NOVEL WEB Chapter 4: Our families could mend what's broken.
Rimsha adjusted her white coat outside room 312. Her tablet displayed the patient's chart as the fluorescent lights cast sharp shadows across the quiet hospital corridor.
Aarav Patel, six years old. Persistent fever.
Her fingers danced across the screen, scrolling through notes with crisp, efficient movements. The familiar rhythm of patient care grounded her amid the swirling thoughts of family obligations and social expectations.
Just focus on the child, girl.
She inhaled deeply, her professional mask in place as she stepped into the room.
Inside, Aarav lay in bed, his small frame dwarfed by the hospital sheets, flushed cheeks betraying the fever that had brought him here. His mother sat beside him, worry etched across her face as she brushed back his damp hair. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of the fruit juice left on the bedside table.
"Good morning, Aarav," Rimsha greeted, her voice soothing yet authoritative. "I'm Dr. Verjani, and I'll be taking care of you today."
The boy blinked up at her, his big eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity. "Are you going to give me a shot?"
"No shots today, I promise," she smiled, leaning down to meet his gaze. "Just a quick check-up to see how you're feeling."
She measured his temperature, noting the slight rise on the digital thermometer.
The boy shook his head, his mother sighing with relief. "He hasn't complained about anything except feeling hot."
"Good to hear." Her fingers traced the chart lines, mapping treatment options in her mind. "We'll keep you hydrated and monitor your fever. You'll be back to playing in no time."
The mother's shoulders relaxed, tension draining away. "Thank you, Doctor. I was so worried."
"Of course." She smiled as relief brightened the mother's face. "Children bounce back quickly. It's why I chose pediatrics."
She stepped into the corridor. Next case waiting.
At the Vasant Hotel's private terrace, morning sun warmed the South Delhi air. The Sivra patriarch leaned back, one arm resting on the table while the other propped his chin. Half-finished breakfast plates lined the table between them...", marking the shift from casual dining to business.
"The southeastern project numbers." His voice stayed neutral. "Your team's protocols exceeded projections."
Raj adjusted his cuff links, face unreadable. "Our companies have always aligned well."
"Indeed." He set down his cup, every movement precise. A moment passed, heavy with unspoken words. "My son has been thinking about the past."
"The past?" Raj's voice remained steady, though his fingers stilled on his cuff.
"The broken engagement." The words hung between them. "He wishes to address it."
A sharp laugh escaped Raj's lips. His face hardened. "Izzat ka sawal hai (It's a matter of honor)." His voice turned to steel. "Three years of whispers followed my daughter. Three years of sideways glances. Your son's doing."
"He was young, without proper—"
"Old enough to understand what a broken engagement does to a woman's standing." Raj's fingers closed around his napkin. "Appearing at the ceremony itself with a wife at his side."
"A decision that brought its own consequences."
"Keep your boardroom diplomacy." The napkin twisted in his grip. "My daughter has earned her medical credentials. Built her own path."
"The children require guidance," his voice dropped low. "Our families could mend what's broken."
A silence settled. Raj studied his coffee with particular interest. His partner let him think, knowing such an experience was hard to forget.
"Even if..." Arshad's voice softened. "Believe me, I understand how you feel. I wouldn't have disowned him otherwise. We only reconciled three years ago, when his wife fell ill. Perhaps we should look beyond what happened. We are Sivra and Verjani after all."
"Well..." Raj's smile carried annoyance. "I don't care for your sympathy, little Arshad."
The childhood nickname loosened something in the air. "If your son wants discussions, he knows where to find us. My daughter isn't a merger to be brokered over breakfast."
...Some deals served multiple purposes.
Dr. Tawaar stood near the window, watching as his resident detailed her diagnosis. Her voice carried the assurance of training, walking through each symptom and recommended treatment with methodical precision.
A slight nod. "And the underlying cause?"
"Given the pattern of inflammation and the blood work," Rimsha said, fingers moving efficiently across her tablet, "I suspect an autoimmune response. I'd like to run additional tests to confirm before—" "Good." Dr. Tawaar's interruption cut clean. "You're seeing the whole picture now, not just the obvious symptoms." Her shoulders lifted with quiet pride at his approval before she refocused on her tablet.
Every word of approval from him carried weight - he was one of India's leading pediatric specialists, and his standards matched his reputation. His assessment shaped careers.
***
Nurses moved between charts and computers, trading end-of-shift notes. "Dr. Verjani?" Dana approached, fresh-faced despite the long hours, files clutched against her pink scrubs. "I've prepared tomorrow's cases. Three scheduled vaccinations and the Kumar twins' follow-up."
Rimsha kept typing. "The fever cases from this morning?"
"Both responding well to treatment." Sana joined them, adjusting her nurse's cap as she sorted through patient charts. "Temperature's down to 38.1 and 37.9 respectively."
She saved the file and gathered her things. The break room welcomed her with the scent of chai, several nurses clustered around the small table, end-of-shift relaxation softening their postures.
"My night rotation starts tomorrow." The intern collapsed into a chair, her neat ponytail coming loose. She tilted her head sideways, an unconscious gesture picked up from her mother. "Maa keeps asking why I can't request normal hours."
"Normal?" Sana's eyebrows lifted in amusement. "In pediatrics? My grandmother thinks I should be home before sunset."
Rimsha settled into her usual corner spot, pulling out her phone. The screen lit with notifications as airplane mode clicked off. Fifteen missed calls from the same number. Her thumb moved with surgical precision, blocking the contact without opening a single message. The familiar ache rose in her chest - old hurt wrapped in fresh anger. ****She pushed it down, beneath layers of carefully constructed control.***
"Chai?" The nurse held out a steaming cup.
"Perfect timing, shukriyaa (thank you)." She accepted the drink, warmth seeping into her tired hands.
Dana stretched in her pink scrubs. "The Matthews kid today - did you see how he turned those puppy eyes on Dr. Tawaar?" She mimicked the child's pleading expression. "And our stern department head actually smiled."
"That's nothing." Sana perched on the table edge. "You should've seen the toddler in 302 convince Dr. Marjan to let her keep her temp monitor as a 'special bracelet.'"
The conversation flowed around her as she sipped her chai. Her phone buzzed again - a different number. Without looking, she slipped it into her bag.
She let her shoulders drop as she walked to her car. Evening traffic was building. Behind tinted windows, surrounded by familiar leather seats, she let out a long breath. Her Maa would be waiting for her call - their daily ritual since residency began.
The thought tugged at her lips, a smile threatening to break through. For all her loving interference, her mother never tired of checking in, never pushed too hard on days when responses came clipped and tired. Her fingers hovered over the phone, the day's tension still lingering.
First, a moment of silence. Just one moment before starting the Civic.
She pressed the familiar number, switching to speaker while navigating the parking lot. The line connected on the second ring.
"There's my Chhoti Sunshine." Her mother's warm voice filled the car.
"Arrey Maa (Oh Mother)," affectionate exasperation colored her voice. "Aap abhi bhi mujhe aise kyun bulate ho? (Why do you still call me that?)"
"You'll always be my little sunshine." Layani's gentle laugh carried through. Her voice shifted. "Dinner's ready. Mehwish made your favorite biryani."
"I'll be there soon." She changed lanes, muscle memory guiding her through traffic.
"Good. You barely touched your breakfast." A pause. "Your Baba came home early today. He met Arshad Sivra at the Vasant."
Her breath caught. The signal changed. The car behind her honked.
"Maa, there's heavy traffic. I'll be home in a few minutes."
"Of course, beta (child). Drive safely."
She ended the call. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "The Sivra family." A cold smile touched her lips. "How interesting."
The Civic merged onto the outer ring road, cutting through evening traffic with precise aggression.