Armaan's phone rang again.
This time—late at night.
He frowned slightly, glancing at the screen before picking it up immediately. Calls at this hour never came without a reason.
"Sir…" a worried voice spoke from the other side. It was his father's servant.
Armaan straightened in his chair. "What happened?"
"Sir isn't feeling well again."
That was enough.
His expression changed instantly, all calmness disappearing in a second. "What happened? Is he okay?" His voice turned sharp, alert.
"Doctor came yesterday… but he still looks weak."
Armaan didn't waste another second. He stood up immediately, already moving toward the window as if distance itself was the problem.
"Give the phone to Dad."
A few moments passed. They felt longer than they should have.
Then finally—
"Armaan," his father's voice came, slower than usual, "I'm fine. Don't worry."
Armaan's jaw tightened slightly. "You don't sound fine."
"It's nothing serious."
"That's not the point," Armaan replied, his voice low but firm. "I'm coming."
"No."
The answer came calmly.
Direct.
And that made Armaan pause.
"I'm better now," his father continued, as if explaining to a child. "Just a little weakness."
Armaan didn't respond immediately.
His mind was already calculating everything.
Distance. Time. Work.
And something else—
responsibility.
"And don't forget," his father added after a brief pause, "next weekend is your award function. That's important."
That one sentence shifted everything.
Armaan closed his eyes for a moment.
His fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
He knew that event wasn't optional.
Months of work.
Recognition.
People expecting him to be there.
And now—
this.
"…Alright," he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction.
"But take care. Please."
"I will," his father replied, softer this time.
The call ended.
But Armaan didn't move.
He didn't sit down.
Didn't go back to his work.
Instead, he stared at the phone in his hand for a few seconds before dialing another number.
It connected quickly.
"Doctor," he said, his tone firm and controlled, "I want someone to stay there."
"Stay…?" the doctor repeated.
"A nurse or a doctor. Full time," Armaan clarified. "I don't want him alone."
"Of course," the doctor replied immediately, understanding the urgency. "We'll arrange it by tomorrow."
"Make sure it's reliable," Armaan added.
"It will be."
Armaan ended the call.
Only then did he sit down.
But even then—
his focus didn't return.
The next morning—
a completely different atmosphere.
"Listen carefully," the professor's voice echoed across the classroom, cutting through the usual chatter.
The students straightened almost instantly.
"We have arranged a special home visit for a patient," he continued, adjusting his glasses slightly.
That got everyone's attention.
Home visits weren't common.
"A senior doctor will go," he said, pausing for effect, "but I want one student to assist."
A murmur spread across the room.
"This will count as part of your internship," he added.
Now everyone was fully alert.
Opportunity.
Experience.
Exposure.
It wasn't something anyone wanted to miss.
Zoya, who had been quietly taking notes, looked up.
Focused.
Interested.
"This will also give extra marks," the professor continued, "but I will choose based on behavior and patient interaction."
That changed everything.
It wasn't about theory.
Not about marks.
But about how they handled people.
Zoya sat a little straighter.
Her fingers paused on her notebook.
This—
this was something she was good at.
After the class ended, a few names were written down.
Students waited, whispering among themselves.
Some confident.
Some hopeful.
Some already disappointed.
Among the names—
Zoya.
Her eyes flickered slightly when she heard it, but she stayed composed.
Later, when the final selection was announced—
her name was there.
Clear.
Final.
Her friends didn't stay quiet for even a second.
"I KNEW it!"
"Of course it's you!"
"You're literally the sweetest with patients!"
"You deserve it the most!"
Zoya smiled.
Softly.
Not overly excited.
Not loud.
Just… quietly happy.
The kind of happiness that sits deep inside.
That afternoon—
she stood outside a house she had never seen before.
The gate was slightly open.
The surroundings calm.
Peaceful.
Zoya adjusted her dupatta slightly, taking a small breath before stepping forward with the senior doctor.
Her expression was calm.
Prepared.
Professional.
But inside—
there was a small sense of anticipation.
This wasn't a hospital.
This was someone's home.
Someone's personal space.
She stepped in.
Inside, the atmosphere was quiet but not tense.
The moment Armaan's father saw her—
his face lit up instantly.
Recognition.
Warmth.
"You…" he said, smiling, "you're the same doctor from yesterday."
Zoya paused for a brief second, then smiled politely.
"Yes," she nodded slightly, "how are you feeling now?"
"Better," he replied, his tone noticeably lighter.
"Much better."
There was comfort in his voice.
Familiarity.
Something that made the environment softer.
The senior doctor began the check-up, and Zoya assisted smoothly.
Her movements were careful.
Precise.
She adjusted the equipment, handed over instruments, and noted observations without needing to be told twice.
"Any dizziness now?" she asked gently.
"Less than before," he replied.
"That's good," she said, her tone reassuring. "Just make sure you're resting properly."
Her way of speaking made things simple.
Easy to understand.
Easy to follow.
The room felt lighter with her presence.
Even the staff around seemed more relaxed.
As the check-up continued, she explained small things in between—
diet, timing, medication—
not as instructions, but as guidance.
Something people actually listened to.
Time passed quietly.
Without rush.
Without tension.
After everything was done, the senior doctor stepped back.
"Condition is stable," he said. "No need to worry."
Relief settled in the room once again.
Zoya gave a small nod, then looked back at the patient.
"Take medicines on time," she reminded softly.
"And don't skip meals."
He nodded, almost immediately.
"I won't."
There was sincerity in his voice.
And respect.
Not forced.
Natural.
As they prepared to leave, Zoya gave a final polite smile.
"Take care."
"You too, beta," he said, his voice filled with warmth that lingered even after she turned away.
She walked out of the house with steady steps.
Calm.
Unaware.
Completely unaware—
of whose house she had just walked into.
And miles away—
Armaan sat at his desk.
Files open.
Laptop screen glowing.
His attention fixed on his work.
Focused.
Composed.
Uninterrupted.
His phone lay beside him.
Silent.
In the same city—
in the same moment—
their worlds had come closer than ever before.
Closer than they had been in years.
But still—
they didn't know.
Zoya stepped out into the sunlight, adjusting her bag slightly as she walked away, already thinking about her next task.
Armaan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a brief second before returning to his work.
Both moving forward.
Both unaware.
Just one step closer.
But not close enough.