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Shadows of the past

The past had a way of creeping in when least expected.

Veer Malhotra had long mastered the art of keeping his emotions locked away, buried beneath layers of control and cold precision. But there were nights—like this one—when the shadows of his past pressed too close, their weight suffocating.

Standing in the dimly lit corridor of Malhotra Hospital, he stared through the glass window of the ICU, watching a patient struggle against the machines keeping him alive. The rhythmic beeping filled the silence, an eerie reminder of life's fragile nature.His mind, however, was far away.

The smell of antiseptic, the cold sterility of the hospital—it brought back memories he had no desire to relive. Memories of another hospital room, years ago, when a young Veer had stood helplessly as his father fought a losing battle against death.

He clenched his fists, his breathing slow but controlled. No weakness. No cracks in the armor. That was the rule. That had always been the rule.

Yet, lately, he found himself slipping.

Because of her. 

Naina Sharma had disrupted the carefully structured walls he had built. She wasn't doing it intentionally, yet she was everywhere. In the way his mother smiled brighter when she was around. In the way his thoughts drifted to her when they shouldn't. And, worst of all, in the way he had begun noticing things he shouldn't—like the warmth of her presence, the fire in her eyes, the softness she carried so effortlessly.

 It was dangerous. 

He turned away from the ICU, dragging a hand through his hair, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his thoughts

.---

Naina on the other side

She had been exhausted, ready to leave for the day, when she spotted him. Veer Malhotra wasn't a man who belonged in the shadows, yet there he stood, his tall frame partially hidden in the dim corridor, looking out of place in the quiet stillness of the night. There was something about the way he stood—tense, lost in thought—that made her hesitate. It wasn't the ruthless CEO persona he wore so well. This was different. 

He looked... troubled. And for reasons she couldn't quite explain, she found herself walking toward him instead of away. 

"You know, most people go home at this hour," she said, her voice light, but her eyes searching his. 

Veer's gaze snapped to her, his expression quickly rearranging itself into the cool, unreadable one she had grown used to. 

"Dr. Sharma." His voice was smooth, controlled. 

"You're still here."

"I was about to leave." She glanced at the ICU door. 

"What about you?"

"Just checking on a patient." She folded her arms, studying him. 

He looked the same as always—impeccable suit, perfect composure—but there was an edge to him tonight, something unspoken lingering in his eyes. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. 

"You don't have to pretend with me, you know."

A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise, perhaps—but it was gone in an instant.

 "I don't know what you mean."

Naina sighed. "You think you have everyone fooled, Mr. Malhotra. And maybe you do. But I'm a doctor. I see beyond the surface. I see the exhaustion in your eyes, the tension in your posture. You may be able to intimidate others, but I know a man carrying too much weight when I see one."

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, to her absolute astonishment, Veer exhaled a quiet laugh—low, almost bitter. 

"Is that so?"

She nodded. "Yes."

He studied her for a long moment, and for the first time, she saw something raw in his gaze. Something he didn't let others see.

"My father died in a hospital," he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm. "Years ago."

Naina's breath hitched at the unexpected revelation. She had expected a deflection, not honesty.

"I was a boy," he continued, his gaze distant. 

"I remember standing outside the ICU, just like this, watching, waiting... and realizing, for the first time, that no amount of money or power could stop death."

 He let out a sharp breath. 

"And I hated it. Hated the helplessness."

Naina remained silent, letting him speak. 

"She cried for weeks," he murmured, his jaw tightening. "My mother. She never let me see it, but I knew. And I decided that night—I would never be powerless again."

The confession settled between them, heavy and unspoken for years.

Naina swallowed past the lump in her throat. "That's why you became who you are."

His gaze met hers. "That's why I don't believe in distractions."

The words were meant as a warning. She knew that.

But instead of retreating, Naina did something reckless. Something completely unlike her. She stepped closer. "You can tell yourself that all you want," she murmured, looking up at him. "But you're still human, Mr. Malhotra. No matter how much you fight it."

His breath hitched. For a second, just a second, his control faltered. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for her, to close the small space between them. His gaze dropped to her lips—so quick she might have imagined it.

And then, just as suddenly as it happened, he pulled back. Veer straightened, his mask sliding back into place. "Goodnight, Dr. Sharma." 

Naina exhaled, feeling the loss of warmth where he had stood. She watched as he walked away, disappearing into the shadows once more. But this time, she knew the truth. Veer Malhotra wasn't as untouchable as he wanted the world to believe. 

And no matter how much he fought it, something between them had shifted tonight.

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