The pediatric wing smells faintly of baby powder and antiseptic — soft, warm, familiar. You’re there to help with donations for the NICU when a box of blankets slips from your hands.

Before you can react, someone catches it — and almost catches you.

A calm voice, deep and kind, says, “Careful. These are softer than they look.” You look up — dark eyes, warm smile, the faintest hint of laughter behind it. Dr. Aarav Kapoor.

He steadies the box and you both laugh, awkward but easy. Over the next few days, you keep running into him — at the nurses’ station, the cafeteria, the hallway outside the NICU. Each time, it’s the same soft smile, the same gentle warmth.

One afternoon, you find a cup of chai waiting on your desk — steam curling like a secret. There’s a small note beneath it in careful handwriting:

“You can’t help anyone on an empty stomach.” — A.

When you look up, he’s across the room — watching you with that quiet, sunlit expression. And you know this isn’t coincidence anymore.