Chapter Three: The Scar Tissue
The heavy revolving glass doors of NeoPulse Hospital sighed open, releasing a sudden draft of chilled, clinical air as Dr. Aarambhi stepped inside. Barely twelve hours had passed since she had walked out of these doors that morning after a grueling overnight reconstructive surgery. Yet, stepping back into the grand atrium, the building already felt as though it had completely erased every physical trace of her previous shift.
Outside, the Mumbai sky was bruised with the dark purple hues of twilight, but inside, the lobby was flooded with bright, artificial light. Doctors in crisp white coats hurried past, balancing patient charts and cardboard trays of evening coffee as they prepared for night-shift handovers. Nurses exchanged reports at the central desk in practiced, rhythmic whispers, while busy orderlies pushed patients toward late-night radiology scans. High above the reception area, television screens mounted to the pillars quietly broadcast the prime-time evening news. The hospital, with its relentless, mechanical rhythm, had simply moved on.
But Aarambhi hadn't.
She adjusted the heavy strap of her tote bag, pulling it higher onto her shoulder before swiping her identification badge against the sleek security turnstile. The familiar green light blinked with a soft beep: ACCESS GRANTED.
For a fleeting second, Aarambhi found herself staring at the word on the digital screen. Access. The term settled strangely, heavily in her chest. Last night, a single, desperate click in the system log had granted her access to a file she was never intended to see. It should have been a minor administrative detail—something she could easily dismiss. Instead, those words had followed her all the way home, stealing sleep from her during her short afternoon rest.
She had spent most of her waking hours pacing her bedroom, trying to convince herself that she was simply overthinking the situation. Hospitals generated thousands of confidential documents and printed sheets every single day. Administrative files were handled. Security audits happened. People clicked the wrong folders. There had to be a perfectly logical, completely innocent explanation.
There had to be.
Because the alternative forced her to believe something she wasn't yet ready to face: that someone inside the walls of NeoPulse had deliberately used a survivor's deepest, most private trauma as a weapon. And if that someone turned out to be Dr. Avantika Mehta... Aarambhi wasn't sure which prospect terrified her more—the sheer scale of the betrayal, or the chilling possibility that she had willingly ignored the warning signs over the last few months.
Instead of heading directly toward the Plastic Surgery department to clock in, her feet carried her instinctively toward the post-operative recovery unit. She wanted to check on the young woman's reconstruction before the night shift officially took over the floor.
Stepping into the quiet, dimly lit ward, Aarambhi approached the corner bed. The young patient lay fast asleep beneath the crisp white hospital blankets, her breathing slow and even, her face still hidden beneath carefully layered, sterile dressings. Sitting in the vinyl chair beside the bedside was the patient's mother, her exhausted shoulders slumped, staring blankly at the floor.
Aarambhi offered the older woman a quiet, reassuring nod as she approached. The mother returned a weak, grateful smile, stepping back slightly to give the doctor room to work. Aarambhi reached for the patient chart hanging at the end of the metal bed frame, scanning the vitals under her breath. Stable. Neurologically intact. Pain controlled. While a heavy, dark swelling had already begun to settle around the complex orbital repair, the structural alignment of the bone remained exactly where Aarambhi's precise hands had left it.
Only then did Aarambhi allow herself to release a small, quiet breath of relief. She hung the chart back on the frame and turned to the mother, speaking in a gentle, hushed tone so as not to wake the sleeping girl.
"Her vitals are perfect, and the swelling is entirely normal for this stage," Aarambhi murmured. "She is healing beautifully."
The patient's mother stood a little straighter, her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed the faded edge of her cotton saree. "I have been waiting here all day just to thank you, Doctor," the older woman whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears.
"Please, ji, there really is no need," Aarambhi replied softly.
"Nahi, beta, there is," the woman insisted, her eyes glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights. "The ward nurses... they told me what happened last night. They told me you never gave up on her."
Aarambhi looked back toward the sleeping girl, a soft, protective instinct tightening in her chest. "No surgeon gives up."
The mother smiled sadly, looking down at her daughter's bandaged face. "Perhaps. But not every surgeon stays to fight the system."
A heavy, emotional silence settled gently between them in the quiet ward. After a long moment, the mother looked up, her eyes searching Aarambhi's face for any scrap of certainty. "So... tell me honestly, doctor. Will my daughter ever look like herself again?"
Aarambhi's gaze lingered on the neat, hidden surgical lines beneath the thick bandages. When she answered, her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried an unyielding strength. "I cannot erase the pain of what happened to her. But I can promise you this—when she finally looks in the mirror, the first thing she sees won't be the man who did this to her."
The older woman's composure broke completely. With a choked sob, she reached out and took Aarambhi's hands, pressing them gratefully. "God sent you to us. Truly."
Aarambhi offered a polite, gentle smile, though she quietly withdrew her hands. No. God had simply placed her in the right operating theatre at the right time.
But as she turned to leave the bedside, a small, jarring detail caught her attention. She looked down at the young girl's exposed wrist, where the blanket had slipped. Dark, violent purple bruises circled the delicate bone in uneven bands, partially hidden beneath the clear IV dressing. Someone had held her down. Hard.
Aarambhi stopped walking, her breath catching in her throat as the visual image collided violently with a memory she had tried to suppress.
Manmeet. Three weeks ago. The quiet doctors' coffee room in the late afternoon. The heavy, navy-blue lab coat. A sleeve pulled down with frantic, nervous speed over a badly bruised forearm. "Oh, this? I walked into a cabinet door, Aarambhi. You know how clumsy I am."
At the time, Aarambhi had accepted the hurried explanation because Manmeet had laughed so warmly while giving it. But now, standing in the quiet recovery unit, she wondered with a chill if Manmeet had only laughed because telling the truth would have hurt far more.
A cold dread settled deep in Aarambhi's chest. Perhaps she hadn't stumbled across Manmeet’s protected file by sheer medical accident last night. Perhaps she had unknowingly walked straight into a dark, dangerous story that had been quietly unfolding inside NeoPulse for months—while everyone, including her, had been looking the other way.
Gently patting the mother's shoulder to say goodbye, Aarambhi quietly slipped out of the patient's room.
She stepped into the main, brightly lit corridor of the post-operative wing, intending to head toward the elevators to officially report for her shift. But she had barely walked ten paces past the central nurses' station when a cold, familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
"A touching sentiment."
The words drifted down the hallway with practiced, icy elegance.
Aarambhi paused, smoothing her features into a neutral mask before turning around. Dr. Avantika Mehta stood right beside the nurses' desk, perfectly framed by the busy hospital backdrop. She was dressed in a tailored ivory coat that looked freshly pressed, a sleek tablet resting elegantly against her forearm as though she had merely happened to stroll by. To anyone else, her pleasant expression would have appeared entirely gracious.
But Aarambhi knew better. It was the exact smile Avantika wore whenever she intended to draw blood without ever raising her voice.
"I wasn't aware," Avantika continued pleasantly, taking a slow, measured step toward Aarambhi, "that post-operative emotional counseling had suddenly become a part of your surgical residency training, Dr. Aarambhi."
"I was simply checking on the recovery progress of the patient I operated on last night, Dr. Mehta," Aarambhi replied, her tone perfectly even.
"Your patient?" Avantika's perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. "An interesting choice of words for a resident who nearly operated entirely outside of hospital protocol."
The conversation was quiet. Far too quiet. Which meant that every single nurse behind the desk and the interns nearby had stopped what they were doing, pretending to organize paperwork while listening to every word.
Aarambhi met her supervisor's sharp, calculating gaze without flinching. "The patient was in critical condition. She required immediate, life-saving reconstruction."
"The patient required a supervising consultant on-site before a scalpel ever touched skin," Avantika countered, her voice dropping into a smooth, dangerous register.
"You weren't available," Aarambhi said. The words landed softly, but they carried a sharp, undeniable edge.
For the briefest fraction of a second, something dark and dangerous hardened behind Avantika’s eyes. But she didn't stumble. Instead, a cold, patronizing smile touched her lips.
"My whereabouts and my executive schedule are not your concern, Dr. Aarambhi," Avantika replied smoothly, taking a step closer until she was directly in Aarambhi's space. "As department head, my responsibilities extend far beyond the emergency room. Yours, however, do not. And according to the overnight report, you were fully prepared to bypass protocol entirely."
"The report also states that Dr. Manmeet arrived, supervised, and approved the entire procedure," Aarambhi countered, refusing to back down.
"It states," Avantika corrected, her voice dropping into a low, venomous whisper, "that your impulsive, reckless judgment nearly became this hospital’s greatest liability. If Dr. Manmeet hadn't stepped in to cover your mistake, you wouldn't even be standing in this corridor today."
Aarambhi could feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the hallway pretending not to watch them. Even though she had only been under Avantika’s supervision for a few months, she had quickly learned that this was her preferred battlefield. Avantika never confronted her in private. It was always public and designed to slowly strip away your professional dignity.
Aarambhi forced a polite, steady smile. "I find it interesting, Dr. Mehta, that the only part of the overnight report that concerns you is the timing of the paperwork—not the successful, complete reconstruction of a young girl's face."
Avantika’s flawless smile froze. "Successful outcomes do not excuse poor, reckless decisions."
"No," Aarambhi agreed, her voice cool and steady. "They excuse timely ones."
For a long, agonizing heartbeat, neither woman spoke. The air between them felt thin, charged with a silent, dangerous current. Then, Avantika leaned in slightly, just enough so that her next words were meant for Aarambhi's ears alone.
"Dr. Manmeet saved your career last night," Avantika whispered, her eyes dark and completely devoid of warmth. She paused, letting the threat hang in the air. "Don't expect someone to save it twice."
Without waiting for a response, Avantika turned gracefully and walked away, her heels clicking confidently against the polished marble floor of the corridor.
Only after the ivory coat had completely disappeared around the corner did Aarambhi finally release the sharp breath she had been holding. Her hands remained perfectly steady, but her pulse was racing.
In her short months under this woman's authority, she had believed that Avantika’s greatest weapon was her powerful position as the head of the department. But now, looking at the empty hallway, she wasn't so certain.
Power wasn't what made Avantika Mehta dangerous. Secrets were.
And somewhere deep inside the administrative vaults of NeoPulse—hidden behind complex audit logs, restricted files, and one single date that refused to leave her thoughts—Avantika had made a mistake. The kind of mistake that surgeons were trained to spot. The kind that left a visible scar, no matter how carefully someone tried to stitch it closed.
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TO BE CONTINUED...
Edited by Aishwarrior - 2 days ago
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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