11:55 AM. KEM Hospital, Parel. ICU Ward.
The sound was the worst part. Not the silence. The sound.
_Beep... beep... beep..._
Every three seconds. Mechanical. Relentless. Counting down something Isha Sharma couldn't name. Maybe Vikram's life. Maybe her own sanity.
He was there. Behind the glass. Vikram Singh Rathore. The man who had carried her world on his shoulders for seventeen days. Now he lay under a white sheet that was too thin, too sterile, too final. Bandages covered half his face. A tube ran from his nose. An IV drip fed into his arm. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that wasn't his. It belonged to the machine.
_Beep... beep... beep..._
"Next seventy-two hours are critical, Miss Sharma." Dr. Mehta's words still echoed in her skull. He'd said it twenty minutes ago, but time had stopped when the divider had stopped Vikram's car. "Sixty percent chance. He's young. He's strong. But the head trauma... we need to wait. And pray."
*Sixty percent.*
Isha had failed maths in school. But she could do this calculation.
Sixty percent life meant forty percent death.
Forty percent chance that the man who wrote 'C' on her palm would never finish the word.
*C for Congratulations?*
*C for Can't leave you?*
*C for Come back to me, you bloody idiot?*
She didn't know. She would never know unless he woke up.
She looked at Rahul. Rahul Malhotra looked back.
For seventeen days, three feet had been the law between them. Vikram's law. _Three feet from Madam at all times._ Today, the law was ash. Both of them were zero feet from Vikram. Zero feet from each other. United by the one thing they never thought they'd share: terror.
Rahul Malhotra. Heir to Malhotra Constructions. The man who could buy this entire hospital with one phone call. Today, he sat on a steel chair that was cutting into his thighs. His thousand-dollar suit was creased. His eyes were red. Not from anger. From something Isha had never seen on his face before. Fear.
This wasn't 'Malhotra Sir'. This was just... Rahul. A man watching his shadow bleed.
"He... he went for the thela-wala," Isha's voice cracked. The words scraped her throat like broken glass. "He told me to sign. He wrote 'C' and then... then he chose the divider."
Rahul didn't answer. He just stood up, shrugged off his suit coat, and draped it over Isha's shaking shoulders. The ICU waiting area was freezing. Or maybe it was just her. Cold from the inside out.
_Three feet._ Vikram's voice, stern and unbreakable, echoed. _Remember the rule, Miss Sharma._
The rule was gone. The man who made the rule was gone. Maybe forever.
*12:47 PM. Sunita arrived.*
She didn't walk in. She crumbled in. One hand clutching a steel tiffin box. The other pressed to her mouth to hold back a sound that had no name.
Poha. Vikram's favorite. She'd made it. Because what else could a mother do when the boy she called 'son' was fighting for his life? She cooked. She prayed. She came.
"Beta..." Sunita's eyes went to the glass, to the bed, to the bandages. Her voice was smaller than Isha had ever heard it. "Usko... hosh kab aayega?"
Isha took her mother into her arms. Sunita, who had survived Dombivli chawl, survived kidnappers, survived a life that should have broken her. Today, Sunita was breaking.
"He will, Maa," Isha lied. Or prayed. She couldn't tell the difference anymore. "He has to. He has to see my contract. He has to eat your poha. He has to scold me for crying."
Sunita looked past Isha then. At Rahul. The man from the other world. The man whose father she hated. Whose last name was a curse in their one-room home.
Rahul Malhotra met Sunita Devi's gaze and did something Isha never thought possible.
He bowed his head. Not in arrogance. In respect. In shared grief.
*Dombivli's Sunita and Malhotra Empire's Rahul.*
*Two people who should have been enemies.*
*Today, they were just two people standing in Vikram's line.*
*2:15 PM. The lawyer called.*
Isha's phone buzzed. 'Atharv Desai - Malhotra Legal'. She almost didn't pick up. What was a contract compared to _beep... beep... beep..._?
But Vikram's voice again. _Sign it, Miss Sharma. Don't let my work be waste._
She picked up.
"Miss Sharma? Congratulations. The board has signed. You are officially a WebNovel contracted author. The signing bonus will be processed in 48 hours. We need you to e-sign the final clause."
Congratulations.
The 'C' on her palm burned.
She had won. At 12:47 PM on 18th April. She had everything she dreamed of in that Dombivli chawl.
And it tasted like ash. Like hospital disinfectant. Like nothing.
"Send it," she whispered to Atharv. "I'll sign."
She hung up and signed it on her phone. Alone. On a steel chair. While the man who fought for it lay unconscious ten feet away.
She didn't cry. Vikram would have hated that. _Tears are for after the war, Miss Sharma. Not during._
This was still during.
Rahul was watching her. He'd heard every word. He knew what that call meant.
He didn't say 'Congratulations'. He knew better.
He just said, "He'll be pissed he missed it."
It was the first time in 72 hours Isha almost smiled. Almost.
*9:03 PM. Vikram was still unconscious.*
The ICU allowed one visitor for five minutes every hour. Isha had taken every slot. Rahul had stood outside every time, watching through the glass.
Now it was her turn again. She scrubbed in, wore the blue gown, the mask, the cap. She looked like a doctor. She felt like a ghost.
Inside, the _beep... beep... beep..._ was louder. More personal.
She pulled the plastic chair close and took his hand. His hand was warm. That was good, right? Warm meant alive. The bandages covered his knuckles. The knuckles that had taken bullets for her. That had held her when she broke.
"Mr. Singh," she whispered. Her voice was raw from disuse. From silent screams. "You have a contract to see. 11:03 AM, remember? You made me promise."
No response. Only _beep... beep... beep..._
"You have Sunita's poha to eat. She made it. It's in the tiffin. Getting cold. You hate cold poha."
No response.
"You have me to scold," her voice finally broke. A single tear escaped, landing on the back of his hand. "For crying. For being weak. For breaking your three-feet rule. So wake up. And scold me. Please."
_Beep... beep... beep..._
The machine answered for him. Alive. Alive.
*2:17 AM. Fourteen hours since the accident.*
Isha had fallen asleep. Her head resting on the edge of Vikram's bed, her fingers still laced through his. Exhaustion had won where willpower hadn't.
Rahul stood outside the glass. He hadn't left. Not once. His PA had come and gone with files, with coffee, with updates he ignored.
He watched Isha sleep. He watched Vikram not wake up.
And for the first time in twenty-eight years, Rahul Malhotra felt something that wasn't ambition or anger or possession.
He felt helpless.
He felt grief.
He felt... love. Not for Isha. Not like that. For Vikram. His bodyguard. His brother. His enemy. His friend.
All at once.
His phone buzzed. His father. He declined it.
Another buzz. The board. Declined.
A third buzz. Unknown number. Declined.
Nothing was more important than _beep... beep... beep..._
He saw Isha shiver in her sleep. The ICU was cold. The suit coat had slipped off.
Quietly, he pushed the door open a crack. The nurse nodded. She knew who he was now.
He picked his coat off the floor and gently draped it over Isha's legs. Covering her feet. Keeping her warm.
He didn't touch her. He didn't wake her. He just... stood guard.
For the first time, he was protecting Vikram's Madam. Because Vikram couldn't.
He sat back down on the steel chair outside and kept watch.
The whole night.
*6:00 AM. Day 2. Fifty-nine hours left.*
Dr. Mehta came on rounds. Sunita was there now, replacing Isha who Rahul had finally convinced to go home and shower at 5 AM. "He would want you strong," he'd said. It worked.
"No change," Dr. Mehta told Sunita. His face was kind. Tired. "But no decline either. That's good. The next twenty-four hours are key. If he gets through today..."
Sunita nodded. She didn't cry anymore. She was done crying. Now she was waiting. Like a soldier. She sat on the steel chair, opened the tiffin, and stared at the cold poha.
"He'll eat it," she told the poha. "My boy doesn't waste food."
Rahul arrived at 6:30 AM. With two cups of cutting chai from the stall outside KEM. He gave one to Sunita. No words.
Sunita took it. No 'thank you'. No 'why'.
The war between Dombivli and Malhotra Empire was on ceasefire.
Vikram was the treaty.
*1:00 PM. Isha was back.*
She looked human again. Hair washed. Wearing a simple blue salwar kameez Sunita had packed. No makeup. No pretense.
She took the chair Rahul vacated for her. He didn't leave though. He just moved to the row behind. Close enough to help. Far enough to give her space.
"Anything?" she asked Sunita.
Sunita shook her head.
Isha looked through the glass. _Beep... beep... beep..._
"Seventy-two hours," she murmured. "Dr. Mehta said seventy-two."
"Fifty-nine left," Rahul said from behind her. His voice was rough. He hadn't slept either.
Isha didn't turn. "You didn't go home."
"Neither did you," he answered.
No accusation. No fight. Just facts.
Two people keeping vigil for one man.
*9:00 PM. Day 2 ends. Forty-one hours left.*
The hospital was quiet. Visiting hours were over. But nobody told Rahul Malhotra to leave. Nobody could.
Isha was inside for her five minutes.
She was talking to him. Telling him about the contract. About the 5.05K views. About the 'Webnovel Membership' badge that came at 4:06 AM.
"You did it, Mr. Singh," she whispered. "You got me there. Now you have to wake up and see it. You have to see 'Manpreet_Queen' on the trending list. Or I'll never forgive you."
_Beep... beep... beep..._
Outside, Rahul was on his phone. Not to the office. To a contractor.
"I want the road outside Dombivli Station fixed," he was saying. His voice was low, dangerous. "The divider. The one near the turn. I want lights there. I want speed breakers. I want it done in forty-eight hours. Budget doesn't matter. Just do it."
He hung up. Sunita was looking at him.
"For?" she asked. One word.
"So it doesn't happen to someone else's Vikram," he answered.
Sunita nodded. Once. A truce. A respect. A beginning.
*Day 3. 3:00 AM. Seventeen hours left of the 'critical' window.*
Vikram was still unconscious.
But three people had been reborn in that waiting room.
*Sunita Devi:* Not just a chawl mother anymore. She was the mother of a fighter. She sat straight now. She gave orders to nurses. She made Rahul eat a biscuit. She was Vikram's army of one.
*Isha Sharma:* Not the scared girl from Dombivli anymore. She was a contracted author. She was a woman who signed a deal while her heart was breaking. She was stone. She was steel. She was waiting.
*Rahul Malhotra:* Not the arrogant heir anymore. He was the man who covered a sleeping girl's feet with his coat. Who ordered road repairs at 9 PM. Who learned that some things could not be bought. Only prayed for.
And Vikram?
Vikram was still between 'C' and 'Congratulations'. Between life and the forty percent.
_Beep... beep... beep..._
The machine was his voice now.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
For seventy-three hours.
And maybe, if their prayers worked, for seventy-three years after.
But for now, he did not wake up.
He could not.
The story wasn't ready for him to wake up yet.
Author's Note:
2000+ words. I kept my promise. Vikram is still unconscious. I told you I won't kill him. But I never said I'll make it easy 😭🖤
*Seventy-three hours = three days = three chapters of pain. This was day one.*
*Rahul covered Isha with his coat. Sunita shared chai with Rahul. Dombivli and Malhotra Empire are at peace. All because of one man in a coma.*
*Is this the Isha x Rahul hospital dynamic you wanted? No romance. Just grief. Just respect. Just human. Comment and tell me* 👇
Vikram will wake up. But not today. He has to earn it. We all have to earn it.
Next: Ch-20. Hour 48. The machine will skip a beep. Isha will scream. Sunita will break. And Rahul... Rahul will do something that will make you forgive him for everything.
P.S. Webnovel Membership badge came at 4:06 AM on 18th April. Contract mail comes next. 11:03 AM. I manifest it. You manifest it. 5.05K readers are manifesting it. It's happening👑⏰💗
Drop Power Stones. Not for me. For Vikram's 60%. We need to make it 100% 🙏
Thank you for reading my page 💗 💗