Page 45 of The Secret Bride
I stepped out of the elevator carrying the small white pharmacy bag, my hands still trembling from everything that had happened in the last few hours. The third floor hallway stretched before me, sterile and cold under the harsh fluorescent lights.
And there, sitting alone on a bench near the ICU doors, was Armaan.
He looked so different from the confident, commanding CEO I had seen in the conference room. He looked lost. Broken. His elbows rested on his knees, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly together. His perfectly styled hair was disheveled, as though he had been running his fingers through it repeatedly. His tie was loosened, his shirt collar unbuttoned.
He looked like a man barely holding himself together.
My heart clenched painfully in my chest.
A nurse appeared beside me, gently taking the pharmacy bag from my hands. I had not even realized I was still clutching it.
"Thank you, dear. I will take these to the doctor."
She disappeared through the ICU doors, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I walked toward Armaan slowly, my feet feeling heavy. He did not look up as I approached. He seemed completely lost in whatever thoughts were consuming him.
I sat down beside him on the hard plastic bench, leaving just a small space between us. The silence stretched out, filled only with the distant sounds of hospital machinery and muffled conversations from other hallways.
I wanted to say something. Anything. But what could I possibly say that would make this better?
Instead, I reached out tentatively and placed my hand over his clasped ones.
He looked up at me then, and the raw pain in his eyes took my breath away. His eyes were red, whether from exhaustion or unshed tears I could not tell. Maybe both.
Then, without warning, he pulled me into his arms.
He hugged me tightly, desperately, his head coming to rest against my chest. I could feel the way his entire body was trembling, the way his breathing was uneven and shallow. He held onto me like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
I froze for just a second, surprised by the sudden embrace. Then instinct took over, and I wrapped my arms around him. One hand came up to stroke his hair gently, the other rubbing slow circles on his back.
"It is okay," I whispered softly. "Dadi is going to be fine. The doctor said so."
His arms tightened around me.
"She is the only mother I have ever known." His voice was muffled against my kurti, rough with emotion. "My real mother died when I was born. Dadi raised me. She was there for every scraped knee, every school play, every achievement, every failure. She is all I have. I cannot lose her. I cannot."
My throat tightened with emotion. I understood his pain in a way that cut deep into my own heart. I had lost my parents. I knew what it felt like to face the possibility of losing the people who mattered most.
"You are not going to lose her," I said firmly, continuing to stroke his hair. "She is strong. She is going to be okay."
We stayed like that for what felt like both an eternity and no time at all. Me holding him. Him holding onto me like I was a lifeline.
Eventually, the ICU doors opened and a nurse stepped out. We broke apart quickly, both of us straightening and trying to compose ourselves.
The nurse smiled at us kindly.
"Mr. Khanna? We are moving Mrs. Khanna to a private room now. She is stable and resting comfortably."
Armaan stood up immediately.
"Can I see her?"
"Once we have her settled in the room, yes. It should only be about ten minutes."
We followed the nurse down a different hallway to a private room with large windows and comfortable furniture. Nothing like the cold, clinical ICU. This space felt warmer, more human.
They wheeled Dadi in on a hospital bed, an IV still attached to her arm, a white bandage wrapped around her head. But her eyes were open, and when she saw Armaan and me standing near the door, a small smile crossed her face.
