VAANI

Six Months Later

It had been six months since that camping trip. Six long, distracting, Arjun-filled months. I had done everything I could to bury those memories under textbooks, final exams, and endless revision marathons.

Now, with college finally behind me, I was stepping into the real world of medicine.

Welcome to Ishaan Multispeciality Hospital, the plaque outside gleamed in fresh brass letters. The building stood tall in South Delhi—modern, intimidating, and far too clean to feel real. I stared at the entrance as if it would swallow me whole.

This was it. Day two of my internship. Yes, I just couldn’t get enough of Ishaan.

"Mom, c'mon, it's my second day. I only agreed for the first-day drop-off!" My mom—the sweetest woman alive and somehow the most annoying—was back again with her beloved old blue car that once belonged to my grandmother.

"You are not going to drop me again. I have my own car. I'm not a kid now, okay Mom."

"But sweetie—"

"I gotta go. Remember, I'm a doctor now, I have a list of duties… laters for chit-chat, bye! Maa, love you."

After smothering her in kisses, I finally managed to escape. On my way to the main building, I got a few strange stares. Understandable, considering I had just emerged from that ancient, blue dinosaur of a car. I gave everyone a sheepish smile and scurried away.

I was finally doing my dream job. All those years of hard work had finally paid off.

And Arjun—he was gone.

When I said he looked at me for the last time that night, it really was the last. I hadn’t seen him since. I waited for days, weeks even, hoping he would reappear at his window. But nothing. The lights stayed off. His presence, once such a vivid part of my daily life, had disappeared without a trace.

Everything about him had been a mystery. And just like that, he was gone.

"You're Vaani, right?" The cheerful voice belonged to a brown-haired girl I vaguely remembered from my first day. Jahnvi—that was her name.

She stood confidently in her scrubs, radiating warmth and energy. I immediately smiled and offered a respectful greeting. There was something refreshingly sunny about her, like a glass of chilled lemonade on a Delhi summer day.

She was adorable—and married. Not surprising. She looked only two or three older than me. I had joined Ishaan Multispeciality as an intern, and she was already in her last year of MS residency in general surgery.

"What are you doing here? You should be in the cafeteria. Every newbie has gathered there for the show."

"The show? What show?" I asked, confused.

She looped her arm with mine and started dragging me down the hallway.

"First, just come. I don’t want to miss it."

When we reached the cafeteria, I was stunned. The room was packed. It seemed like the entire hospital staff had crammed in.

Jahnvi grinned. "It’s called the Hotshot Show. Our two very hot neurosurgeons just finished a twelve-hour surgery together. It's a tradition here to welcome them like rockstars."

"Really? All this for two doctors?" I asked, half-impressed, half-incredulous.

"You’ll understand when you see them. We ladies wait for this day."

As if on cue, a song started playing over the speakers—For You by Liam Payne and Rita Ora. The doors opened.

And there they were.

Two men in scrubs entered, walking in slow motion like some cinematic heroes. My eyes scanned them from their crocs to their faces, not yet convinced that all this fuss was justified.

Then I saw him.

Rita and Liam's lyrics became the soundtrack to my first real-life slow-motion moment.

It was Arjun.

The same man I had once spied on through a window. The man whose touch still haunted my skin. He was walking toward me in those scrubs, eyes locked with mine.

And suddenly, the world faded. It was just me, him, and the music.

He wasn’t just some mysterious neighbor anymore. He was a neurosurgeon. A hot, dangerously gorgeous neurosurgeon who made scrubs look sinful.

This song would never be the same again.

It couldn’t be real. But it was.

Later that evening, I stood alone on the hospital terrace, gulping something cold to cool my nerves.

Streetlights twinkled across the city, but none of it compared to the image of Arjun that had burned into my mind.

He looked unfairly good. His short hair suited him, though I missed his rockstar waves. But scrubs? They were my new weakness.

"I'm now 100% sure you're trained in stalking."

I nearly choked. I turned around slowly, bracing myself. Arjun was standing there, smiling like a damn heart attack.

"Six months is pretty fast to become a neurosurgeon from a hot, jobless rockstar," I said, heart thumping.

He stepped beside me, casually picked up my drink, and took a sip.

"That's rude. You thought I was jobless."

"I also said you were hot."

"And now?"

"You're hotter."

His gaze was electric. I couldn't look away.

"Finally I know your name, Dr. Vaani Mittal," he said, leaning his arms on the railing beside me. It felt familiar. A scene repeated.

I joined him. It was our thing now, I guess.

"I assume you were always a doctor then. Why the mystery?"

"Had my license temporarily suspended. Long story. But I'm back now."

His tone shifted, eyes darkening slightly. I didn’t push. I respected boundaries.

"But it's good I came back—I met you again," he added, voice softer now.

He handed my drink back and stood upright.

"Drink this. I have to go for my rounds."

I nodded, watching him walk away. It reminded me of the night he left me. And this time, I wasn’t going to let him leave so easily.

"Arjun, wait."

He turned around.

"Did you think about me… in these six months?"

"Yeah. A lot. And I regretted it."

"What do you regret?"

His eyes pinned me down.

"Not fucking you."

I blinked. Gasped.

He repeated it. Slower.

"I regretted not fucking you, Vaani."

And just like that, my heart exploded into a thousand flames.

God help me. I was in deep, deep trouble. What was wrong with me? This man spoke in a language made of sin, and here I was — supposed to be starting a respectable career, thinking about…

God, I needed therapy.

Or at least a journal. Or maybe just less Arjun Shekhawat…in scrub.