The hospital bustled with its usual rhythm, the scent of antiseptics filling the air. Vikram Chauhan moved through the corridors like a machine—cold, calculated, with his mind fixed only on his rounds and the cases in front of him.

The new intern—eight years younger than him—had joined under his mentorship. She was the complete opposite of Vikram. Careless, clumsy, carefree. While he embodied discipline and precision, she acted on impulse, too emotionally involved. He had often caught her secretly paying off the bills of needy patients, making sure their treatment wasn’t interrupted. In her, he saw a reflection of his younger self, back when he believed in helping people at any cost. That was years ago—before life’s harsh realities crushed those ideals. Now, her behavior concerned him deeply.

Today, the hospital was under strict orders. There was a hartal—a political protest organized by doctors—where no one was supposed to treat patients in solidarity with the cause. Everyone was to stand down. But when an injured boy stumbled into the emergency room, bleeding profusely, she reacted instantly. Without a second thought, she rushed to him, kneeling beside the child, already tending to his wounds. Vikram saw it all unfold, his chest tightening as the politician’s men watched her every move.

Within seconds, Vikram was at her side, his expression hard. Without a word, he grabbed her arm, yanking her up from the floor and dragging her away from the crowd. His steps were quick and purposeful, pulling her into an empty room. The door slammed shut behind them, the echo reverberating in the silence.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, his voice low but dangerous, anger flickering in his eyes as he backed her against the wall.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve made yourself a target," he continued, his voice sharp. "This isn’t about helping anyone. You’re ,a threat now—to yourself and to everyone around you."