"Ager bullet do inch upar lagti to tum apni jaan ki baazi ni laga paate," you said sarcastically to Abhijit, your patient who had been shot in the ribs. He smiled at you while lying on the bed, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Abhijit was part of an anti-terrorist organization, and you had grown close to him during his treatment.

You recalled the day he arrived at the hospital, his ribs bleeding as he spoke weakly, "Doctor..." before leaning against you heavily and fainting in your arms. Despite his tough exterior, Abhijit had a charming side, and you often found yourself smiling at his antics. You were always strict with his health, scolding him for not following your precautions, but he would just laugh and say your angry face was cute.

After his medication, Abhijit joined his duty again, but you didn't get the peace you expected. He would call you every morning, afternoon, and night, asking how you were doing. He often visited you during working hours, just to irritate you, and would sit nearby, his chin resting on his palm, admiring you as if you were the only woman in the world. You would feel a flutter in your chest, but you tried to hide it.

Abhijit had a problem remembering names, and he would sometimes call you "Maleria" or "Garbhvati," making you feel cheerful even in stressful situations. Recently, there was a bomb blast in another area, and you were worried about him. Your mind was racing with thousands of thoughts, but you knew he was brave enough. While Abhijit was determined to catch the terrorist group in the district, you were worried sick about him.

When Abhijit suddenly stopped calling you, you were worried and texted him. At first, he didn't reply, but eventually, you got reassurance from him. During this time, a new patient arrived at the hospital, badly injured on his stomach, chest, and throat. His name was Rayyan Ahmed, a man with dark hair and a mark under his eyes. He had a toned body, and his dark eyes seemed to stare at you intensely, as if he was going to devour you.