PROLOGUE
`Some people are born to save lives. Others are born to be saved. And then there are people like me... stuck in the middle, deciding who gets to live today.`
*AIIMS Rishikesh. 4th Year MBBS.*
Rishikesh in September smelled like wet pine and medicine. The AIIMS campus sat on the edge of the hills, where white buildings met green slopes. In the morning the Ganga mist would roll through the hostels. The library had floor-to-ceiling windows, and if you sat by the last corner seat, you could see the mountains turn gold at sunset.
There were banyan trees older than the hospital, corridors that echoed with pager beeps, and notice boards full of names and ranks. Anjali Singh’s name was always there.
Four years.
Four years of sleepless nights, of viva questions that felt like interrogations, of holding a dying patient’s hand when there was nothing else to do.
The setbacks carved her. The hardships taught her. She didn’t believe in destiny. She believed in triage.
That philosophy was tested in 2nd year.
*AIIMS Rishikesh. 2nd Year. National Medical Conference.*
The conference hall was packed. Speakers from Delhi, Mumbai, NCMC.Anjali was sitting in the last row, taking notes, when the speaker got a protocol wrong for mass casualty management.
She stood up.
`Sir, with respect, that algorithm will cost lives in the first 20 minutes.`
Silence. Then whispers.
After the session, he found her near the canteen.
Reyansh Gupta. Final year. NCMC Delhi.
Tall. Sharp jaw. The kind of guy whose presentation slides had jokes in them and still got applause.
`You just publicly corrected a HOD,` he said. `Brave. Or stupid.`
`Correct,` she replied. `Not brave.`
He laughed. `I’m Reyansh. You argue like you’re running out of time.`
`I’m Anjali. And leave me alone.`
He didn’t leave after that.
He found reasons.
`I need help with this research paper. You’re the only one who’ll tell me if it’s trash.` . You coming?` 'Library. 8pm. Don’t make me wait.`
He pursued her with patience. Notes before exams. A coffee when she was on 24hr duty. Travelling back and forth,Walking her back to the hostel after late rounds because `Rishikesh roads are not safe at 2am, Dr. Singh.`
She didn’t fall fast. She watched.
But he was consistent. No games. Just effort.
Slowly, she let herself trust him. Then believe in him.
2 years.
Hidden from parents. No Instagram posts. Just canteen maggi, stolen 10 minutes between wards, and him saying `You’ll be the best surgeon in the country` like he meant it.
She thought things were finally going great.
---
