Prologue

Gujarat, Mid-2021

The air inside Keshav Memorial Hospital was thick with the stench of antiseptics and something far graver—fear. The waiting hall, once a place of restless murmurs and anxious families, had turned into a battlefield. Doctors, clad in full PPE kits, moved like faceless specters, their voices muffled beneath layers of protective fabric. Nurses darted from one bed to another, their hands trembling under the weight of exhaustion. Every television screen on the walls flashed the same haunting news—"Another 1,500 dead overnight… Gujarat hospitals overflowing… Total lockdown extended."

And then, through the hospital's sliding doors, stepped a young man. A yellow t-shirt stretched tight over his chest, blue jeans clinging to his legs, and an N95 mask covering half his face. But it wasn't his clothes that made people turn their heads. It was his eyes—brown, wild, and brimming with something raw. Fear.

Two uniformed constables flanked him, their boots clicking against the tiled floor. The taller one, with a thick mustache curling over his lips, turned to the nurse behind the reception desk.

"Madam, this one broke the quarantine. Society people reported him moving around despite being in a restricted zone."

The nurse—a woman in her forties, with a tired face and an overused voice—sighed, pushing her glasses up.

"Tested positive?"

The second constable, shorter and stockier, shrugged. "They say he is. But we are not sure. People panic over everything these days."

The young man, silent until now, finally spoke, his voice strained, desperate.

"I swear, there's a mistake. I'm not infected."

The mustached constable barely spared him a glance. "That's not for you to say."

A doctor, standing nearby, overheard the conversation and stepped forward. His salt-and-pepper beard gave him an air of wisdom, but his face—chiseled, sharp—made him look more like a film star than a man of medicine. Dr. Anirudh Rao.

"Bring him in," the doctor said simply.

The constables escorted the young man through a narrow corridor. The walls here were lined with beds, some occupied, some waiting. Some patients clung to oxygen masks like lifelines. Others lay still. Unmoving. Too still.

The young man's breath quickened. His hands twitched on his sides.

They reached a small room. Inside, an old man sat by the window, staring outside. He barely moved, his back hunched, his hands folded over his lap. A doctor's coat hung from the chair next to him. In the farthest corner, another doctor sat, scrolling through his phone, his face blank.

The mustached constable gave a curt nod to Dr. Rao.

"Check him, sir. If he's positive, do what needs to be done."

Dr. Rao turned to the young man, now perched on the iron waiting chair, his legs bouncing, his fingers locked together in tight knots.

"What's your name?"

"Arun," the young man muttered.

Dr. Rao watched him for a moment, then looked at the constables. "You can leave now."

The constables exchanged a glance, but after a moment's hesitation, they left.

Arun exhaled sharply. His shoulders slumped. But his relief was short-lived.

Dr. Rao turned to the old man by the window. He placed two fingers on the man's wrist, checking his pulse. The old man didn't react. Didn't even blink. It was as if he were waiting for something invisible. Something no one else could see.

Satisfied, Dr. Rao nodded and moved towards Arun.

"Any fever? Breathlessness?"

Arun didn't answer. He turned his face to the wall.

Dr. Rao called out. "Nurse!"

A woman in a blue uniform entered, her mask blending perfectly with the fabric.

"Bring a COVID test kit," Dr. Rao instructed.

Arun's head snapped back to the doctor.

"No. Listen—"

The nurse returned with the kit. Swift. Efficient. Too fast for Arun to protest. Before he could push himself away, the swab was in his nose.

It was done.

Dr. Rao stepped back, handing the kit to the nurse.

Arun swallowed. "Doctor, I—"

Dr. Rao didn't wait for him to finish. He turned to the nurse again.

"Also, bring me a cup of coffee. And honey toast."

The nurse nodded and exited.

Arun stared. "You're not listening. I don't have time for this. I need to—"

Dr. Rao walked to the door, cup in hand, and stepped outside.

Arun exhaled, frustrated. His fingers fumbled for his phone. The screen lit up.

A WhatsApp message. Bold. Unread.

NOW OR NEVER.

His breath hitched. His grip on the phone tightened. Sweat trickled down his forehead.

Outside, in the corridors of the overwhelmed hospital, life and death played their silent, endless game. But in that small room, with a waiting test result and a message that could change everything, a different kind of battle was beginning.