Aarav Malhotra hated hospitals.
The smell of antiseptic.
The constant beeping.
The feeling of being… weak.
He sat on the hospital bed, sleeves rolled up, irritation written all over his face as Dr. Ananya flipped through his reports.
“You need to stay for observation,” she said, eyes focused on the file.
“No,” Aarav replied instantly. “I have meetings.”
Ananya looked up slowly.
“Your heart skipped twice in the last hour.”
Silence.
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Mr. Malhotra,” she added. “That was a medical order.”
He clenched his jaw. “You doctors love control, don’t you?”
She smiled—small, calm, dangerous.
“And you businessmen hate being told no.”
For the first time, Aarav felt something unfamiliar.
Interest.
Later that night, Aarav couldn’t sleep.
The city lights glowed outside his window, but his mind kept replaying her voice—firm yet gentle.
The door creaked open.
Dr. Ananya walked in, holding a clipboard.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer immediately. “Do you always talk to patients like that?”
“Only the stubborn ones.”
A pause.
“You don’t look like someone who rests,” she added.
“And you don’t look like someone who judges.”
She met his gaze.
“I see hearts for a living, Mr. Malhotra. Yours is tired.”
For a moment, the billionaire had no walls left to hide behind.
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