Vaibhav

The day had barely settled when urgency knocked again.

Vaibhav was in his cabin, going through reports, when a male nurse rushed in, breathless.
“Sir, emergency in the ER. A child… head injury.”

He was on his feet before the sentence ended.

In the emergency ward, his eyes immediately assessed the situation — the blood, the fall, the panic in the air. A quick exchange of words followed, and he noticed her then — standing close, worry written all over her face, trying to be strong.

No time to linger.

He moved into action, and the boy was wheeled into surgery.

The hours passed with practiced precision. When it was over, when the child was stable, he finally allowed himself a quiet breath.

He asked the nurse to call her in.

This time, she came alone.

The manager had already left from the door of hospital itself as  the other children were frightened, restless, and needed reassurance.

She stood in his cabin, and for the first time, he really noticed her.

Her cream-coloured suit was stained with crimson. Her hair was slightly undone. She looked shaken — composed, yet fragile.

“Please sit,” he said gently, pulling out a chair.

He offered her water, waiting as she took a few moments to steady herself.

Then he asked – “ how are you related to the child?”

She replied-“ she just visits orphanage sometimes and from there she knows the kid ,the mangager of the orphanage also wanted to come here but the other kids got scared from this incident so he went back to calm them down.

 He nodded and then, calmly, clearly, he explained everything — the surgery, the recovery, the precautions.
“He’ll stay in the hospital for a week,” he said. “After that, you can take him back. Just be careful for the next few weeks.”

She listened intently, gratitude filling her eyes.

After she left, Vaibhav resumed his rounds, checking on other patients — routine, familiar, grounding.

It was then that he noticed something near his cabin door.

A jhumka.

He bent down and picked it up, recognition softening his expression. A small smile touched his lips — uninvited, but sincere.

“I’ll return it when she comes next,” he murmured, placing it carefully in his drawer.

The day pulled him back into its rhythm soon enough.

Rounds. Reports. Calls.

And somewhere between responsibility and routine, he forgot about the jhumka — unaware that it had quietly chosen to stay.