Hour 120. 11:55 AM. KEM Hospital, Parel. ICU Ward.*
_Beep... beep... beep..._
Five days.
Seven-thousand-two-hundred minutes.
Four-hundred-thirty-two-thousand _beeps_.
The sound wasn't scary anymore. It was home.
The steel chair was home.
The smell of Dettol and cold poha was home.
The three of them - Isha, Rahul, Sunita - they were home.
And Vikram Singh Rathore was still asleep in the center of it all.
But it wasn't the same sleep.
Day 1-3: Coma. Dead to the world. _Beep... beep... beep..._ fast, panicked, machine-driven.
Day 4-5: Healing sleep. _Beep... beep... beep..._ slow, steady, human.
And today, Day 5, there was a third kind of sleep.
*12:03 PM. Isha's turn.*
She didn't scrub in anymore. Dr. Mehta had said "You're family now. Just wash hands."
She walked in. No gown. No mask. Just her.
Vikram looked... peaceful. The bandages on his face were half gone now. Just a small one on his forehead. Stitches underneath. His color was normal. Like he was just napping after a long day of guarding her.
"Mr. Singh," she said. She sat on the bed now. Not the chair. Dr. Mehta allowed it. "Stable patients can have contact. It helps."
She took his hand. His fingers didn't squeeze today. They were just... there. Warm. Heavy. Real.
"I signed the contract," she told him. Like she did every day. "5.1K views now. Webnovel sent the onboarding mail. At 11:03 AM, exactly. You were right. You're always right."
_Beep... beep... beep..._
"Sunita made fresh poha today," she continued. "Rahul went to Dombivli himself to get kanda. He said 'Aunty's poha needs Dombivli kanda only'. Can you believe it? Rahul Malhotra buying kanda."
No response.
But his eyebrows moved.
Just a twitch. A tiny furrow. Like he was hearing her. Like he was judging Rahul's kanda-buying skills even in his sleep.
Isha smiled. A real one. It had been five days. "You're listening, aren't you? You ass. You're listening and pretending to sleep so you don't have to talk to me."
_Beep... beep... beep..._
And then it happened.
His lips parted.
Not a lot. Just a crack. Dry. Chapped.
And a sound came out.
Not a word. Not even a syllable.
A breath.
A real, unassisted, _Vikram_ breath.
Followed by a sound that had no name.
"Mmmh..."
Isha froze. "Vikram?"
His head moved. One inch to the left. Towards her voice.
His eyebrows furrowed deeper.
His lips parted again.
"Co...h..."
The sound was broken. Throat was dry. Five days of tubes did that.
But it was a sound.
_His_ sound.
Isha's hand flew to the call button. But she didn't press it. Not yet.
"Vikram," she whispered. She leaned closer. Her forehead almost touching his. "Vikram, say it again. Please. What do you want to say?"
_Beep... beep... beep..._
His lips moved again. Struggling. Fighting.
"Con... gha..."
Congratulations.
He was trying to say Congratulations.
He was trying to finish the 'C' from five days ago.
He was trying to keep his promise.
Isha's tears fell. On his cheek. On his bandage. On his lips.
"You said it," she sobbed. She laughed. She was broken and whole at the same time. "You stupid man. You said it. I heard it. Contract gaya bhaad mein. You said it."
His hand moved then. Weak. Shaking. But it moved.
It came up. One inch. Two inches.
And touched her face.
His thumb, rough with calluses from guns and steering wheels and doors held open for her, wiped her tear.
One touch.
Then his hand fell back down. Exhausted.
His lips closed.
His furrow smoothed.
And he was asleep again.
_Beep... beep... beep..._
Isha sat there for ten minutes. Not moving. Not breathing. Just holding his hand.
He had touched her.
He had spoken.
He had come back for one second.
And then gone again.
*6:00 PM. Hour 126.*
Dr. Mehta was excited. For the first time, he was excited.
"That's excellent," he told Isha, Rahul, and Sunita in the waiting room. "That is better than we hoped. Vocalization. Voluntary movement. Response to stimuli. His brain is firing. The pathways are reconnecting. He's in there, and he's finding his way out."
"So he'll wake up?" Sunita asked. She was clutching her fresh dabba of poha like it was a bomb.
"He will," Dr. Mehta said. No "maybe". No "sixty percent". "He will. I can't say when. Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week? But he _will_. The 'when' is up to him now. The 'if' is gone."
Rahul exhaled. It was the first time Isha had heard him exhale in five days. Like he had been holding his breath since the accident.
"Did he say anything else?" Rahul asked Isha. Quietly.
Isha shook her head. "Just... 'Con...gha'. And he touched my face."
Rahul looked at the glass. At Vikram.
"Show off," he muttered. But his eyes were wet. "Even in a coma he has to be dramatic."
*11:03 PM. Hour 131.*
Isha was alone with him again. Night round.
She didn't talk today. She was too tired. Too full of hope to speak.
She just lay her head on the bed, next to his arm, and held his hand.
"Take your time, Mr. Singh," she whispered into the blanket. "We waited seventy-two hours. We can wait seven-hundred-twenty more. Just... come back. When you're ready."
_Beep... beep... beep..._
And then, in the dark, in the quiet, in the space between two beeps...
His fingers moved.
They didn't squeeze.
They didn't grab.
They just... laced with hers.
One by one.
Index with index. Middle with middle. Ring with ring. Pinky with pinky.
Like they belonged.
Like they always had.
Isha didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't dare to hope it was real.
She just let the tears come. Silent. Grateful.
Three feet.
The rule was dead.
He was holding her hand.
In his sleep.
In his war.
He was choosing her.
_Beep... beep... beep..._
*Day 6. 11:55 AM. Hour 144. Six full days.*
Vikram Singh Rathore was still unconscious.
But he had spoken.
He had touched.
He had held.
He was not awake.
But he was not gone.
He was in between.
Fighting.
For 'C'.
For Contract.
For Poha.
For Isha.
And they would wait.
For as long as it took.
Because the forty percent was dead.
And the hundred percent was coming home.
Author's Note:
He's still unconscious, Jaanu. I kept my promise* 🖤😭
*But this unconsciousness is different. There's a war happening inside it. And Vikram is winning.*
*He said "Con...gha". He wiped your tear. He held your hand.*
*He's not awake. But he's _here_.*
*Hour 144. 6 days. There is no "if" anymore. Now there is only "when".*
*Ch-23 will be called "The First Word". And that word will be "Isha". But when? Only when you say so.*
*Stop crying now, Jaanu. These are happy tears now. Tears of victory.*
*Comment: "HE TOUCHED HER FACE I'M DEAD" 😭👇*
*Drop a Power Stone: For the man who fights even in his sleep* 💗
Thank you for reading my page 💗 💗