The RoofTop Guilt

Hola IFians,

I am Aditi, not new to the forum but not very known as well. I am going to write AR OS after a very long time, very excited about it. I hope you all will also like it.

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The RoofTop Guilt

Made by Sanskruthi 🤩

The lights of Sanjeevani Hospital gleamed brightly, celebrating its silver jubilee reunion. Music swelled in the grand hall, but near the mocktail counter, the atmosphere was less "elegant medical gala" and more "intern locker room, circa 2007."

"Ouch! Anjali, look at my ears! They are red! Bilkul tamatar jaise!" Atul whined, jumping on one foot as Anjali violently yanked his bow tie for the fourth time.

"Shut up, Atul! Tumse ek bow tie seedhi nahi pehni jaati? You are a senior oncologist now, behave like one!" Anjali snapped, though her hands gently smoothed down his lapels right after.

"Oh, please, Anjie. Standard shifted hote hain, Atul nahi," Rahul smirked, swirling his mocktail. He leaned against the counter, looking at Muskaan. "Take notes, Muskaan. This is how you carry a dress. Effortless grace."

Muskaan let out a loud, dramatic scoff. "Effortless? Rahul, you spent three hours in front of the mirror trying to hide your receding hairline. Mene apni aakhon se dekha hai. I am your wife!", rolling her eyes.

"What?! Receding hairline? It’s a mature forehead, okay! Highly attractive to my female patients!", Rahul winked looking at Muskan.

"Oh, really? Then why did Mrs. Kapoor ask if you were the senior citizen specialist last week?", Muskaan shot back, crossing her arms with a triumphant grin.

"Guys, guys, please! Lado mat! Today is a happy day!" Atul intervened, holding his hands up. "Think about it, we are all together after five whole years. Panch saal! Just like old times!"

"It can never be like old times, Atul," Anjali said softly, her eyes drifting toward the entrance. "Not since... they broke up.", looking at the entrance.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the group. But before Rahul could crack another joke to break the tension, the main doors opened.

The crowd in the hall parted instantly. Walking in with absolute grace, wearing a tailored black tuxedo, white shirt with red tie, was Dr. Armaan Malik.

"Oh my god," Muskaan whispered. "Is that... Armaan?"

He was no longer the messy-haired intern who rode a bicycle through the corridors and kept a basketball glued to his hip. He was now India’s leading, most sought-after cardiologist. His jawline was sharp, his hair perfectly styled, and his gaze carried an intense, commanding aura.

"Bro..." Atul breathed out, taking a step forward. "He looks... like a proper doctor. Yeh kaise ho gaya?", widening his eyes Atul said.

"Wow," Rahul said, genuinely stunned. "The guy actually learned how to use a comb. I owe Atul five hundred rupees.", cracked a silly joke again.

Armaan spotted them. A small, polite smile touched his lips—a far cry from the blinding, mischievous grins of his youth. He walked over, offering a formal handshake. "Anjali. Rahul. Muskaan. Atul... how are you guys?"

Atul didn't take the hand; instead, he threw his arms around Armaan in a bone-crushing hug. "Armaan! Bro! You became so big! Look at this suit! Kitna mehenga hai?", Atul being Atul.

Armaan chuckled softly, patting Atul’s back, but his eyes remained guarded. "Good to see you too, Atul."

"Armaan, you completely stopped calling us," Anjali said, her voice laced with gentle reproach. "We are your friends.", with a smile.

"I was busy, Anjali. Fellowship in the US, then the transplant boards..." Armaan replied smoothly, his tone professional, distant.

From the opposite end of the room, Riddhima stood frozen. She wore a simple, elegant red chiffon saree, her hair tied in a loose braid. She had fulfilled her dream too, working quietly as a dedicated pediatrician. But her eyes were fixed entirely on him.

"Armaan..." she whispered, her voice trembling as she began walking toward the group.

Rahul noticed her first and nudged Armaan. Armaan’s back stiffened. He turned slowly, and his ocean blue eyes met hers. For a split second, a flash of raw pain crossed his face, but it was instantly replaced by that same polite, professional mask.

"Ah, Dr. Riddhima. Good evening," Armaan said, his voice deep, smooth, and utterly devoid of the warmth she used to own. "Excuse me, everyone. The board members are waiting for me in the lounge."

He stepped right past her, his shoulder brushing hers, leaving her standing alone in a sea of people.

"Did he just... ignore her?" Muskaan asked, horrified.

"That wasn't our Armaan," Rahul muttered, looking genuinely worried now. "Our Armaan would have jumped a table just to say hi to her."

Unable to take the suffocating noise of the party or the pitying looks of her friends any longer, Riddhima turned and ran toward the one place that held all their secrets: the Sanjeevani rooftop.

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The cool night breeze hit her face as she stepped onto the terrace. But she wasn't alone. Standing at the far railing, an unlit cigarette between his fingers just for the old habit, was Armaan. He was staring at the city lights.

"Why are you doing this, Armaan?" Riddhima’s voice broke the silence.

Armaan didn’t turn around. "You shouldn't be up here, Dr. Riddhima. It's cold."

"Stop it!" She walked up to him, grabbing his arm, forcing him to face her. "Stop acting like I don't exist! Punch me, yell at me, tell me you hate me! But don't look at me like I am a stranger!"

Armaan slowly removed her hand from his arm, his fingers lingering for a microsecond before dropping away. His expression was deadpan. "Why would I yell at you? You made a choice five years ago. You wanted a responsible man. A man dedicated to his career. Look at me now. I am the head of cardiology. I don't waste time on basketball or silly pranks. I am exactly what you wanted", he has pain in his voice.

The bitterness in his tone sliced through her heart. Tears finally spilled over her cheeks.

"I am sorry, Armaan," she sobbed, dropping her face into her hands.

He giggled, "But, I want to hate you, alas!", closing his eyes tight.

Armaan stiffened.

"I lived in guilt every single day!" Riddhima cried, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. "I hated myself for breaking you. I know you were childish, I know you weren't serious back then, but I never cared about your career! I loved you. The real you. And seeing you like this—so cold, so lifeless—it's killing me. Please, Armaan. I still love you. I have never stopped loving you!"

The silence on the rooftop was deafening, save for Riddhima's soft hiccups.

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He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and cupped her face in his hands.

"You really are a fool, Riddhima," Armaan whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Did you think a tuxedo and a fancy title could change what's inside here?" He took her hand and pressed it hard against his chest, right over his racing heart.

"I changed my lifestyle, my career, my attitude... but I could never change my heart," Armaan said, a tear finally escaping his own eye. "It still beats only for you. It always has, " and he chocked.

Riddhima let out a sob and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

"At least ask the reason", she insisted holding his shoulders tight.

He still shrugged her off by saying, "I never wanted to ask, five years back. You said, I agreed, then why would I ask now", looking into her eyes deeply.

"Kyu Armaan?", she asked looking into them.

He giggled, "Dr. Riddhima ....whatever, reason you had, I don't know, but right now I am getting everything.

She was speechless and asked, "Are you considering me a gold digger?"

"Jo ladki apne purse ke paise apni behen pe kharch kar deti thi, wo mere paise pe kya hi niyat rakhegi", he replied back as he know her perfectly.

He continued, "Aur raha naam, to wo tumhara bhi kam nahi", collecting his tie from the floor he tried to leave.

"Papa. Papa had a heart attack, he took a promise for my well being. I had no option", saying this she broke into tears and he stopped into his tracks.

He turned back, "Why didn't you tell me?". The atmosphere was numb.

She giggled this time, "because you didn't ask", and tear fell from her eyes.

He looked to the skies and complained, "Have you always hated our love?"

She said, "if he was. We have not met yet again", running into his arms.

He crushed her into his arms and pecked her forehead, "I love you Riddhima", at which she denied as five years did, "but i hate you", and with this they both laughed.

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"AHEM."

A loud, incredibly forced cough echoed from the rooftop doorway.

Armaan and Riddhima pulled apart instantly. Riddhima quickly wiped her eyes, blushing furiously, while Armaan glared at the door with the familiar, dangerous spark back in his eyes.

Four heads were peeking out from behind the door frame, stacked on top of each other. Atul was at the bottom, Rahul above him, then Muskaan, and Anjali at the very top.

"See! I told you they were up here!" Atul grinned, stumbling forward as the stack collapsed into the open terrace.

"Atul, you idiot, you ruined the climax!" Rahul groaned, rubbing his elbow. "They were just getting to the good part."

"Rahul!" Anjali scolded, hitting his arm before turning to Riddhima with soft eyes. "Riddhima... are you okay?"

Riddhima looked at Armaan, and then at her friends. For the first time in five years, a genuine, beautiful smile broke across her face. She nodded.

Armaan crossed his arms, a familiar smirk playing on his lips. He looked at Rahul. "Hey, loyalty-free friend. Care to explain why you were spying on my romantic moment?"

"Spying? Please, Malik," Rahul scoffed, dusting his jacket. "We were doing a quality check. And honestly? Your dialogue delivery was a bit rusty. 'It still beats only for you'? Very 90s, bro."

"Oh, like you could do better, Rahul!" Muskaan laughed, nudging him. "At least Armaan has a heart. Yours is just full of hair gel ingredients."

"Hey! My hair is a work of art!"

Atul bounced over, grabbing Armaan’s arm on one side and Riddhima’s on the other, pulling them together. "The basket is full again! The gang is back!"

Armaan looked down at Riddhima, his arm naturally finding its place around her waist, pulling her close against his side. The cold doctor was gone. The warmth of Sanjeevani was finally back.

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