One year later.
The hospital hadn't changed much.
Same white walls. Same coffee that tasted like cardboard. Same endless stream of emergencies.
But Vashti Dhiman had.
She was no longer the intern with fire in her fists and heartbreak in her eyes.
She was Dr. Vashti Dhiman, one of the youngest neurosurgeons in the department—respected, confident, untouchable.
And her heart?
Quieter.
Not empty, just… healing.
She hadn't seen Shabd Heer in eight months.
After that last elevator goodbye, he'd taken a research fellowship in London. Left quietly, the same way he'd always handled things—with silence, not storms.
She didn't try to stop him this time.
She let him go.
But sometimes, when the days were too long or the nights too still, she thought about him. About the boy she loved since she was twelve.
And sometimes, her chest still ached.
One rainy evening, she walked into the conference hall for a neurosurgery symposium the hospital was hosting.
She had a paper to present. Something about spinal tumors. Her voice was steady, her delivery flawless.
When she stepped down from the podium, she spotted someone standing at the back of the room.
Tall. Calm. Familiar.
Her heart stuttered.
Shabd.
He looked the same—maybe sharper. His face more defined, hair a little longer, coat still too perfect. But his eyes—
His eyes were searching.
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
Until the crowd started to clear, and it was just the two of them again—like the world always found a way to circle them back to each other.
He walked up slowly, a small smile playing on his lips.
"You were brilliant," he said.
She blinked. "You were in London."
"I was. But I'm back."
"For good?"
He nodded. "I asked myself what mattered more—my title, or the one person who made silence unbearable."
She looked at him carefully. "You always had a way with words. Just never the timing."
Shabd's smile faded into something more sincere. "I'm not here to ask for anything, Vashti. I just wanted you to know... I never stopped loving you either."
The room was nearly empty now.
Just two people.
Still five years apart.
Still one heartbeat away.
She didn't say anything for a while.
Then she whispered—
"I know."
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