Ｓｈｒｅｙａｓ Ｒｅｄｄｙ
I received a call and excused myself from the bustling event venue. Stepping outside, I was drawn to a lone figure about ten feet away. She stood at around 5'4", delicately rubbing a frozen water bottle against her forearm. As I drew closer, my trained eye picked up on the telltale signs of a severe burn in the area she was tending to with ice.
Intrigued and compelled by my medical training, I approached her and gently remarked, "Excuse me, but your hand appears to be severely burnt."
Her tear-filled eyes met mine, and though she struggled to find her voice, she managed a nod of acknowledgment.
"I can offer assistance," I offered earnestly.
She hesitated for a moment before softly responding, "No, I'm alright. This is nothing major."
Understanding the gravity of her injury, I persisted, "Please, allow me to help. I am a Doctor and can provide proper care for your wound." Though I was just a medical student, but it was just the matter of few months, I'll be a doctor.
After a moment's contemplation, she relented, agreeing to let me tend to her injury. I instructed her to wait as I hurried off to procure ointment from a nearby store. Despite her composed exterior, her vulnerability was palpable, and I couldn't ignore the urge to offer aid.
Upon returning, I found her standing there, lost in her thoughts, her gaze fixed upon the ground. Sensing her preoccupation, I gently offered to examine her wound. She extended her arm towards me, and I delicately took hold of it, proceeding to cleanse the wound and apply the ointment. A flinch betrayed the sting of the ointment upon her injured skin.
"Are you a doctor?" she inquired softly.
"No, I'm a final-year medical student," I replied.
"He could have at least said sorry," she murmured under her breath.
I raised an eyebrow, silently prompting her to elaborate.
"Those kids who dropped a burning sparkler on my hand," she explained.
I am a medical student too in third year. She again spoke up.
Realizing our shared connection to the medical field, I nodded in understanding as she spoke, her voice barely audible yet heavy with emotion. It was evident from the severity of her injury and her demeanor that she had been deeply affected by the incident. Once I finished dressing her wound, she simply stood and departed.
The irony struck me as she spoke of the importance of apologies, yet she left without a word of thanks and even took the ointment I had purchased. While I didn't expect gratitude for simply fulfilling my duty, a simple "thank you" wouldn't have required much effort on her part.
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The party had drawn to a close, and Amrit graciously invited us to spend the night at his home. As we settled in, reminiscing about the day's events, both Amrit and Rakshit succumbed to sleep, their conversation tapering off into gentle snores. I, too, felt the weight of exhaustion pressing upon me, until a persistent thought intruded upon my mind - her. It felt unprofessional to dwell on someone I had treated, yet her presence lingered, refusing to be dismissed. "I should have asked her name," a voice in my mind chided me, as I wrestled with my thoughts. Despite my efforts to quiet my mind, the image of her hair cascading gently across her face remained vivid. With a sigh, I surrendered to the embrace of sleep, hoping to find solace in its oblivion.
The next morning greeted me with the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a warm hue upon the room. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was already 8 o'clock. After freshening up, I joined Amrit's family for a breakfast of mouthwatering aloo parathas lovingly prepared by his mother. With our departure scheduled for 4 in the afternoon, we found ourselves with ample time to spare. Rakshit ventured out to meet a friend in Delhi, leaving me in the company of Amrit.
Deciding to make the most of the clear winter morning, we settled on the terrace to study for our impending finals, basking in the rare sunlight that graced the chilly January air of Delhi. Most days were shrouded in fog or clouds, intensifying the cold, but today the sun seemed determined to make an appearance.
As we immersed ourselves in our studies, Amrit's grandmother reclined on a cot nearby, soaking in her daily dose of vitamin D. Suddenly, a feminine voice echoed from the staircase, prompting me to turn and gaze in its direction.
YOU ARE READING
His Peace ; Her Sunshine ; Their Love.
Romance||NOT AN ARRANGE MARRIAGE STORY|| He tried finding her all over Instagram but couldn't because what he knew was not her official name. She, even after finding out his Instagram account, couldn't take the first step because they were practically stra...
