One

Quick foot steps jolted the sleepy neighbourhood of Bandra one early Thursday morning as a haggard looking man in worn out dirty clothes limped his way through it. Deep blue bruises marked his face and possibly the rest of his body as well, his terrified eyes going everywhere as he moved, the crimson liquid trailing behind. Stray Dogs and still tress witnessed his agony as he slumped right in middle of a particular corner, finally exhausted at the painful ordeal, the sun rising behind him, oblivious to men's plight like always.

Arjun Rawte smirked bitterly at the other man's pain. A sense of fulfillment marked his feature as he took sadistic pleasure looking at the man's obvious bad state, slowly sauntering toward him. There was a panther like grace in his feature as his feet moved quietly but fast, his line of his shoulder relaxed and at the same time determined as he squared them, before presenting himself to the former.

The helpless man whimpered at his sudden presence, his eyes dirting around as if to seek divine intervention. A cruel smirk from the ACP followed as if on cue, and then he hauled him up with one single hand, bruising the man's shoulder and arm further.

The cry echoed in the neighbourhood.

 $ 

"Please sign here and here Sir." The obviously intimidated senior nurse wrang her hands together as she directed him to fill the form correctly, her face full of questions and yet her lips were strangely tight lipped, "Who is he to you?"

If somebody here knew him well, they would have said a look of disgust passed on ACP Rawte's face, "Family." The pen in between his fingers put more force than necessary as it ticked the place beside Mother/Brother/Father - Other.

He left the place under it which needed him to define the exact nature of the relationship empty, daring the nurse to say something as she took it in her hand and ran her eyes over it once. She opened her mouth once to say something, but then decided the better of it and walked away. His movements were stiff as he slowly sipped into a nearby chair in the waiting room, the clenching of his jaw giving away his real expression underneath that poker face. His hands rest on knees as the fingers intertwined themselves together, forcing them to not to do something stupid as the owner tortured himself with the memory of a few hours ago.

He might be an absolute stupid to bring him here, but his condition was not good. He needed him alive, a visit to hospital was absolute necessary, yet he knew he was risking prying eyes and too easily bribed people because of this. He hated it, this feeling of helplessness, but he knew this small sacrifice from his part is a necessity which is required for the future. 

Forcing himself to relax and not draw anymore attention to himself, Arjun exhaled a deep breath, shaking himself off the trance and looked around. A coffee machine on the other side of waiting room greeted him first, immediately making his face twist in disgust. A few sleepy men and women's soft snores buzzed like bees in his ear, coupled with the regular hustle-bustle of a hospital. Even though it was only 8, the place was quite busy. 

His eyes snapped toward the door which linked the waiting room and common passage leading toward wards and reception, half posters of Ebola and necessity of vasectomy coming to his vision. A feminine figure obscured his view just as he was absent mindedly reading the Ebola half poster hidden by the door, her hands busy lifting up her hair as she held onto a bright red elastic band between her teeth. The very same nurse who attended Arjun a couple of minutes ago emerged from the other side almost running, handing over a file to the lady. Messily tieing her hair, she took it from her, flashing a smile to the older woman as she told something and ran off once again, her face anxious as usual.

He was so blinded by the trench that formed in her cheeks as she smiled that he noticed the Doctor's coat way later. Pushing off a few unruly locks over her head, the lady started to walk away, seemingly engrossed in the file but at the same time careful as to not step in someone's feet. His eyes followed her through the various windows and small gaps as she moved, until she vanished toward the wards, leaving behind disappointment and strange curiosity in his chest.

Then his phone rang and the lady was forgotten.

 $ 

Doctor Riya Mukherjee was going through a male patient's file who was brought in the early hours of today, her brows furrowing seeing the preliminary report of unusual injury on his right knee. It was as good as busted, she thought to herself as she glanced at the patient, who was unconscious thanks to the dosage of high level of anasthetia. A male nurse was adjusting his Saline bottle and taking care of some other necessacities when she called out to him, both of them helping each other to roll up the hospital gown of his and letting her check the injury. 

She was catagorically listing what was wrong with this case when the door behind her opened, revealing a dusky skinned man with hard eyes and stiff movements. His feet halted suddenly as something passed through his black orbs, then it was gone quickly leaving her to wonder if she had imagined it. Straightening herself, Riya took off her gloves and handed them over the the nurse, who took them and gave her back the notepad. In next several seconds he was gone, leaving behind the duo alone with an unconscious man.

"Who are you to the patient?" She started scribbing down her observation about the injury and the conclusion that a small surgery will be better for the patient's knee. Halfway through it the ink dried, and refused to come out even though she shook it a few times. Damn, she thought to herself. She really liked this pink pen.

A boring looking black pen was suddenly thrushed in front of her and she looked up, seeing the stranger offering it, a perfect poker face masking his true emotions. She envies people like him, she has always been such an open book. Shaking off her internal monologue, she took it, a nod of head silently conveying her gratitude. She was about to repeat her question because he had not replied yet, maybe he had not heard her the first time he spoke up.

"Family." She didn't miss the bitterness leaced his tone or the slight clenching of jaw as he spoke. She rose one eyebrow at the comment, and the startled reaction from him made her realize she was not supposed to call him out on his obvious lie. She lowered her laces, her fingers writing down her observation once again.

"His injury is severe, the bones in his knee are broken and a few muscle has suffered considerable amount of damage. In my opinion we need to do a small surgery and keep him here for a week or so, but the final decision will be taken after discussing it with his Doctor." She looked at him once again, lifting her chin as she added, "This is a Police case. We will need an FIR in case he goes through further treatment here."

"It was not needed when I admitted it." The other man pointed out, to which she gave a nod.

"Our Hospital has a different policy. We don't wait for Police or other party when a patient is bleeding right in front of us." She hung the notepad near the saline stand and turned to him fully, "His Doctor did primary treatment, but further treatments won't be carried out here in case the Hospital don't get a FIR."

"It's an accident." He was not really trying for lie, she noticed. Somewhere else in her place would have been amused at his bad acting, but it just irritated him further.

"I am a trauma surgeon for 6 years now, Mr . . . " 

"ACP Arjun Rawte."

"Right." She repeated the name in her head, "ACP Rawte. I know what injuries look like accident and what like deliberate attempt of hurting someone." She put her hands inside the pocket of her lapcoat, carrying on ignoring the growing anger on the former's face, "Since you are an ACP yourself, you can surely cut short the paper work for him?"

"I want to keep this confidential." He answered quietly, "That Man is important to me. I need him to survive." 

"And he will. The surgery will be effortless and very short. We will just need . . . "

"An FIR, I get it." He sounded impatient, "But that will include me going to a PS and file a report, and thus it will go out. The exact scenerio I am trying to avoid, Doctor."

Riya crossed arms over chest, frowning at his words which might be logical to him, but to her they sounded rehearsed and hollow, "Or maybe you just don't want to create a trouble since you are the one responsible for his state, I guess?"

He looked ready to burst.

"That's quite an accusation." His voice lowered further, raspy and dark, and she felt a shiver running down her spine. She forced herself to not to get intimidated as her heart beat rose slightly, "And he's a criminal, so I don't think whatever happened to him is unfortunate. He surely deserved it."

It was her time to get angry, "Nobody deserves to suffer, a good person or a criminal."

"You are too naive to understand it, I think."

She looked away in disgust, "This is a waste of time for both of us. You want him to continue his treatment here, give us the necessary document we need. I will talk to his doctor in a few hours and tomorrow he will be ready for surgery. If it offends you to comply, you know the way you walked in." Ending this argument from her side, she started to walk away. Her fingers encircled around the door lock and turned it when he spoke up.

"Coelho- Cruz General Hospital is one of the best in this city. I need this man to survive so we are not going anywhere." She turned her neck slightly to look back, determination and arrogance oozing off him, "And the documentation? I will speak to your Dean privately."

She banged the door loudly behind her when she left.

 $ 

Coelho-Cruz General Hospital has witnessed bizarre scenes happening in it's territory for decades. Being a Hospital and that too a leading reputed one, it attracts quite a few characters as patients and staffers alike, but none was more colorful than Doctor Liza D'Cruz, Psychiatrist and daughter of one of the founders. With extended hairdos which keeps changing color and style every other week, nose rings and gothic like appearence, she doesn't come across like a typical Doctor in lab coat with gentle smile. Add to this her job, which requires her to keep in touch with people who have lost their limbs and their ability to live life, and the picture doesn't seem right. Yet somehow, this quirky lady doctor who tends to oversleep on her work hours on a regular basis is the only person who gets through difficult people. She screams in frustration when her patient screams, laughs with them when they make slightest of improvement, bribes them when they are exhausted and want to give up. 

That makes her almost everyone's favorite, especially Doctor Mukherjee's. The two of them share room and click pictures ocassionally, which the former posts in her social networking sites. Some will say they are Best friends, but Doctor Liza, like everything else, tends to go overboard with the title.

"In some alternate universe she's my wifey." She once told to a senior staff who hands them over their case files and updates regularly. The woman turned bright red even though she had no idea what 'Alternate universe' mean. Doctor Mukherjee just rolls eyes, saying nothing thus silently indulgs her further. 

Like everyday, Doctor Liza was running late today as well. As soon as she decended from her barely still scooty and parked the thing, she ran like bat out of hell towards the entry, swiping her card in a flash and proceeding to run again, shouting 'Get away! Late Doctor coming through!' to whoever that will listen. Regular staffs looked at each other and exchanged looks, while patients and family of patients looked on startled, some of them amused.

She was panting by the time she reached the third floor, looking at her reflection in the glass of notice board and fixing the uneven hair. Another shadow stepped in behind her and she turned, flashing a bright grin.

"Good morning." She greeted in a sing song voice.

"Good morning, late lateef." Doctor Mukherjee rolled eyes. They have this conversation everyday and while she gets frustrated with the former girl at times, someday it's the only normal thing in her life. In response Liza huffed, turning and fixing her hair once again.

"You look out of breath."

"Lift was taking time." Waving a hand at her shoes she continued, "Three inches and running is not a good idea."

"That could be dangerous." A slight concern overcame her, and the former brushed it aside quickly.

"Danger is thy middle name, Senorita." Doctor Mukherjee proceeded to walk away when she yelled, "Oye! A favor please, Madame?"

"Your italian is so fake."

"Then it's a good thing there's no italian around." Liza took a few steps toward her, the earlier playful expression vanishing, "Listen, my 11.30 will be in room no. 23 shortly. Can you keep him company until I arrive? Uncle won't be finish with my BBB session anytime soon. I wonder who keeps complaining about my lateness?" She looked thoughtful, "I bet it's that jerk from Lab. He never really got over my refusal to go on a date."

Doctor Mukherjee ignored everything else and zeroed in on the patient, "You never tell me to do this."

"This is a special patient. You will understand." Liza pushed her ahead, "Go, welcome him. Flash your smile, it will keep off his mind from me."

Riya rolled her eyes and proceeded to move toward the lift, wondering about this 'Special Patient' of her Best Friend's.

 $ 

Sameer Damsingh Rathore is not what people expects him to be.

His name gives a grandfatherly vibe to people even before they meet, and he will be forever miffed at his Grandmother to attach that Damsingh in his name and then for his Father to put it on his birth certificate. When he used to go to the primary school of his small town where his family is treated like a royalty, he could hear the snickers from his fellow classmates whose past generations had surely been slaves of his great forefathers. Taking lesson from that, his whole life he pretended that Damsingh do not exist and simply went by D. Or Sameer Rathore.

Then Doctor D'Cruz burst into his life and the first thing she did was to call him Sameer Damsingh Rathore and make a joke about the middle name, cackling and shaking as she uttered it over and over again. By the time she recovered he was the one doubling over his wheelchair in laughter, feeling light and something strange in his chest after years.

She became his favorite after that, of course. 

She was not what he expected. He thought she would be young, maybe a stoic lady doctor with big round glasses. Past failed experience with Physiotherapist told him there are two kinds- one who goes by 'Hey Man, what's up?' and then 'Mr. Rathore, you need to put more effort if you want to walk one day.' He neither needed the fake enthusiasm nor the crisp reminder that he has lost the mobility of his legs. Doctor Liza was neither. She seemed genuine, animated and as bright as the everchanging colors in her hair. He adored her almost immediately, and solely because of her he looked forward to their thrice-a-week appointments.

He was disappointed it was not her who welcomed her with the biggest grin that split her face in half. Another lady doctor, almost of the same age of Liza welcomed him with a small smile and firm handshake. And Sameer Rathore knew handshake. She is one of the good ones, he mentally decided.

"Hello, Mr. Rathore. Dr. Liza is occupied in some work but she will arrive shortly. In the mean time I hope you won't be bothered if I give you company until she arrives?" 

He immediately picked up on her polite tone and gentle smile, and also the fact that she didn't introduce herself. A loner, he used to be like that sometime in his life.

He shook her hand, "And who is this lovely Doctor who will keep me company, if may I know?"

A small laughter escaped her, "Doctor Riya Mukherjee."

"You will be joining us for the session?" He had heard Liza having senior doctors and interns for observation of patients, but he never got one for himself. He didn't know if Liza picked up on his intention to keep privacy or just didn't want to share him, and both sent a rush of affection to his heart. 

"Oh no." She shook head, "I am a trauma surgeon. No business of mine in her territory."

"Ah." He nodded, "I am guessing you are the Love of her life she keeps talking about."

She blinked, surprised and embarrassed at once as she looked down, "She talks?"

"We both know she does." That earned another laughter from her. After that they shared an easy conversation which had no awkward silence, thanks to his heartfelt compliments and her eagerness to keep his mind off Liza. Despite the obvious shyness, Doctor Mukherjee was quite fun to talk to. When Liza returned and she got up to leave, Sameer Rathore knew he wanted to meet this young woman once again.

"So," He drawled dramatically as Liza readied herself for the therapy, chewing a gum as she moved around, "she seems nice."

She blew air into the gum until it burst and made a mess around her lips. As she licked her lips clean and stood in front of him, both hands on her hips, she gave a conspiratoral smirk.

"Interested, are we?"

 $ 

Doctor Mukherjee is not one of those people who keeps grudges.

And yet, as she entered the OT fully prepared for a simple surgery, she could not help but feel anger rising inside her as she looked at the barely awake patient, slowly drifting into a dreamless sleep as an intern pushed anaesthetia into his veins. 

It's not that she struggled to forget ACP Rawte and his rudeness. Her job keeps her busy enough that sometimes she barely has time to eat or take a proper shower, and there is also the fact that while trauma surgeon comes at the crucial time, they do not associate themseleves with the patient's day-to-day activity. That's what resident doctors, nurses, ward boys and interns are for. She had almost forgotten the name of the patient or the fact that she had met probably one of the most infuriating person a few days back, but as she stepped inside, the memory returned in full force and hit her like a ton of bricks.

Looking up, she noticed Dean Coelho was observing the surgery from the balcony, only a thick wall seperated him and the army of doctor inside the OT. Focusing back on the task at hands, she gently cleaned the area of injury with cotton before another doctor took over the sew the area properly. Together the two of finished the task in barely four minutes, before supporting staffs taking over and cleaning him up to send him to ICU for a day for observation.

She sensed more than saw Dean behind her as she shed off her gloves and scrubs and washed her hands with antiseptic, "You did good back there."

She dried her hands in towel, looking at him through the mirror, "It was nothing difficult. I am surprised you are here."

A sigh escaped him, "No, you are not, Doctor Mukherjee. I knew you were there when ACP Rawte brought forward his unusual request."

"Request?" She turned, "He basically wanted us to keep a blind eye to him since he's an officer himself. From today's surgery I take it he got his way?" She looked away in bitterness, not wanting to argue with the man who signs her paycheck and the father of her Best Friend, "It will be best if he remains in hospital for a week, minimum. We need to observe that knee injury, it can turn bad if it goes ignored. If you will excuse me." She had barely gone past him when the Dean spoke up, his voice quiet yet confident.

"You may think of me as a weak person who succumbed to power easily, but I just thought it was better to listen to him rather than get a call from Commissioner of Mumbai Police himself. Or maybe a Minister."

She closed her eyes, "It's not my place to think anything of you, Sir." Her voice was equally soft, but Coelho knew what it was. The usually polite, but strong willed and morally correct woman only use that tone when she's disappointed at something and was trying to hide it. It made him uncomfortable. The whole world looks at him with pride and awe, people congratulate him wherever he goes and praise him, and yet all those cheers and pats on the back feels inferior seeing a single frown of disappointment from a Doctor who is almost like a daughter to him. If he was a egoistic man, he would have told her off for being so self-righteous and not understanding the complex world of corporate, but he used to be a same kind of person once. That was the reason he and his Best Frind partnered up and founded this Hospital. He compromised a lot from that day till today, but when he sees rave reviews of this place in Hospital industry and receives mails from people who wants to invest here, he feels he accomplished something. 

But he was not going to tell her that sometime sacrificing your moral compass actually does something good. So he let her go, watching the line of her shoulder slumped as she walked away.

 $ 

Liza was watching her Best Friend tracing the edge of her coffee mug repeatedly as she herself munched on a burger. She wanted to comment on it almost immediately, but her mouth was full and she knew how much Ri hated that. Chewing with an audible sound, she sipped some coke to clear her mouth, tracing her teeth for any leftover pieces of food with her tongue before deciding it was safe to speak now.

"Ok, spill. I can't bear your brooding anymore."

That earned her a half smile, not what she wanted but a progress nonetheless, "Brooding?"

"Not Darcy level, because you are way more sexier than him." She gave an exaggerated wink. The former rolled eyes.

"You're impossible." A sigh followed and Liza knew story time was here, "I was thinking about our Internship days, you know? The fun, the dreams of future, the excitement."

"Any specific reason for the nostalgia?"

She hesitated before answering, but before Liza could call her out on it she replied, "Was just thinking that why it doesn't feel like an accomplishment. I wanted to be a Doctor my whole life, save lives, and now I am doing this it doesn't feel enough."

"Because we were bloody optimistic." Liza spoke harshly, eyes rolling, "Sunshine and rain. We were going to be the Queens of the world, people will thank us after we save lives everyday, blah blah blah. This is the truth." She spoke in a sing song voice, mocking their views as she waved an impatient hand at the people outside the Hospital cafe, "That no matter how many beds one hospital have, there will always be hundred times more patients waiting. We can't save every lives everyday. Not everyone thanks us and falls on our feet. There is always a limited of funding of something- lab, research, radiology, general equipments, you name it. Many angel investors come but even combining them we are not close enough. And the reason we both know all these and still you are the one who broods is because you feel too damn much." 

Doctor Mukherjee raised an eyebrow at that, "And I should not?"

"Do this for a patient. Not the fulfillment of your job or some crap."

"You mean be selective about my brooding."

"Exactly."

She huffed a laughter of disbelieve, "I guess I will be Miss Ever Broody then. Selective outrage is not my thing."

Liza was still sulking because she was sulking when they reached their shared apartments that night, only 10 minutes away from the Hospital. Doctor Mukherjee picked up the news papar which had an article about a leading trauma surgeon from New Zealand performing a complicated operation on a 9 year old kind with twin hearts, while Liza muttered something, stuffed her earphones and lit up the Macbook.

The next thing Doctor Mukherjee remembered is the shrill of her phone ringing and finding herself lying in an uncomfortable position. Ignoring the grown escaping from Liza's sleeping form and her own muscles protesting at the movement, she picked up, frowning slightly at the unknown no. Her voice sounded weird even to her own self as she greeted the caller.

"Hello?"

"Doctor Mukherjee?" The male voice sounded familiar but she could not remember where she had heard him, "This is ACP Arjun Rawte. We met last week in the Hospital, I hope you remember?"

Of course she did. The sleep was completely gone as she sat up slowly, rubbing her tired eyes, "You called this no, I am guessing it's an emergency?"

If he was surprised by her zero questions on how he got her number or name, he didn't let it feel, "The patient has pulled on some stitches. He is very uncomfortable, and I think it's best if we don't move him now. I was hoping if you can visit him personally and do something?"

"I am a surgeon, not sure I can help much. Why don't you call the Doctor who worked on him, Ahuja?"

A loud exhale answered her, "I don't want to attract too many eyes, Doctor Mukherjee. I am sure you remembered. Look, I know I have not made a good impression on you, but I really need your help. Please?"

She had given up of any form of protest when he had mentioned the patient, the words were just to give him an out. She nodded, and though he could not see her he understood that she had finally complied, "Address?"

"I can be on my way. In 10 minutes?"

She sleep walked through the process of freshening up, wearing something decent rather than a old raggy pajama and tank top. When Liza groaned in sleep she herself wanted to cry- it was one early night off after three weeks of constantly crazy hours. And the ACP had to get his way once again. Maybe Liza is right, she should be selective about some things. Ahuja should handle whatever problem his patient had. Liza surprised her by getting up and declaring she won't let her Love of life going alone at this hour, and as she vanished inside washroom Riya felt a touch of irritation breaking through her zombie like state. The patient needed to stay in Hospital for a week, at least, but he was checked out on the third day itself. She hoped a quick visit will be sufficient enough, she didn't want to deal with that arrogant Officer anymore.

When the inconspicuous black SUV pulled up ten minutes later Liza was nodding her head slightly to the music blasting in her ears as Riya winced at the unnaturally high music. But it was the only way the former could stand up, and she was touched that she sacrificed her sleep to accompany her this late in night so she said nothing. The ACP looked slightly surprised when the Physiotherapist got inside the backseat as soon as he unlocked the doors, looking at her questioningly as she settled in the front seat.

"She's my room mate, Doctor Liza D'Cruz."

"Will she assist you?" He inqured as they started moving. 

"I am here to guard her against you." Liza's harsh voice snapped from the backseat, startling them both. Riya was not sure how she was able to hear them through the music, "I was not letting her go alone at this hour, that too with a stranger. Why, you disappointed?"

The ACP glared at her through the mirror to which the spunky Doctor shrugged, going back to her music once again. Some other time Riya would have apologized on her behalf, but she simply looked out at the black of the night, hoping the cool air will take away the leftover sleep.

He has a giant house, she will give him that. Liza whistled softly as soon as they were inside, her big eyes going everywhere, mouth gaping like a fish without water. Riya took note of the place which looked like it doesn't see people much, judging by the way dust gathered under the doors of the guest rooms they crossed before reaching the one where the patient lied, face twisting in pain. A six foot something man who looked like a Bouncer from a nightclub stood up almost immediately, his face showing relief at their appearance. The Doctors shooed them away as they proceeded to take care of the patient, Riya checking his injury while Liza preparing a strong dosage of anaesthetia to put the patient into sleep.

The duo emerged outside after an hour and nineteen minutes later, and yes, ACP Rawte was keeping tab. More like staring a hole into the wall clock as his colleague and Subordinate Chandrakant Patil paced up and down, wringing his hands together. The Doctors announced that the stitches would need to a day or two to be dried, and that further tension on the knee will only result in losing it completely. If they noticed how unaffected the Officers looked at the news, they didn't comment on it. An uncomfortable silence followed as Chotu excused himself for a glass of water, obviously thirsty from the stress of the night, Doctor D'Cruz admiring the interior of the house openly while Doctor Mukherjee looked at him with a stormy expression. He realized an argument similar to the one they had back in the hospital would have followed if they didn't have an audience, and just when the look was reaching to a point where he could no longer keep up, something rang. First the ACP thought it was a phone, but Liza took out a small device, probably a pager and then informed she was needed at the hospital immediately. He caught a part of the conversation about it, a current patient of hers was suddenly complaining of pain. As soon as he parked the SUV she took off, sprinting away as she took out something from her pajama pocket which was surely her ID card.

Doctor Mukherjee was freed of the cage-like seatbelt of the SUV and about to open the lock when he started speaking, "Thank you, for tonight."

"It was a one time thing. Contact Dr. Ahuja in case it happens again." 

It was her tone that irked him and made him lock the doors of the SUV from the dashboard. She glanced at him at the action, lips pressed thinly as she controlled herself to speak something. Her refusal to speak up riled him up further as time passed, and by the time he had enough of the silent staring contest, he was seething.

"Something to say, Doctor Mukherjee?"

"You don't need a lecture about how to treat a criminal." She replied frostily, "I hope you have enough humanity left in you to spare his life at least. Or what would remain of his life." 

"Humanity?" His tone rose, then he was shaking his head in anger and disbelieve, "If you knew what he had done . . . "

"It's not my job, or place, to judge a person by their life and then treat them. For me everyone is same, so you have to excuse me if I don't share similar outlook as such you." She looked away, suddenly exhausted as she rubbed her hands tiredly over her face, "Unlock the door, please."

Seeing no end of this moral conflict between them, ACP Rawte gave up as well, "I will drop you at the building."

"No need. My shift starts in half an hour." He nodded at that, pressing a button in the dashboard. The door unlocked with an audible lock and she slipped out quickly, her movements agile. His mouth opened once again to convey his sincere Thanks, but she was in no mood for that.

She shut the door behind him and walked away without a single glance behind.

 $ 

The only highlight of Doctor Mukherjee's day was meeting Sameer Rathore in lift as the latter headed out after a gruesome three hour session with Liza. He looked tired, but he was smiling, something which was common in Liza's patients. They all adore her. 

"Hate to be rude, but you don't look upto your standard, Doctor."

She laughed at his comment, "That's a polite way to put it, Mr. Rathore."

"Guess that's what happens when you chose this tough profession."

More like when you pick up a call from one certain ACP over her necessary sleep, but she was not going to tell him that, "I take it the session went well?"

"It always does." He answered contently, both walking out as the lift stopped and opened at the ground floor, "I have tried many doctors, but nobody sticked. Dr. Cruz is amazing, and my Mother has stopped nagging me seeing that now there's a Doctor I keep going for more than 3 months. Win-win for everyone."

She felt proud of her Best Friend, "She changes people's lives. I hope she does for you as well, Mr. Rathore."

"She already did." He tilted head a little, "And you can call me Sameer, Doctor."

"Then may I walk you out, Sameer?" She tested the name. An eyebrow rose, seemingly mocking her.

"You think I will trip on my way out?"

"I just wanted to get out." She confessed softly and the man laughed, turning his back on her. She put both her hands on the handle as she pushed him ahead, conversing with him easily as if they are acquaintences for years. He was charming and the flirting was constant, but it was not uncomfortable. He was a gentleman through and through, always listening to her and encouraging her to continue when she wanted to say something. If she found him charming on the first meeting, she was now a downright fan of Sameer Rathore.

He was telling her how Liza mocked his middle name which he refused to share when they reached the parking lot, his car and driver waiting for him a few feet away from them. She let go of the handle as he turned himself to face her.

"I guess this is Goodbye." She spoke.

"You don't have to look so disappointed." He teased, the corner of his eyes crinkling with mirth, "I will be coming again on Monday."

She laughed softly at him, "Sameer Rathore," She shook head, "you are something else."

"So are you, Doctor Mukherjee." His face turned sombre as he continued, "I have not met many people who could look at me and not my legs, and very few who don't make me feel like a disable person the moment they lay eyes on me. You are a special catagory, Lady. I don't know it's because of your profession, or it's just you, but I am thankful to you for not looking at me like 99% population does. With Pity."

Embarrassed, she looked down at the rough concrete ground, "I don't know how to look otherwise."

"Never change, Doctor."

"Liza will disagree." She released another huff of laughter as she looked up once again, "She was giving me this brilliant advice the other day, told me it will be good for my sanity. She told me to be selective."

He started shaking her even before she finished talking, "That doesn't work. Look at me." He waved a hand over his frame, "I am a 34 years old ex-ACP who has lost his wife to a criminal and mobility of legs simultaneously. Selective theory tells me I should focus on my legs because the faster I recover, the faster I can go back to my job and catch that criminal. And yet, I can't stop thinking about her. I converse with people, flirt with ladies and smile, but as soon as I go back to the Hotel where I am living, the pain is back. The emptiness is back. Selective outage is a wrong idea. It strips you off things slowly until there is nothing left in you, no matter how you try to justify it to yourself." He took a deep breath, catching himself before he can spiral, "I kind of dumped it all over you, didn't I?"

She crouched down in front of him and took a hand between the both of hers, "Thank you, ACP Rathore, for sharing your life story with me. I am humbled."

He gave a sharp nod, blinking furiously as he looked down at his lap.

 $ 

"You know I met this really cute guy online who makes HTML jokes. How cool is that?" Liza gushed excitedly as she typed furiously on her laptop, probably to the man she was talking to. Riya laughed as she folded both of their clothes and put them inside wardrobe.

"How do you know he's cute?"

"His profile picture, Duh." 

"It may not be his original picture." She pointed out. The former huffed.

"Just had to ruin my fantasy, didn't you?" Making a face she put her entire focus in the laptop, "Huh. Suck it, Missy."

"What?" Riya turned to look at her as she stopped her work.

"He wants to meet me. And that, my dear ol' friend, is a sign that his profile picture is 200% accurate."

"So go meet him then." 

"Damn right I will." She typed her reply to him, "Not before I do a background search and see if he actually works in Emergency Task Force."

Apparently the date went well, judging by the way the Physiotherapist could not stop smiling as the duo passed by lab to collect a report of the Trauma surgeon's patient, even though her ever present nemesis gave her death glare.

"He looked exactly like his profile picture. He was a little shy, didn't talk much, but once he started going . . . " She sighed happily.

"It was a competition of who can talk over other, right?"

Liza didn't mind the teasing, "I know it doesn't sound appealing with the glasses and curly hair, but he has totally that hot nerdy college boy look down. And he drinks coffee! Like me!"

"How old is he?"

 She gave her best friend a dirty look, "My age, dummy. I don't go for boys lesser age than me. Feels like I am taking advantage or something."

Riya laughed whole heartedly at the comment as they both waited for the lift to appear, beside her the former gave a warm look. It's not often that she laughs that openly like that, she mused quietly. She made up her mind to have a group lunch with her current fling, she had a feeling they will be together for quite sometime. And she wanted to test whether he's as secure when she fawns over her lady friend in front of him as he pretended to be okay hearing her.

The lift arrived and at the same time came two junior doctors running, "Whoa, mini Milkhas. Watch it." The boy and girl barely gave her a look, snapping his head sideways quickly before moving toward the other.

"Doctor Mukherjee, Doctor Prakash wants you to meet at the basement in ten minutes. We are going to be on standby for a encounter in Borivelli and his partner is off today. Dean Coelho has given the permission and told us to inform you that all of your schedule has been cleared for today." The girl ranted all the information at once, her partner nodding at appropriate pauses as Liza and Riya exchanged glances. Liza wanted to ask thousands questions, but the other just stood up taller and gave a small nod.

"I will meet you in 5 minutes." The duo left just as quickly as they came.

"Of course you will." The former shook her head, "Ri, at this speed you are going to work yourself to death. Or kick out my Uncle and become Dean."

"Neither will happen." She hold the lift before it closed down, letting the Physiotherapist to get in. She stood there till the moment the lift closed, then exhaled a small breath and walked toward the Doctor's Locker room to get a few necessary things for the trip.

Doctor Mukherjee, the Trauma Surgeon doesn't believe in praying to God to let a patient live. The Coelho-D'Cruz General Hospital's resident staff goes through the file before taking up a case, have lengthy discussions with other Doctors and deduce all facts before taking into account the statistical chances of a patient surviving, not surviving, getting worse or returning for a second surgery. Riya, the simple girl in this big enchanting city knows the Almighty exists just as air or water does, ever present and Man's only friend who never ditch him. She can't go without closing her eyes and murmur a quick prayer whenever her eyes fell on an idol, a mighty one in an elaborate temple or a simple Banyan tree laced in colorful threads representing people's wishes and expectations. As a Doctor things happening or not happening depends upon her hand and the help of the doctors and support stuffs around her. But once she's out of the OT and the job is done, she knows a patient making it through the 48 hours observation window depends upon whether God feels gracious or not. It may seem escapism, or idiotic, but that's the way she functions.  

But even she knows how much she asks the almighty for answers, he won't really come down, gives her a glimpse of himself and answers the question himself. She hoped he does it through a mouthpiece though, as she sewed a particularly nasty cut on a shoulder of ACP Rawte.

Why do they two of them keep meeting?

The encounter was over an hour ago and it was clean up drive everywhere- for doctors to make sure the victims of both sides are okay, the surviving policemen on constant vigilance, CSI cleaning up the area and taking samples for their department. The chawl area smelt like burnt plastic, gunpowder and blood to her, maybe cause it's her first time here. And it will be the last one, she thought to herself firmly. Standing beside the control room set inside 3 consecutive SUVs, listening to real time updates on criminal sightings, guns firing constantly in Bang bang bang bang, flinching everytime someone cries out at the comm and feeling like you are the one who is hurt- no, not her cup of tea. She would rather take care of people back in Hospital than witness how the person got hurt in the first place.

A wince followed by a jerky movement of the shoulder underneath her careful hands broke her internal musings. Mumbling a soft sorry under her breath, she eased her fingers until they are a light weight on him, gave him a few moments to catch his breath, then restarted the sewing once again, every poke of needle and thread slow and careful to not hurt him. Her peripheral vision caught sight of him, he had washed his face after he came out of the dirty old building which was the hiding place of the criminal, unmindful of his shoulder injury, still the water could not take away dirt and something darker smearing on his forehead and jaw. His clothes were wrinkly and smeared with blood, both of himself and probably of some criminals too, in a desperate need of washing. His eyes widen in surprise when he noticed her the first time, but since then they were stubbornly looking everywhere but at her- at the ground, the policemen moving around, at his team, the tall and muscly one whom she has already met, and another one who's really good with computers, she remembered. It gave her some relief that this chance encounters are as uncomfortable for him as for her. She hoped to finish her work quickly and return without starting another argument.

After she finished with him, cleaned up herself and looked around for a clean towel to dry her hands, he decided to break this mutual silence between them, the white towel on his hand as some kind of a peace offering. She took it wordlessly, giving a quick nod and a Thanks.

"I should say Thank you." He spoke. She was surprised to hear a different kind of tone from him, a genuine one filled with gratitude, like normal people does after a Doctor did something for them. In her mind she had catagorized him as someone incapable of acting like a normal person, she realized at that moment and chided herself for that judgment. Their views may differ, but judging him based on that is plain wrong.

"It's my duty. I didn't know you would be here."

One of his eyebrows rose upwards as he leaned against the back of the ambulence door, "You would not have come if you had known?"

She didn't know if he was joking or he was asking, and she felt he was not going to joke with a person he obviously doesn't like, "It's my Job. It doesn't allow me to question." She put down the towel in the bin with all the other used medical supplies, gathering her get-go kit to leave.

"Yes, it doesn't." He agreed, the tone of him making her think he was talking about the last two arguments they had. A quick look at him confirmed her suspicion, and this time she was unable to look away quickly, his stare holding her in place. When the silence became uncomfortable and she could see his team hovering in the background, she looked down, throwing him a small empty smile.

"It is not the same."

"The only difference is my job allows me to kill people, yours doesn't."

She wanted to say it's not their profession but their personal choices, and yet she didn't. What's the point of hashing same topic again and again when there is no common ground? "Let's not do this, ACP."

"Me not telling you I am not a monster?" Her head snapped up at his words.

"I don't know you, Officer. I have no right to judge you like that, and if you think so you can't be anymore wrong." She took a deep breath, "Our views are different. Touching same topic again and again is fruitless." Eyeing the bandage on his shoulder, she switched the conversation, "Give it two weeks, go to any Hospital once in every four days. Make sure you don't wet the area. And be gentle with movements, if the stitches tears it will bleed and infect, increasing the healing time." Taking a hold of her belongings, the Trauma Surgeon walked away from him.

"Good luck." She threw over her shoulder.

 $ 

Lunch, Dinner, or any kind of outing with Dean Coelho is so scarce that one has to mark those dates on their calender. It's not that he doesn't socialize with his core staff outside the Hospital, the old man simply doesn't get enough time to do so. His days pass running around hospital, meeting with various department heads and keep updates on important cases, and nights are spend with wining and dining the riches so that they empty their pockets for him. It might be a good thing that he has no wife or off spring to take care of them, his own housemaids don't get to see him often.

For that reason only the sudden dinner invitation from him which was redirected through Liza came as such a surprise to Riya. She was sure that her Friend was playing tricks with her, and when she realized that indeed the Dean wants to have a dinner with her and the former, she was stunned. Liza is like a daughter to him so it didn't look different to her, they probably has frequent outings which she doesn't know, or Liza might have told but she was too busy to listen. But why include her? Part of her dreaded to become a third wheel in a intimate dinner between two almost family members, but her curiosity and Liza's persistence won over it. 

When they met for dinner, she was running late. An introduction with a patient who's in desperate need of heart transplant followed by a lengthy meeting with the doctor handling the case dragged longer than she anticipated. By the time she cleaned herself up and tried desperately not to think how that sleazy Forty something weak patient left no chance to leer at her suggestively and slurred lines that supposed to be flirty (but felt weird to her), Liza and Dean Coelho was sharing a bottle of wine, the former's hands flying everywhere as she narrated some story of a patient of hers. The old man indulged her with a warm smile, his eyes soft and stance relaxed.

Halfway through the second course Liza excused herself for restroom, leaving the two in a somewhat awkward situation. Riya remembered her less than professional behavior the last time they were in the same room and felt maybe she should apologize, and yet she could not make herself do so. He may have sensed her sudden nervousness, as he twirled the wine in his glass, took a sip and put it down, ready to get it out of his chest.

She sat up straighter in her seat.

"Relax, Doc . . . Riya." He corrected himself, earning a small smile from her, "I never thanked you for coming here tonight. I had a fear that you might be more displeased with me than I had anticipated."

She flushed red at his words, "The last time . . . it was really unprofessional of me, Sir."

"Don't apologize." His firm tone made her look up, "You did nothing wrong. And I fully intend to not make that mistake the second time. That's the primary reason of this Dinner, if I may confess." Her silence urged his to go on, "Your patient, Rahil Mirza?w Came in for Cardio problem?"

"He needs a transplant." She informed, the frown deepening with each moment, "I had a discussion with his case doctor. If everything goes right we may schedule it for next week. He is also on top of donor list so that is a good thing. What is it, Sir?"

"He is the nephew of a gangster." Her eyes widen at his words, "Police are after him, but they don't have any solid proof."

"You know this since . . . ?"

"The moment he stepped in my hospital." He confirmed her suspicion with a nod of his head, "The last time I made you do something that is against your morality it didn't go well. This time I being forthright in the matter."

"What do you expect me to do?" She asked, not understanding the purpose of the information or this dinner. Dean Coelho sighed.

"I just want you to know that it's not our job to fix things. The only responsibilities we have is toward our patients, nothing else. I admire your moral codes and ethics, but Riya, there comes a time in every doctor's life when he has to chose his work over everything. I am afraid that time has come for you." He took a deeap breath, "It makes my blood boil thinking that we will treat him, he will get better and run to that gangster uncle of his. The very same monster who kills God knows how many people everyday, ruins so many lives! But we are not Police, or someone who can punish these people. You remember our oaths, right? Patients over everything. We are commited to the disease, the treatment. We can't check a patient's background before giving him treatment."

He finished his remaining wine before speaking again, "I will completely understand if you don't want to handle him. Just let me know so. But the point of me dumping these all on you is to tell you that if you do so today, there is no gurantee you won't face a similar situation tomorrow. Our Hospital is a reputed one, it will attract saints and sinners alike. We can't be selective about it, unfortunately. And even if we do so, they will just go somewhere else. Or maybe hold a grudge and try to sabotage us." He gave a small pat on her hand, "So think about it."

Liza returned just as he finished and they proceeded with the dinner as if the conversation never happened.

  $ 

Normally checking a patient's background goes against everything Doctor Mukherjee holds dear in her life- mostly the difference between right and wrong. But the dinner with Dean Sir just about destroyed her head and made her question her rule no. 1 in job description- save lives. Does a person who's associated with something so despicable should deserve world class treatment when a poor, needy person doesn't get even half of that? As she snooped on the Internet to get some information about Rahil Mirza, she felt ashamed that how many people like him she had treated in her life, never questioned once about who they are or what they does. Just because Dean Sir told her she suddenly felt her morality uprising.

Selective outrage, she shook her head. 

Reading every other article about him, especially his Uncle made her sick to the stomach. She shut down the laptop forcefully, feeling trapped in a way she had not felt in ages. Dean Sir's words rang in her ears and she found herself nodding to them. What choice does she have? If she's too sensitive to handle this case it will go to another Doctor, possibly another Hospital. Her conscience won't stay clean just because she left the case. Others will treat him, he has got money and donor ready.

Her fingers automatically made their way toward her mouth and she nearly chewed the nails, a bad childhood habit she had long managed to got over but still finds herself drawn to it once in a while. A click of the front door opening made her sit up straight, then Liza emerged in all her glory, chattering away about the busy timings and telling stories of patients. No matter how irritated she sounds, there is no denying that she loves her work.

Her mobile pinged halfway through her ranting of how a newbie female nurse messed up a simple calcium injection with a potassium one as she brushed her freshly showered, curly hair slowly. Smiling, she changed the course of the one sided conversation and proceeded to talk about her 'flavor of the month' and 'Boytoy'.

"Why do you keep calling him that?" Riya asked her. Liza shrugged in reply, turning to the mirror once again.

"I like the sound of it. Boy-toy." She stressed the word, making the former roll eyes, "Huh. It just hit me that the World is really small. You know Six degrees of seperation?" At the Trauma Surgeon's shake of head she explained, "It's a theory that in this world everyone knows everyone through six people. Basically it's like a chain where through every six people we all are bound. Pretty amazing, eh?"

"The point?" The former frowned, weary that her friend is going to be off topic soon.

"My flavor of the month works in ETF. And my bestest patient ever, Sameer Damsingh Rathore used to be his Boss. Cool right?"

Riya's eyebrows rose up, "He used to be in ETF?" She tried to remember if he had mentioned that, but nothing surfaced in her mind.

"Yep. Specky was telling me." Liza rolled eyes as the former looked at her quizzically, "Boytoy! Shree!" Huffing, she carried on, "We were talking about work and crazy schedules and he was telling during his old Boss they at least had a specific time to go home and get 6 hours of proper sleep. This Boss is downright workaholic and expects everyone to work like a Robot like him. I asked where that Boss is now and he looked so sad, you know? Then he mentioned how his Boss got hurt during a case and became paralyzed down his waist, and that Rathore sounded really familiar so I asked if by any chance it's Sameer D. Rathore, and he jumped at me! Asked me all sorts of questions."

"You are not supposed to tell him anything."

"I told him he's making improvement. Enough for you, Madam?" 

Riya shook her head and tuned out as Liza chattered away about Shree and her mostly Online dates with him. A hazy vision of curly haired bespectacled boy working on computers like a hurricane swept in emerged in her head and she concluded that Boy from encounter had to be Shree. She felt irritated at her blindness, she would have put two and two together. What are the chances are meeting a person who matches Liza's description of her date perfectly and being completely different person?

But then, she was busy with a certain ACP.

Shutting off her brain from going to that direction, she focussed on the important facts at hand. Sameer Rathore used to work in ETF, in fact he was the Chief of that place. 

An idea was brewing in her head, the question remains whether she's brave enough to execute it.

 $ 

"Doctor Mukherjee!" A sharp voice reverberated through the speaker inside the OT, snapping her into focus once again. She looked up at the balcony where mostly senior doctors keep eye on them through the thick glass partition, giving their inputs as critical surgery happens down here, finding Dean Coelho staring at her with an unreadable expression. Exahling a sharp breath, she looked down at the patient once again, his chest cut open and on display. Three other doctors and support staffs worked tirelessly as she stood immoblie, before putting herself in work quickly, helping them to remove the old heart and then carefully putting the new one in a small 2 minute window.

She exited the room when she was sure the rest of them could handle the final works.

72 hours of observation was over and She dreaded the first check up and was strangely looking forward to it simultaneously. The Man still looked at her the same way, made suggestive remarks, giving no indication that he had just gone through a major operation. She had met people over the years who put brave face and give no underlying emotions away. This man just seems sleazy in an arrogant way. As if he's sure nothing can harm him, this cardio problem was just a minor hitch in his long drive ahead.

Before leaving he requested for his phone, and dialed up a number with a ferocity she had hardly seen from him. For the life of her Riya won't know what hit her in that moment, but she found herself lurking in the shadows outside his private ward. As if that is not uncharacteristic of her enough, she also put her phone on record and listened to a conversation Mirza was having, possibly with his Uncle.

When he confirmed flying to him in Dubai as soon as he was out of the Hospital, she made her decision.

2 days later, she collected a landline number of Sameer Rathore, her finger hesitating slightly before calling him up, her eyes roaming around the empty locker room. When she heard his voice on the other side her breath hitched slightly.

"Mr. Rathore? Hi, this is Doctor Mukherjee. I hope you remember me from Coelho-D'Cruz . . . " She chuckled as he recognized her, his joyful charming words removing any lingering nervousness in her quickly, "Sorry for the odd timing. I hope I didn't disturb you?"

"I need your help, Sameer."

 $ 

"Everything okay?" His own defensive tone surprised him, as Arjun noticed Dean Coelho leaving the hallway in purposeful strides, having just finished a small tensed conversation with Doctor Mukherjee. The latter looked at the Dean's slowly vanishing form, shaking her head absent-mindedly.

"As good as it can be." She replied, disbelieve and something else laced her words.

When he had gotten the call from Sameer he was not surprised, not really. His friend might be immobile and no longer worked in Department, but his good samaritan way of life meant often he would call his old colleagues (especially him, ex-Second-in-command) for small favors. What surprised him was the name of the place- The Hospital once again. 

He ignored his mind's questions on whether he's going to meet that soft speaking and fierced doe-eyed Trauma surgeon and gave his additional energy on it since it came straight from his friend. When they picked up Rahil Mirza in the dead of the night, just 4 hours before he was supposed to check out, the priceless expression was worth every exhaustion of the day.

Then he noticed her lingering in the shadows with an unreadable expression and put two and two together. So she was the 'source' of Sameer's, he thought with surprise. He didn't know her much, but a deed like this requires a lot of courage and getting over your conscience. He remembered her passionate words about how her Job doesn't allow her to make judgments, only to save lives, and wonder what changed and how? 

Why?

"I guess Mr. Rathore . . . Sameer told you about me?" He noticed her addressing his friend by his first name, filing it away for later. 

"That you tipped him off? No." He shook head, "I saw you observing us from shadows. Why you do it, Doctor?"

She took a deep breath before answering quietly, "It was the right thing to do." He didn't miss the way she didn't immediately reply, but he could not begrudge her for that small slip. Taking a decision like this requires a lot of courage and duelling with conscience, and he appreciated her help.

He looked around them when she shifted her eyes from him and shifted weight from one foot to other, "Is the cafe any good in here?"

Her head shot up.

He didn't get his customary cutting chai like he had hoped for, but he was not surprised. Uptight places like this hardly ly keeps things which common people like him wants, so he had to struggle with the slug which was a poor excuse of coffee. He glared at the coffee machine over at the counter, wondering how the Doctor opposite him was able to drink it so effortlessly.

"The Coffee here is awful." She spoke up with amusement, sensing his internal monologue, "I know."

"How do you drink it?" He pushed away the mug, not bothering to hide his disgusted face. She gave a small smile and took another sip from her coffee.

"We have difficult hours here. Without Coffee we won't survive."

"Something we have common, then." He replied lightly, tapping his fingers on the edge of table before speaking, "Maybe we should go out for a real cup of coffee. Not this one."

Her eyes widen in surprise, letting him see the warm, honey like color of theirs. His tapping increased as the silence lingered, their gazes interlocked not in hostility, but with something on which he can't put words. He doesn't really do this, asking out someone whom he doesn't know properly, let alone argue with her for the majority of their meetings. But there was something about her that draws him in, he can't put his fingers on what but he knows it nonetheless.

He sensed it since the moment he saw her walking through Hospital hallways tieing up her hair.

She broke the eyelock after a long moment and looked down. Arjun heard her sharp exhale of breath before she spoke up, a hesitant smile on her face, "I don't . . . I don't think that's a good idea, ACP."

His fingers stopped moving, "Why is that, Doctor Mukherjee?" He tried very hard to not try sound rude, just midly curious. And he was, putting aside the sudden rush of disappointment. Is that because of their previous arguments?

"It's not because of our arguments." She sensed his unspoken (and obvious, he mused) thoughts and addressed it first hand, "Our idealogies are different, so those were inevitable."

"So what is it?" He leaned forward and she met his eyes once again. Despite her rejection he found that he didn't mind it much, instead they drew them in more.

"We come from very different backgrounds, ACP Rawte. Your ideology is alien to me just as mine are to you. We don't have anything in common except for our mutual liking of coffee." She gave another shy smile, and it tugged a chord in his heart, "And to be honest, I don't have it in me to share myself with anything except for my work."

"Not even for friendship?" He knew he didn't just want to be her friend, but pressed nonetheless. She ducked her face once again and it gave him the answer- another rejection.

He had heard people saying forbidden fruits are the best, and that how people chase after things which goes away from them. He always chalked it upto inborn human arrogance and lust, but today he realized the third factor. Doctor Mukherjee might be as good as a forbidden fruit for him in that moment with her rejecting him twice, but it didn't make her a prize he intended to win sometime in the future. The reason he still found himself drawn to her is because he found her interesting to know. She was right, they had nothing in common except maybe the Coffee, but a great display of bravery has shattered his prejudices of her. Her morals are an integral part of her, and yet she made a giant leap of faith by tipping ETF off about the gangster. And she's the first one who looked through his shield of rudeness and stoicism, but didn't let it cloud her judgment. When she said she didn't think of him as a monster, she meant it.

"Well," He kept his voice light but the intensity was audible even to his ears. The Doctor turned to him once again, surprised at his tone, "I hope these chance encounters keep happening."

She's going to be in his head for a long long time.