After twenty minutes of a tense, suffocating ride, the taxi screeched to a halt in front of the city hospital. Before it had fully stopped, Rudra pushed the door open, threw some cash at the driver, and bolted out.
The sharp smell of antiseptic hit him the moment he stepped inside. Bright white lights flooded the corridor, too harsh, too cold—everything felt unreal. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as his eyes darted around, searching, desperate… until they locked onto the reception counter.
He rushed forward.
"Hello—I'm Rudra Singh. Where is my mother?" His voice came out strained, almost breaking under the weight of panic.
The receptionist glanced up, momentarily taken aback by his urgency. "What is your mother's name?" she asked, her tone measured but firm.
"Devi… Devi Singh," he replied, swallowing hard, his fingers curling into fists as if holding himself together.
The sound of keys tapping against the keyboard felt agonizingly slow. Each second stretched unbearably, tightening the knot in his chest.
Finally, she looked back at him. "Ward number five. Room 3E."
For a split second, Rudra just nodded, the words barely registering—then he turned and ran.
"Thank you," he threw over his shoulder, already halfway down the corridor, his footsteps echoing as urgency pulled him forward toward whatever awaited him behind that door.
Just as Rudra reached Room 3E, his hand trembling as it moved toward the handle, the door suddenly swung open from the inside.
A group of doctors stepped out, their white coats brushing past him like a passing storm.
"Doctor—doctor! What happened to my mother? Is she okay?" Rudra's voice came out rushed, almost desperate, his eyes searching their faces for any sign—hope or fear, he didn't know.
The doctors paused, slightly startled by his sudden urgency. One of them stepped forward, adjusting his glasses as he studied Rudra for a moment.
"Is Devi Singh your mother?" he asked.
"Yes, doctor," Rudra replied immediately, his throat dry, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
The doctor gave a small nod before speaking, his tone calm but firm. "She is out of danger for now."
Those words hit Rudra like a sudden release, the tension in his chest loosening—just a little.
"But," the doctor continued, his expression turning serious, "her condition is not something to take lightly. If she continues doing heavy work, it could worsen… and may even develop into a chronic illness."
Rudra's breath hitched, the brief relief replaced by a quieter, heavier worry.
"She needs proper rest. At least half a month," the doctor added. "Take good care of her."
For a moment, Rudra could only nod, absorbing every word like it was carved into stone.
The head doctor gently patted his shoulder—a small gesture, but steadying—before turning and walking away with the others, their footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving Rudra standing alone in front of the half-open door… and whatever waited for him inside.
After the doctors left, the corridor fell into an uneasy silence. Rudra stood there for a moment, staring at the half-open door, his hand still hovering in the air—before finally pushing it open and stepping inside.
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
And then he saw her.
Devi lay on the bed, fragile beneath the white sheets, an oxygen mask covering her face. The steady hiss of the machine filled the room, each breath sounding forced, unnatural. Her eyes were sunken, darkened by exhaustion, and her hands—once warm and strong—now looked painfully thin, as if life itself had been drained out of them.
Rudra froze.
No matter how hard he tried to hold himself together, his vision blurred. Tears slipped down, one after another, unstoppable.
"I'm sorry, Ma…" his voice trembled, barely more than a whisper as he moved closer. "I never imagined… it would come to this."
He sat down beside her, his hands shaking as they gripped the edge of the bed.
"I thought… Once I became a warrior, everything would change. You wouldn't have to work anymore. We'd live peacefully…" His voice broke, guilt tightening around his chest. "I'm sorry, Ma. I'm so sorry…"
His head lowered as quiet sobs escaped him, the weight of regret pressing down harder with every second.
He had never noticed.
Never realized how much her health had been slipping… how much she had been enduring in silence.
How could it get this bad… So fast?
The thought struck him like a jolt.
Then, suddenly, something the doctor had said echoed in his mind.
Heavy work.
Rudra's brows slowly furrowed, his tears still clinging to his face as confusion crept in.
"Wait…" he muttered under his breath, lifting his head slightly.
"My mother… she only does sewing…"
His gaze shifted back to her frail figure, unease beginning to replace grief.
"Then how… did her body end up like this?"
Questions kept rising in Rudra's mind, one after another, each more unsettling than the last. But he forced himself to stop.
Right now… none of that mattered.
Not more than her.
Taking a slow breath, he pushed those thoughts aside and pulled a chair closer to the bed. Silently, he sat down beside her, his eyes never leaving her face, as if looking away even for a moment might change something.
So he waited.
The soft rhythm of the oxygen machine filled the room, blending with the ticking of the clock on the wall. Time moved painfully slow, each second stretching into the next, yet Rudra didn't move. Not once.
He just sat there… watching, guarding.
Waiting for her to open her eyes.
...
...
The next morning—
Faint sunlight crept through the hospital window, casting a pale glow across the room.
Rudra hadn't slept.
Not even for a moment.
Dark circles had formed under his eyes, his body heavy with exhaustion, yet he remained seated in the same place. Every slight movement, every small sound made his gaze snap back to her instantly.
What if she woke up in the middle of the night?
What if she needed something… and he wasn't there?
That single thought had been enough to keep him awake the entire night.
So he stayed.
Quiet. Still. Unmoving.
Waiting… just like before.
Rudra rubbed his sore, burning eyes, trying to shake off the heaviness—when a faint sound broke the silence.
"Ughh… mmm…"
It was weak. Fragile. But to him, it was louder than anything.
"Ma!" Rudra shot up from the chair, the fatigue in his body vanishing in an instant. "Are you okay, Ma?"
He rushed to her side, gently yet urgently taking her hand into his, holding it as if afraid she might slip away.
Devi's fingers twitched slightly in his grasp. Her eyelids fluttered before slowly opening, her gaze unfocused at first.
"Rudra…?" her voice was barely a whisper. "Is that you… my son?"
"I'm here, Ma," he said quickly, his voice soft but unsteady, emotion tightening his throat. "I'm right here."
She tried to push herself up, her body trembling with the effort.
"Careful!" Rudra immediately moved closer, supporting her before she could strain herself further. "Please don't… don't force yourself."
He gently adjusted the pillows behind her, lifting her just enough to make her comfortable. "Here… lean back," he said, his movements careful, almost afraid of hurting her.
Only after she settled did he let out a quiet breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, his hand still wrapped around hers, unwilling to let go.