Machines beeped in slow, steady rhythm.
A flat silence filled the room.
Nurses whispered. Doctors checked charts.
And Shabd… he just sat there. Eyes shut. Hands clenched around hers.
Until—
the monitor flatlined.
One long beep. Endless. Cold. Final.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no—Vashti, please."
The nurses rushed in. A code was called.
Shabd was pulled back, forced to the corner. He stared as doctors moved like thunderclouds, voices sharp, movements frantic.
The girl who once raced time… was running out of it.
He dropped to his knees.
"I never said it," he choked. "I never told you. But I—"
He stopped himself. Looked up.
"I love you."
The room flickered.
The light above her bed blinked. Once. Twice.
And then—
The monitor beeped.
Once. Then again.
A rhythm. A return.
The doctors froze. The nurse gasped. "She's stabilizing!"
Shabd stumbled forward, breath caught in his throat.
Vashti's fingers twitched.
Her lips parted ever so slightly. A whisper, barely air.
"About… time… neurosurgeon…"
Tears streamed down Shabd's face.
He laughed through them like a boy who'd been given the whole world back.
"You're impossible," he said, voice shaking.
She smirked—weak, fragile, perfect.
"I'm Hitler," she croaked. "Impossible's my middle name."
And in that moment, every heartbeat in the room knew—
love had restarted the engine.
Not science.
Not medicine.
Love.
---