The next morning, Aarav was already on his phone, giving instructions like the hospital was his office.
“Cancel the merger meeting—no, reschedule—”
“Mr. Malhotra.”
Ananya’s voice cut through his call.
He sighed and ended it. “Yes, Doctor?”
“You’re not leaving today.”
He smirked. “You sound very sure.”
“I am.”
He leaned back, studying her.
“You talk to me like you’re not scared of me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Should I be?”
“No one ever isn’t.”
She stepped closer, her tone calm but firm.
“I’m your doctor, not your employee. In here, your money doesn’t make decisions. Your heart does.”
Something shifted.
Not attraction.
Not love.
Respect.
Later, while walking in the hospital corridor under supervision, Aarav suddenly felt dizzy. Ananya instinctively held his arm.
Her touch was warm.
Too warm.
He looked down at her hand. She quickly pulled back.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
But it was already too late.
For the first time in years, Aarav felt his heart race—not from stress, but from her nearness.
“Dr. Verma,” he said quietly, “you’re dangerous.”
She smiled softly.
“So are you, Mr. Malhotra.”
And just like that, the line between patient and doctor began to blur.
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