Chapter 8 (Heartstrings and Duty)
Morning After — A Call That Changes Everything
The first light of dawn painted the Singh Mansion in soft gold, illuminating the quiet aftermath of last night’s laughter, whispered confessions, and tender closeness. Rohan woke first, stretching lightly, a contented smile tugging at his lips as memories of the previous night played in his mind.
He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to Shanaya’s forehead. She stirred, half-awake, murmuring his name softly in a drowsy haze. Her lashes fluttered, a faint smile curling her lips before she drifted back into sleep.
The phone on the bedside table buzzed sharply, pulling Rohan from the warmth of the moment. He picked it up, frowning as he noticed the hospital’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hello?” he answered, his voice still husky with sleep.
“Sir, we’ve found a man… he’s in a critical state. He keeps calling out for your wife,” a nurse explained urgently. “We need someone to identify him, or at least come quickly — it’s serious.”
Rohan blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “My wife?” he echoed. “Who…?”
“We don’t know, sir. He keeps repeating her name over and over. He was found in the streets, injured, barely conscious. We stabilized him, but you need to come.”
Rohan’s gaze shifted to the sleeping Shanaya, her hair tousled over the pillow, her chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. He swallowed hard, a knot tightening in his stomach. Something about the urgency, the mention of his wife… it felt like a puzzle he had to solve.
He gently pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Shanaya… stay here. I need to go check on someone. I’ll be back soon.”
Shanaya stirred, blinking sleepily. “Who…? Rohan?”
“Someone… in trouble. I’ll explain when I return,” he said softly, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. He rose quietly, careful not to wake her fully, and dressed swiftly.
The drive to the hospital was tense. Rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and reflective, and Rohan’s mind raced with questions. Who was this man? And why did her name come out of his lips?
When he arrived, the nurse guided him through the busy corridors, her voice brisk yet gentle. “He’s in the ICU. We kept him under observation. He’s stable now, but he’s calling her name again and again.”
Rohan’s heart pounded as the doors to the ICU opened. Inside, a man lay in the bed, bandages wrapped hastily around his wounds. His eyes fluttered, half-conscious, lips moving repeatedly in a strained whisper.
“…Shanaya… Shanaya…”
Rohan froze, his pulse racing. The voice, the desperation, the familiarity of that name — it hit him like a thunderclap.
He stepped closer, dread and disbelief warring in his chest. “How…? It can’t be…”
The nurse gave a small nod toward the man, concern etched on her face. “He’s been asking for your wife continuously. We couldn’t get much else from him, sir.”
Rohan’s gaze locked on the man in the bed, shock rooting him to the spot. The world seemed to tilt — the joyous, playful moments of last night at the mansion clashing violently with this new, urgent reality.
Shanaya’s name hung in the air again, a thread connecting hearts across fear, love, and unspoken truths. And for Rohan, the man calling out… could only be one person.
Shock in the ICU — Rohan’s Dilemma
Rohan’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the man on the ICU bed. Every instinct screamed at him — that voice, the urgency in which it clung to Shanaya’s name, the slight flutter of recognition in his eyes — it was him. But the injuries, the pallor, the frailty of the man lying there… it was almost impossible to reconcile.
He stepped closer, heart hammering. “Abhimanyu…?” he whispered, though the word felt too loud in the sterile silence of the ICU.
The man’s eyes flickered, recognition and pain mingling in their depths. He tried to lift a hand, reaching out as though trying to grasp the warmth of the world outside the hospital walls. His lips barely moved again: “…Shanaya…”
Rohan’s chest tightened. A thousand questions collided in his mind. How? Why? When? And most importantly — should he tell Shanaya? Could he?
The nurse noticed his hesitation. “Sir, he’s weak. He’s been calling her name continuously. We can’t get him to explain much else.”
Rohan nodded, swallowing hard. He couldn’t linger — he had to act. Yet every step forward felt heavy, loaded with the weight of a secret he now carried alone.
He pressed a hand to the railing of the bed, staring at the man’s fragile form. The pain etched across his face mirrored the desperation he had felt in the streets — the same unwavering devotion that had driven him, that had carried him this far.
Rohan’s mind raced, thinking of Shanaya sleeping peacefully back at the mansion. How could he possibly bring this to her? How could he protect her from the shock, the fear, the possibility of heartbreak?
The man’s whisper — Shanaya’s name again — pulled Rohan out of his spiraling thoughts. His hand clenched into a fist, jaw tight. “I’ll figure this out,” he muttered to himself, voice low, almost inaudible. “I’ll make sure she knows… when the time is right.”
He turned to the nurse. “Please, keep me updated. Don’t let anyone see him calling her. I need time to handle this… carefully.”
The nurse nodded, her eyes sympathetic. “Of course, sir.”
Rohan’s Sacrifice — Love Held at a Distance
Rohan leaned against the cool wall outside the ICU, chest tightening with a storm of emotions. The man inside — injured, frail, murmuring Shanaya’s name with desperate devotion — was proof that their past, their promises, and her heart were all tangled in ways he could never ignore.
The memory of last night — Shanaya’s laughter, the warmth of her skin, the softness in her eyes — pressed against him, sweet and urgent. And yet, each heartbeat carried guilt. He had found love, but it was not his alone to claim.
Rohan’s hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms. He could protect Shanaya, he could stand by her — but at what cost? To take the happiness he had felt, even for a moment, while another man’s life clung desperately to her name, felt like a betrayal he could never forgive himself for.
He glanced back at the ICU bed, at the pale, injured figure whispering her name. A shiver ran down his spine — not of fear for himself, but of the weight of responsibility pressing on his soul. If he pursued his own desires now, he might snatch her away from the man who needed her, the man whose life had somehow been tethered to hers.
Rohan drew in a deep breath, the decision crystallizing with painful clarity. He would step back. He would sacrifice his own love. His heart ached, threatening to break into a thousand jagged pieces, but he knew it was the only choice that could honor both Shanaya and the man whose voice haunted the room.
He turned, his gaze soft but resolute, toward the quiet streets outside the hospital. “I’ll stay close,” he whispered to himself, voice low, almost inaudible. “I’ll protect her, I’ll watch over her… but I won’t be the one who takes her away from him. Not now. Not ever.”
Every step he took away from the ICU felt heavy with longing and restraint. Each beat of his heart screamed her name, yet he swallowed the ache, burying it beneath layers of duty and conscience. He would bear the pain of loving from afar, of watching her happiness exist without him, if it meant honoring what was right.
Returning to Shanaya — Love Held in Silence
Rohan stepped quietly out of the hospital, the sterile scent still lingering in his clothes, the weight of what he had seen pressing on his chest. His hands were cold, his heart a heavy rhythm of longing and restraint. Every instinct screamed to run back to Shanaya, to hold her close, to lose himself in the warmth of her presence — but he could not.
He returned to the Singh Mansion, slipping inside before Shanaya had woken. The house was quiet, the soft morning light spilling across the floorboards and the faint remnants of last night’s closeness lingering in the air.
He found her still asleep, curled on her side, her hair spread across the pillow, a soft smile ghosting her lips. The sight of her — peaceful, untroubled, unaware of the storm outside — twisted the knife of his heart.
Rohan knelt beside her bed, pressing a light kiss to her forehead, lingering in the warmth of her skin. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, a small sigh escaping her lips, but she did not wake. He traced a finger along her shoulder, memorizing the curve of her arm, the softness of her hands, the rhythm of her breathing.
Every moment with her was now tinged with bittersweet pain. He wanted to stay, to hold her, to speak the words he could no longer afford to say. But the memory of the man in the ICU, weak and whispering her name, gnawed at his conscience. He could not — would not — let his desire eclipse the life and love that still clung to her.
With a heavy heart, Rohan rose, careful not to stir her. He adjusted her blanket over her shoulders, smoothing the folds with gentle fingers. “Stay safe,” he whispered softly, voice trembling with the weight of unspoken love. “I’ll always be here… watching, protecting… even if from afar.”
He stepped to the door, pausing as he looked back at her sleeping form. The ache in his chest was sharp, raw, a mixture of love, guilt, and sorrow. Yet in that quiet moment, he made a vow: her happiness would come first, even if it meant sacrificing his own.
Outside, the morning sun warmed the streets, oblivious to the battles of the heart unfolding within the mansion. Rohan slid quietly into his car, the drive to the hospital awaiting him, the path of duty and sacrifice stretching ahead.
As Shanaya stirred, blinking against the morning light, she felt a strange emptiness, a subtle absence she could not name. But Rohan was gone, leaving behind only the faint echo of his presence — the warmth of a touch, the softness of a kiss on her forehead, and a heart that loved her more than words could ever hold.
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To be continued.
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