The hospital on the outskirts of Rishikesh was modest—whitewashed walls, an old tiled floor, and ceiling fans that whirred with soft persistence. Despite its simplicity, the place was clean and orderly, a quiet refuge amidst the dust and noise of the outside world.

As soon as the SUV stopped, hospital staff rushed forward to help. Niharika explained the situation while Devanshi stayed beside the injured woman, steadying her as she was lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled inside.

Inside the emergency room, a calm presence moved through the chaos—a man in his late fifties with graying hair, clear eyes, and a quiet authority about him. He wore a stethoscope around his neck, and his coat was worn from years of service.

"Doctor Bhatt!" one of the nurses called. "Head injury—brought in just now from the construction site."

Dr. Vedas Bhatt turned, his expression sharpening. He stepped over quickly and began examining the woman with practiced precision.

Devanshi stood to the side, hands clasped in front of her, her eyes never leaving the patient. She didn’t interrupt until the nurse stepped back and Vedas removed his gloves.

"Doctor, will she be alright?" Devanshi asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.
"Does she need further treatment—scans, medicine, anything? Just tell me what’s needed."

Vedas glanced at her—her attire sharp and professional, her bearing confident yet unpretentious. She looked every inch a corporate leader, but her eyes held something else—genuine care.

"She has a mild concussion and a cut that needed stitching," he replied. "We’ve stopped the bleeding. No signs of internal trauma so far, but I’ll keep her under observation for the next 24 hours. If anything changes, we’ll refer her to Dehradun."

Devanshi nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. Whatever she needs, just let me know. Don’t worry about the costs—I’ll handle it."

Vedas raised an eyebrow, surprised. He studied her face for a moment, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn," he said slowly, "but you don’t seem like someone used to stopping her day for a construction worker. Most people in your position wouldn’t even notice her fall, let alone bring her here themselves."

Devanshi’s lips curved into a small, sincere smile.

"Maybe that’s the problem with most people in my position," she replied. "If I’m building something with my name on it, I can’t let it stand on someone else’s broken back. It’s not just about profit. It’s about what kind of world we leave behind."

Vedas stared at her for a long, silent second.
There it was—in her voice, her conviction—a kind of compassion he hadn’t seen in years. And suddenly, like a gust of memory, his thoughts drifted to someone else. Someone who had once spoken with that same gentleness, that same fire masked in grace.

"You remind me of someone," he said quietly.

"Your daughter?" Devanshi guessed with a polite smile.

Vedas shook his head slowly. "No. My wife. Meera."

He didn’t elaborate further, but Devanshi saw the shift in his eyes—the soft ache of memory, the reverence in the name. She bowed her head slightly in respect.

"She must be extraordinary," Devanshi said gently.

"She is" Vedas replied, his voice distant. 

For a moment, they stood in quiet understanding—two people from very different worlds, yet bound by something deeply human.

A nurse entered to check on the patient. Devanshi took it as her cue to step back.

"Doctor, thank you for everything. I’ll check in again tomorrow. Please don’t hesitate to call me if her condition changes."

Vedas nodded. "And you—don’t stop being who you are. This world needs more people like you, Ms...?"

"Devanshi Rathore," she replied with a small smile. "And thank you, Dr. Bhatt. For doing what you do—with such honesty."

As she walked away with Niharika, Vedas watched her go, a strange sense of peace blooming in his chest.

"Meera," he thought, "if you see this girl... you'd be proud."

The evening breeze whispered through the old Bhatt household, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth and hibiscus blossoms. Inside, the warm glow of lanterns lit the modest dining room where the family sat cross-legged on floor cushions around a low wooden table.

Steam rose from the simple but hearty dinner Meera had prepared—tuar dal, ghee-soaked rotis, and sautéed pumpkin with fresh coriander. The clink of utensils and the rustle of leaves outside were the only sounds at first, until Vedas broke the silence.

"Today, something unusual happened at the hospital," he began, placing a piece of roti on his plate but not touching it. "A girl brought in an injured construction worker. Took responsibility. Sat beside her like family."

Rudraksh looked up from his meal, his brows drawn slightly.
"Some NGO worker?"

Vedas shook his head slowly. "No. She wasn’t there to volunteer. She owns the project. CEO of Rathore Enterprises. Young... maybe your age, Rudra. But..." —he paused, eyes distant— "different."

Rudraksh blinked. It was rare to hear his father speak about anyone this way. Especially someone he barely knew.

"You’re saying a businesswoman brought a labourer to our hospital?" Rudraksh asked, the disbelief sharp in his tone.

"Not just brought her—she demanded full treatment. Paid for it. Watched over her like it was her own responsibility," Vedas replied, his voice quiet but firm. "And not out of show, either. There was... honesty in her concern. It was real."

Meera stopped mid-sip of her water and glanced at her husband. It had been years since she had seen this much admiration in his eyes—especially for a stranger.

"What was her name?" she asked softly.

"Devanshi. Devanshi Rathore."

Viraj, seated at the head of the table, raised an eyebrow.
"Rathore maybe she is not from here..?"

"Yes," Vedas confirmed. "But nothing about her felt... entitled. She reminded me of someone."

Meera looked up, curious. "Who?"

Vedas looked straight at her, a strange softness flickering behind his usually guarded expression.

"You."

A beat of silence followed. Rudraksh’s hand froze mid-air, his spoon hovering just above his plate.

"She has the same kind of eyes," Vedas continued. "Brown, clear, steady. Eyes that see people, not positions."

Meera's lips parted slightly, her breath catching just a little. The comparison took her by surprise.

"You never say things like that," she said, gently amused. "You haven’t compared me to anyone in twenty years."

Vedas gave a faint smile. "Because no one reminded me of you until today."

Across the table, Rudraksh pushed his food around with his spoon, trying to mask the unease rising inside him. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him—maybe it was how much his father admired this girl, or how easily she’d captured attention without even being present.

"She must be something, this Devanshi," Viraj finally said, watching both his son and grandson carefully.

"She is," Vedas replied, finishing the last bite of his food. "She did more in a single moment than most people do in a lifetime of privilege."

Rudraksh forced a half-smile, but inside, the restlessness stirred deeper. He didn’t know why he felt this odd, simmering jealousy—for a girl he hadn’t even met.

But one thought echoed louder than the rest:
Who exactly was this Devanshi Rathore?

And why was she suddenly everywhere—in his father’s words, in his mother’s memory, and now, in his own thoughts?

The dining area at the Rathore Retreat was quiet that evening, its warm wooden interiors bathed in soft yellow light from vintage pendant lamps. A gentle breeze moved through the open windows, carrying the scent of night jasmine from the resort’s inner courtyard.

Devanshi sat alone at one of the smaller tables near the window, her plate filled with simple fare—dal, rice, and sautéed greens. She took a slow bite, the day’s exhaustion catching up with her in waves. Across the room, Niharika lingered near the doorway, her tablet still in hand, unsure whether to enter or retreat to the staff kitchen.

"Niharika," Devanshi called softly, catching sight of her. "Join me."

Niharika hesitated. "Ma’am, I—I thought you’d want to eat alone. I can sit elsewhere..."

Devanshi smiled and shook her head, gesturing to the seat across from her.
"Right now, forget the 'ma’am.' It’s dinner. And it’s just us. No CEO, no assistant. Just two women trying to survive a long day. Come, sit."

After a brief pause, Niharika stepped forward, her movements cautious but touched by quiet gratitude. She placed her tablet down, slid into the seat opposite Devanshi, and offered a shy smile.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sound of utensils clinking gently filling the space. Outside, the silhouettes of pine trees swayed against the fading starlight.

"You handled everything well today," Devanshi said, her tone warm. "Especially at the hospital. I didn’t say it earlier, but... thank you."

Niharika looked up, surprised. "I was just doing my job, ma’am—sorry, it was you who gave me the instruction to save her..!"

Devanshi chuckled softly. "It’s strange, isn’t it? We spend all day working side by side, but barely know each other. Tell me something about yourself. Your family, where you're from?"

Niharika blinked, caught off-guard by the question, but slowly nodded.

"I’m from Almora. Small town, cold mornings," she began. "My father’s retired now—he used to teach Hindi in a government school. My mother still runs a tailoring shop from home. It’s just the three of us. I came to Delhi for college, then got placed here after my MBA."

"And how are they doing now?" Devanshi asked, leaning forward slightly.

"They’re proud, I think. A little worried sometimes. They call twice a day. My mother still asks if I’ve eaten enough every single time," she said with a soft laugh.

Devanshi smiled. "That never changes. Lucky you ,My father is the same....."

Niharika looked up quickly, surprised. "I’m sorry..."

Devanshi nodded slowly, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. "It’s alright. It’s been years. But moments like today—seeing that woman on the ground, watching her child cry—I think of her… I never saw her in real life but Papa has her photos..!"

The words lingered between them. There was no need to say more.

They finished their meal quietly, with the kind of ease that doesn’t need filling. Outside, the hills slumbered beneath the stars, and inside, two women sat not as boss and assistant, but simply as people—tired, thoughtful, and quietly connected.

Sneak peek- Chapter 7

Vedas continued, unrelenting. “It’s been months. One interview after another, and yet, no result. Your friend is leaving for Delhi, and you—” he gestured vaguely “—you’re still sitting here.”

“Vedas!” Meera whispered sharply. But it was too late.

Rudraksh stood slowly, his eyes glazed with silent hurt. Without a word, he stepped away from the thali and backed out of the dining hall.

“Rudraksh—beta, wait!” Meera called, rising quickly, but her son had already vanished into the dim corridor that led to the inner courtyard.