The weeks that followed were like fragile threads weaving into a new tapestry—one that Anup hadn't expected, but had somehow become a part of. Nisha's health improved quickly under Dr. Samraggi's care, and each visit to the clinic seemed to pull him deeper into her world.
He couldn't explain it. There was something about her—something quiet and steady. She didn't try to fix him; she didn't pity him. She simply listened. And as much as he hated to admit it, he found himself looking forward to those small moments: the brief exchange at the clinic, the smile she gave him when Nisha showed her one of her latest crayon masterpieces. A part of him wanted to pull away, to guard his heart, but another part—the part that had been hollow for so long—yearned for something more.
One evening, after a particularly long shift, Anup decided to take Nisha out for a walk in the small park just outside their building. The air was crisp, the world soft in the twilight glow. It was the kind of evening that made you feel like anything was possible—even healing.
As they strolled, Nisha's tiny hand gripped his tightly, her little footsteps quick and light beside his own. She stopped suddenly, pointing at something ahead.
"There she is, Papa! Dr. Samraggi!" Nisha's voice was filled with innocent excitement.
Anup's gaze followed her finger, and sure enough, there she was, standing near the park's entrance, her coat billowing slightly in the breeze. Her hair, dark and untamed from the wind, framed her face in a way that made her look almost... ethereal. She looked up and saw them, her expression softening into a smile.
"Hey there," she said, her voice carrying across the distance like the sound of a lullaby.
Anup hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. He had been avoiding these moments—avoiding the way his heart seemed to stir whenever she was around. But here she was, and there was nowhere to hide.
"Dr. Samraggi," he said, forcing a smile. "Good to see you."
"I was just finishing my shift and thought I'd get some fresh air," she replied, looking down at Nisha. "How's my favorite patient?"
Nisha beamed. "I'm all better now! Papa says I'm a superhero!"
Samraggi chuckled softly. "Well, superheroes need to rest, too, right?"
Anup felt a warmth in her presence, a lightness he hadn't realized he was missing. "She's been very brave," he said, his voice almost wistful.
There was a long silence between them, the kind that felt neither uncomfortable nor forced. It just was. And in that silence, Anup wondered how long he could keep pretending he didn't feel the pull—the pull of a future that might not be so impossible after all.
"So… What brings you out here?" he finally asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
"I needed to clear my head," she said with a sigh, her hands slipping into her coat pockets. "The clinic's been busy lately. Sometimes, I just need a moment to breathe."
Nisha tugged on Anup's sleeve. "Papa, can Dr. Samraggi come play with us?"
Anup's heart sank, knowing full well that it wasn't just his daughter who was asking. The hope in her voice—the innocence of the invitation—it pierced through him.
Samraggi seemed to consider it for a moment before she smiled again, this time a little more wistfully. "I wish I could. But I have to get back to work soon."
Nisha's face fell for just a second, but she recovered quickly, offering Samraggi a bright grin. "Next time, okay?"
"Next time," Samraggi agreed, crouching down to Nisha's level. "I promise."
And then, as if she had never been anything more than a quiet presence, Samraggi stood up, gave Anup a polite nod, and turned to leave.
But before she did, she paused, her eyes lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.
"You know," she said softly, "sometimes, the hardest part is letting yourself breathe again. I hope you're finding that space. For both of you."
Anup felt something catch in his throat, but he nodded.
"I'm trying," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Samraggi's gaze held for one more beat before she walked away, leaving Anup and Nisha standing there in the dimming light, alone again.
But not entirely alone.