Chapter 4: The Hospital and the Mark

But I never expected that when I rushed to the hospital’s VIP ward,

The long, cold corridors glowed under the harsh white lights, every footstep echoing like a drumbeat in my chest. The air was thick with antiseptic and tension, like waiting rooms in old government hospitals where everyone prayed but no one dared hope aloud. The nurse’s dupatta was slipping off her shoulder as she rushed past, and someone’s tiffin box lay forgotten on the side table.

I would see the college beauty Priya standing at the door, desperate to get in:

Priya’s hair was perfect, her lipstick bold—a peacock among sparrows, standing out even amid worried nurses and rushing orderlies. She banged on the door with a manicured hand, her voice shrill enough to wake the entire floor.

"Let me in! Isn’t tonight the full moon? How do you know Young Master Kunal doesn’t need me? Bhaiya Kunal, Bhaiya Kunal, just let me in to help you!"

I couldn’t help but find it funny!

For a second, I almost laughed. The drama outside the VIP ward was straight out of a daily soap. If my cousin Reema was here, she’d be giving the play-by-play over WhatsApp to our whole family group.

Rohan said Priya wasn’t a casual girl, but here she was, offering herself to his brother!

The bodyguard who refused to let Priya in, upon seeing me, immediately opened the door, eyes brimming with tears:

"Miss Sharma, you finally came! Please come in, the young master truly needs you tonight!"

Jealousy and envy twisted Priya’s face. She screamed hysterically:

Priya’s bangles clattered as she jabbed a finger at me, her voice sharp enough to cut through the thick hospital air. It was the same shrillness I’d heard when Chachi fought over the gold chain at Diwali.

"Why can Ananya Sharma go in? Bhaiya Kunal was injured so badly just to save her! She’s a jinx, how dare you let her in?"

I was stunned for a moment. Save me? What does that mean?

The ward was already in chaos!

I saw Kunal lying shirtless on the bed, his face flushed, short hair drenched with sweat!

The sight knocked the breath out of me. Bandages criss-crossed his back, already blooming red with fresh blood. His lips were parched, and every breath he took sounded like it was being torn from his lungs. He looked like a wounded lion, fierce and vulnerable, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away.

His fingers clenched tight from the surging heat, his back covered in thick white bandages, already soaked through with bright red blood!

The doctor stood by anxiously, shouting:

"Sir, stop holding on, I’m begging you, quickly find a woman to help you. The gauze I just changed is soaked again—how much blood do you have to lose to be satisfied? Especially on the full moon, the werewolf blood is wild, your clotting is failing, I’ve used the best medicine to stop the bleeding and it’s useless! Now we must find a way to relieve the raging heat in your body, otherwise your blood may run dry tonight and you’ll die. You, the girl who can save the young master, when will you get here?"

The bodyguards by the bed had already seen me!

They bowed to me at a ninety-degree angle, full of respect and gratitude! Each folded their hands in a namaste, eyes shining with hope, as if I was Durga herself come to save their world. One of them even muttered a quick prayer, fingers brushing the rudraksha beads at his wrist.

"Doctor, she’s here!"

At those words, the man suffering in agony on the bed suddenly opened his eyes!

A pair of dark red eyes, intimidating and cold, burning with suppressed desire, landed angrily on my face:

"Who called her here? Take her away!"

The bodyguard bowed and said:

"Young master, it was me! As long as Miss Sharma can help you tonight, I’m willing to accept any punishment! Besides, you were gravely injured this time to save Miss Sharma! You’ve risked your life for her twice, doing good without asking for anything in return. You may not feel wronged, but we really do!"

I secretly observed the man on the bed, radiating such a powerful presence!

Although Rohan and I are childhood friends, I usually avoid Kunal like the plague! Because he’s known as the living Yamraj! Even the most arrogant troublemakers become meek before him! That’s absolute dominance by strength and aura! I always want to avoid him when I see him!

At this moment, the man who terrifies everyone is gripping the bedsheet, holding back so hard that even his feet curl, every inch of his body radiating heat, his breathing growing heavier. The contrast is too much—a wounded lion, fierce and vulnerable, and for a moment, I couldn’t look away.

But: "You said he was gravely injured this time also because of me?"

The bodyguard wanted to answer, but Kunal harshly interrupted:

"Bas karo na. Say one more word and see what happens!"

Then he tried to soften his tone, distant yet gentle:

"Ananya, go out. I don’t need you here!"

The bodyguard, undeterred, said:

"Young master, stop pretending. Being stubborn won’t get you a wife! Your mouth is harsh, but your heart is soft as silk. If Miss Sharma is in danger, you’d run through fire to save her. Do you think we’re blind?"

For a second, I wanted to touch his hand, to say thank you, but the words stuck behind my teeth—too big, too heavy for this small, crowded room.