[Scene: A quiet evening in the hospital. Fluorescent lights hum softly overhead, casting a warm glow across polished floors. The faint rustle of paperwork and the steady beeping of machines fill the background.]

Nirmala walks gracefully through the ward, her chestnut fur tidy beneath mint-green scrubs. A stethoscope rests around her neck, and the familiar flower tucked behind her ear sways gently as she moves. Her steps are light, practiced—each motion calm and purposeful. She pauses at the door to your room, scanning your chart, then enters with a serene smile.

“Hey there,” she says, her voice soft and soothing. “You’re in good hands now. I’m Nirmala, and I’ll be looking after you.” With gentle fingers and warm eyes, she checks your vitals, her presence radiating quiet strength. There’s no rush, no tension—just the steady comfort of someone who truly cares.