A U T H O R ' S  P O V

As usual, like every morning, Diya wakes up before the sun fully rises. The faint golden light slips quietly through the curtains and rests on her face as if the morning itself is trying to greet her gently. The world outside is still half asleep, wrapped in soft silence, and for a few seconds she simply lies there, staring at the ceiling, listening to her own breathing.

But today feels different.

Today, her chest does not feel heavy. There is no sudden gasp for air. No cold sweat clinging to her skin. No invisible weight pressing down on her ribs as though fear has chosen her heart as its permanent home.

For the first time since she escapes the house that was supposed to protect her but only ever harmed her, she wakes up with a smile.

It is not forced. It is not fragile. It is not something she rehearses for the world.

It is real.

Because last night, her sleep was kind.

She dreams of him again.

Her chaand.

The boy who lives in her heart like moonlight lives in darkness. In her dream, he does not speak much. He simply looks at her as if she is something precious instead of something broken. His eyes hold warmth, and in that warmth she does not feel afraid.

She feels seen.

She presses her palm gently against her chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath her skin, as if her heart itself is learning a new language this morning. The room is quiet, wrapped in the soft hush of dawn, and her voice rises like a prayer carried by light.

"For so long I woke in pieces, stitched together by survival. But today I rise whole, as if the night has finally returned what it stole. If this trembling light inside me is hope, then let it stay. I am ready to believe in mornings again."

She closes her eyes again for a moment, thinking.

Hope is strange. It does not arrive with noise. It does not announce itself loudly. It comes like morning light, slowly, quietly, asking nothing except a little space to exist. And for the first time in years, Diya allows it to stay.

She sits up carefully, pulling her blanket aside. There is a calmness in her movements that has been missing for so long.

Just as she swings her legs off the bed, the door creaks open.

She turns her head and sees Aakriti peeking inside, her eyes bright and her lips already curved into a smile.

"You woke up, my doll?" Aakriti asks, her voice soft and warm, a bright smile lighting her face.

How can she not be happy? For the first time, Diya has not jolted awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, trapped in the shadows of her past. The room had stayed quiet all night as Diya had slept peacefully.

"Yes," Diya replies, her eyes shining with fragile hope. "I feel like today something good will happen."

Those simple words make Aakriti exhale slowly. She has waited so long to see that spark again which she had lost two and half years ago because of someone who chose to leave them alone after giving them so much hope of having a family.

Aakriti walks closer and gently cups Diya's face, her palms warm against her cheeks. She presses a tender kiss to Diya's forehead and whispers, "Of course only good things will happen with you. My Diya deserves all the happiness in the world. Nothing less."

Diya nods, though doubt still lingers quietly inside her. She knows her luck. She knows how often hope slips through her fingers. Yet today she wants to believe in Aakriti's words. If Aakriti says something good will happen, maybe it will.

"By the way," Diya says, narrowing her eyes playfully, "why are you awake so early?"

Aakriti's smile falters. Guilt flashes across her face for just a second.

Diya notices immediately. "Do not tell me you..." she begins, her voice rising.

Before she can finish, Aakriti leans forward and plants a quick kiss on Diya's cheek. The protest dies instantly. Diya stares at her, pretending to glare, though the softness in her eyes gives her away.

"I had work to finish," Aakriti explains, folding her hands dramatically. "You know me. I am a curious cat. I cannot sleep when there are shady people hiding secrets. I need to uncover them and expose them. So I stayed up all night."

She pouts, trying to look adorable.

Diya rolls her eyes, though affection warms her expression. She has heard this excuse many times before. Every time Aakriti forgets to rest. Every time she pushes herself too hard.

"You are impossible," Diya mutters, but her voice is full of concern. She gently rubs her thumb over the faint dark circles beneath her eyes. "You will rest the whole day. That is not a request."

"If you do not," Diya adds, trying to sound strict though her voice trembles with care, "I will deactivate the wifi connection."

Aakriti quickly bows her head in surrender. "Yes, ma'am. I will sleep after you leave for the hospital. I promise."

She peeks up at Diya with exaggerated obedience, hands still folded.

Diya's lips twitch. A small laugh escapes her before she can stop it. The sound is light and genuine, filling the room like sunlight. Aakriti's heart swells at that laughter. She laughs too, not because the moment is funny, but because it feels precious.

The morning moves forward gently, wrapped in warmth and the comforting aroma of freshly cooked food. By the time Diya freshens up and steps into the dining area, the table is already set.

Aakriti has prepared everything before Diya wakes up. Golden brown aloo parathas rest neatly in a casserole, still soft and warm. A bowl of fresh dahi sits beside them, cool and creamy. A tall glass of mixed fruit juice glows in the sunlight filtering through the window, its color a blend of apple, grapes, orange, guava, and pomegranate.

Diya pauses for a moment, taking it all in. She knows Aakriti must have stayed up the entire night working, yet she still finds the energy to cook both breakfast and lunch. Diya understands the silent reason behind it. Aakriti knows that once Diya leaves for the hospital, sleep will claim her instantly. She will most likely doze off within minutes and wake only in the evening, perhaps just before Diya returns. So she prepares everything in advance, making sure Diya never has to worry about cooking.

They sit across from each other and begin eating. Aakriti watches carefully as Diya takes each bite, as if measuring her appetite and satisfaction. Diya notices and shakes her head lightly.

After breakfast, Aakriti brings out the neatly packed lunch box. She places it into Diya's hands with a serious expression.

"Eat it on time," she says firmly. "Do not even think about giving me excuses that you forgot. I have already informed Sweety Aunty to keep an eye on you."

She lifts her forefinger and wiggles it in warning.

Diya chuckles at the sight. "I will send you a video of me eating my lunch, okay?"

"You better," Aakriti replies in a stern tone, though the authority weakens as a yawn escapes her mouth. Her exhaustion finally reveals itself.

Diya's expression softens immediately. She steps closer and presses a gentle kiss to Aakriti's cheek. "Go and sleep properly. I am leaving now. Lock the door after me."

Aakriti smiles and leans forward to kiss Diya's forehead, her touch lingering for a second longer than usual. "Okay, my doll."

The corridor is calm as she makes her way downstairs and begins her journey toward Aparna Devi Hospital.

The morning air is fresh against her skin, and the city slowly awakens around her. She rides her scooty through familiar streets with her calm mind and utter carefulness.

After half an hour, she reaches the hospital premises. She parks her scooty carefully in the designated area and removes her helmet. For a brief moment, she simply stands there, looking at the building before her.

Aparna Devi Hospital.

The name itself carries weight in her heart.

Before entering through the main doors, Diya turns toward the large portrait placed near the entrance. The portrait of Aparna Singh Rathore watches over the hospital with calm strength in her eyes.

Aparna Singh Rathore is the woman after whom the hospital is named. She had treated more than ten thousand women and children who had suffered the horrors of $exual assault and r@pe. She had not only healed broken bodies but also sat beside shattered souls and listened to the voices that society tried to silence. She had fought legal battles, supported families, and stood firm when others chose to look away. For many women and children, she is not just a doctor. She is the first person who truly heard them. She had become their strength when they had none left.

To Diya, she is nothing less than an angel walking in human form.

Diya steps closer to the portrait. Her eyes soften, filling with reverence. She joins her hands and bows her head slightly.

"Good morning, my inspiration," she whispers gently. "I hope today I can help many people and bring smiles to their faces. Please bless me. Have a beautiful day, Aparna Maa."

Nine years ago, when Diya first joined medical college, she heard about Aparna Singh Rathore and her extraordinary work. The stories of her courage and compassion stayed with Diya. Slowly admiration turned into devotion. With each passing year, Aparna becomes more than an inspiration. She becomes a guiding light. So Diya begins to call her Aparna Maa in her heart, unaware of how deeply that word resonates with destiny.

She lowers her hands and looks up at the portrait once more. There is determination in her eyes, but also softness.

Then she walks inside.

The hospital corridors are already alive with movement. Nurses hurry past with files in hand. Junior interns gather near the reception desk. Medical students wait nervously for their practical sessions.

Diya enters with a bright smile that reaches her eyes.

"Good morning," she greets a nurse carrying patient charts.

"Good morning, Diya ma'am," the nurse replies instantly, her face lighting up.

Diya stops for a moment to help a junior intern who drops a stack of papers. She kneels without hesitation, gathers the scattered sheets, arranges them neatly, and hands them back with an encouraging smile. "Do not worry. It happens. Take a deep breath."

The nervous intern nods, visibly calmer.

As she walks further, she greets every person she crosses. Not mechanically. Not out of obligation. She remembers names. She asks about a nurse's sick mother. She encourages a medical student who struggles during yesterday's procedure. She thanks the ward boy for keeping the hallway spotless.

Her kindness is effortless. It flows naturally, like sunlight through open windows.

In just six months at this hospital, Diya had won countless hearts. Patients feel comforted by her gentle voice. Children stop crying when she kneels to their level and speaks softly to them. Even the most irritable patients soften under her patient care.

At first, a few girls felt jealous of her. They whispered among themselves, wondering how someone can be so loved in such a short time. But jealousy does not survive long in front of genuine warmth.

Because Diya never competes. She never boasts. She praises others openly, shares credit and helps without being asked.

There is something disarming about her innocence. Something pure in the way she smiles, it shows how she truly believes every person deserves to find happiness.

As she walks through the corridor, sunlight falls across her face. For a brief second, she looks almost ethereal.

And without realizing it, she begins her day the same way her inspiration once did.

By choosing kindness.

"Diya, my child!"

Sweety Aunty's cheerful voice echoes through the corridor the moment she spots her.

Diya turns instantly, her face lighting up. "Good morning, my Sweetu aunty."

Sweety Aunty walks toward her and pats her cheek affectionately. There is something deeply maternal in the gesture. Though she is one of the senior nurses in the cardiology department, with years of experience behind her, she treats Diya like her own daughter.

"Good morning, beta," she replies warmly.

Soon they walk together toward the cardiology wing where their senior consultant, Dr. Rashmi is already reviewing patient files. At her signal, both Diya and Sweety Aunty follow her into a private cabin for a pre operative evaluation.

Inside the cabin, a six year old boy lies on the hospital bed. His tiny arms are folded across his chest and a deep scowl decorates his face. His mother sits beside him, holding a plate of freshly cut apples. She gently moves a fork with a small apple piece toward his mouth.

"Just one bite, Chintu," she pleads softly.

He turns his face away stubbornly.

His refusal has nothing to do with the fruit. He is waiting for his favourite person.

And that favorite person is Diya.

A few days ago, she promised him that if he behaves like a brave boy and cooperates for his upcoming cardiac surgery, she will reward him with a lollipop and lots of kisses on his cheeks. Since then, he listens to her every instruction.

Diya steps inside quietly, observing the scene. Then she clears her throat dramatically.

"Hmm," she says in a thoughtful tone, pretending to scan the room. "Is there a bad boy here who is not eating his fruits?"

The boy's eyes widened instantly. His scowl disappears as if someone erases it. He sits up straight and looks at her.

Without wasting a second, he snatches the plate from his mother's hand, quickly takes a piece of apple, and stuffs it into his mouth.

"Who?" he says between bites. "Not me, my future girlfriend."

The entire room bursts into laughter. Even Dr. Rashmi hides a smile behind her file.

Diya places a hand over her heart in mock shock. "Future girlfriend? Such big words for such a small cute patient."

Within minutes, the atmosphere lightens.

Dr. Rashmi gestures to Diya. "Please proceed with the assessment."

Diya nods and moves closer to the bed. Her playful expression shifts into focused professionalism. She sanitizes her hands and begins the examination.

She checks his vital signs first. Blood pressure within normal range for his age. Heart rate slightly elevated due to anxiety but stable. Oxygen saturation is steady. She gently places the stethoscope on his chest and listens carefully to the cardiac sounds, assessing the murmur that has been diagnosed earlier. She evaluates respiratory effort, checks capillary refill time, and reviews his pre operative blood reports and echocardiography findings on the monitor.

All the while, her voice remains soft.

"Take a deep breath for me. Good. Now again."

The boy watches her with complete trust.

After completing the systemic examination and reviewing the lab parameters, Diya turns toward Dr. Rashmi.

"Everything is stable, ma'am. Vitals are within acceptable limits. He is fit for the scheduled procedure."

Dr. Rashmi nods, clearly impressed by Diya's precision and clarity. "Good work," she says.

Just then, a small voice interrupts the clinical atmosphere.

"Main thik toh ho jaunga na?" the boy asks quietly.
("Will I be okay?")

The room falls silent. His mother's fingers tighten around the bedsheet. The unspoken fear in her eyes becomes visible.

Dr. Rashmi steps closer to the bed and gently places her hand on his head.

"Thik?" she says with a reassuring smile. "Thik se bhi zyada thik ho jaoge. You will be healthier and stronger. After all, you have to take care of your future girlfriend, right?"

("Okay?"
"You will be more than okay.)

A soft wave of laughter spreads through the room again, easing the tension that briefly settles in.

Diya leans down and kisses his forehead lightly. "And brave boys recover very fast. I will be right outside. Do not be stubborn and listen to your mother." He nodded in obedience.

After a few more playful exchanges, Diya and Dr. Rashmi step out of the cabin. The corridor feels calmer now. Together they begin their ward rounds, reviewing patient charts, checking post operative cases, adjusting medications, and speaking with families.

Diya listens carefully to every complaint, explains procedures in simple words, and reassures anxious relatives with patience. In between clinical responsibilities, she offers small smiles and gentle encouragement.

And as she walks beside her senior, file in hand and purpose in her eyes, she looks every bit like the healer she dreams of becoming.

After two hours, Dr. Rashmi turns to Diya, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

"Diya, do you remember checking up on Sunetra Bhati?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, her tone teasing.

Diya blinks, her brow furrowing in concentration. She racks her memory but comes up empty. "Sunetra Bhati?" she repeats, a little unsure.

Dr. Rashmi chuckles softly, the sound warm but full of amusement. She knows exactly that Diya may not remember her as she treats every patient the same, with compassion and attention, no matter how rich, poor, grumpy, or demanding.

"The woman who grilled you with the seriousness of a judge, who stared at you as if she could see through your very soul, eyes narrowed like laser beams full of suspicion... that is Sunetra Bhati," Dr. Rashmi explains. She leans back slightly, shaking her head with a grin. "She is my grandfather's cousin's daughter. In short, she is my Maasi."

Diya's eyes widened in instant recognition. Her cheeks flush slightly as she recalls the stern lady, the one who had questioned every word Diya said with unwavering suspicion.

"I didn't know, ma'am," Diya says softly, her voice edged with nervousness. "Did I... did I do anything wrong?"

"No, no, beta," Dr. Rashmi replies immediately, waving her hands as if to brush away the thought. "You are one of the brightest doctors I have seen in my twenty-eight years of experience. You treated her like any other patient—with the same care, the same patience. You did perfectly. Don't worry about her stare or her questions. That is just her way."

Diya lets out a long, shaky sigh of relief, the tension in her shoulders melting slightly.

Dr. Rashmi chuckles again, a twinkle in her eyes as she recalls the next piece of news. "It is just... her grandson is coming today. And let me warn you—he is a little terror. That brat throws fits the moment he sees an injection. Even talking about it seems to set him off."

Sweety Aunty joins in, laughing. "You know, ma'am, even my son, who is in his late thirties now, cries like a baby when he sees a needle. He always says, 'It will make a huge hole in my arm and suck out all my blood.' I could not believe how he became an adult."

Diya bursts into laughter, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, exactly! They think it's far worse than it actually is. But they just need a little care, a little attention, and someone to distract them. That's all." Diya recalled how her little patients reacted. But she knows exactly how to handle them: a little storytelling magic, or the promise of one of her special sweet and sour orange candies, and they suddenly forget their fear.

Dr. Rashmi put her hand on Diya's shoulder apologetically, a faint guilt clouding her features. "Anyway, beta, I wanted to warn you. He is coming today for his tetanus shot. I would have stayed with you, but I have some urgent bank work. Otherwise, I would have loved to face that little monster together with you."

Diya smiles, brushing aside the concern. "It's okay, ma'am. No problem at all. You go take care of your work. I'll handle it. You will not get a single complaint."

Dr. Rashmi smirks, shaking her head. "I know I won't get complaints from you. That is why I trust you completely. But be careful. That little brat can turn an entire room upside down. He has the energy of a cyclone, the stubbornness of a mule, and the drama of a soap opera hero."

Diya laughs, her shoulders shaking. "Don't worry, ma'am. I've got this. Bring him on." She adjusts her stethoscope around her neck, her eyes twinkling with determination.

Dr. Rashmi nods, satisfied, and steps out of the ward. She glances over her shoulder, giving Diya a final warning with a playful sparkle in her eyes. "He'll be here in just an hour. All the best." She lifts her hand and gives a thumbs up, the gesture both encouraging and teasing.

Diya waves back, her grin confident, unaware of the tiny storm heading her way.

As Dr. Rashmi walks down the corridor, she pulls out her phone and types a quick message. A mischievous smirk spreads across her lips as she hits send. The corners of her eyes crinkle with amusement. Clearly, she knows something Diya does not.

And here Diya is already imagining the "child" in her mind. She pictures a tiny, mischievous boy with chubby cheeks, sparkling eyes, and endless energy, ready to test her patience but also melt her heart.

"Cute sa bacha hi toh hai, kya hi karega," she thinks.
(He is just a cute little kid, what might he do?)

But she has no idea that the "little kid" is actually a towering twenty-nine-year-old man, ready to make her heart skip a beat with a single mischievous look.

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