two people realizing they were both wrong, and trying to be right for the first time. There is no prize. Isha is not a trophy. She is a person who picked her own room, her own bed, and her own terms.
Trauma recovery is not pretty. It's not two hot guys feeding you grapes. It's painkillers. It's physio. It's choosing poha because it tastes like normal. If you are healing from something, give yourself grace. Choose the poha. Choose the rest.
Tell me in the comments:-
1. Team Poha or Team Quinoa? Be honest😂
2. Rahul's "I stood outside her door" confession vs Vikram's "I buy her books" - which broke you more?
3. Rate Isha's power move: 1-10 for sending them both to the staff quarters 👑
Next chepter drops tomorrow at 9 AM. Tanya is about to find out what "irrelevant" really means. And Isha is about to learn that peace is louder than war.
We are at 1.7K views. Thank you for loving the soft parts as much as the action🙏
Eat. Sleep. Choose your own comb. And remember - the right people will fight to take care of you, not to keep you.
I love you all🌙😘
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