62

Grabbing the discharge papers, he stepped into the white, sterile hallways. The steady beeping of heart monitors, the shuffle of nurses’ shoes, and the faint sting of antiseptic filled the air—an atmosphere he never wanted to smell again.

Just as he reached the exit, a voice called out.

“Haari.”

He turned.

Dr. Saionji, the physician who had overseen him these long six months, approached with his usual professional calm, though concern flickered in his sharp eyes behind the glasses.

“You’re really leaving today, huh?” the doctor asked.

Haari gave a small nod. “Yeah. Thanks for everything, doc.”

The doctor glanced at his sling, then sighed heavily. “Your body’s still recovering. You need to be careful—especially with that arm. No heavy lifting, no sudden movements, and absolutely no fighting. Understood?”

A faint smirk tugged at Haari’s lips. “No promises.”

“Tch.” Dr. Saionji clicked his tongue. “You’re lucky to be alive, you know that?”

Haari’s expression darkened, his eyes lowering. “…Yeah. I know.”

The doctor studied him in silence for a moment before exhaling. “Listen, if anything happens, don’t hesitate to come back. And one more thing—” His gaze sharpened, voice lowering with weight. “Don’t push yourself too hard chasing after something you’re not sure of.”

Haari clenched his fist, his voice firm. “I’m sure.”

The doctor searched his face for a moment but didn’t press further. Instead, he pulled out a file, flipping through the papers.

“You’ve been asking about someone named Ashi Nicawa, correct?”

Haari’s body froze. “…Yeah. Do you have any information on her?”

Dr. Saionji shook his head slowly. “We don’t have any patient by that name.”

Haari’s stomach dropped, the words hitting like a blade.

“But,” the doctor continued, “that night, the number of injured was overwhelming. Many were in critical condition. Some were transferred to specialized hospitals across the country.” He closed the file and met Haari’s gaze. “If the person you’re searching for was admitted… there’s a chance she’s still out there. Somewhere.”

Haari’s breath hitched. His hands trembled slightly, but he forced them still.
“So… she could be alive?”

Dr. Saionji adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable. “There’s a possibility.”

That single word struck like lightning in Haari’s chest. A spark of determination flared within him. That was all he needed.

“Thanks, doc,” he muttered, already turning toward the exit.

“Haari.”

He stopped, though he didn’t turn back.

“You’ve already survived the worst,” Dr. Saionji said quietly. “Don’t lose yourself again while trying to find her.”

Haari drew in a deep breath, then pushed the hospital glass doors open. The cold night air hit his face like a baptism.

His new journey had just begun.

The dim glow of his laptop screen flickered against his tired eyes. Haari’s fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, scrolling through the exhaustive list of hospitals that had received victims from the incident.

The list was long. Too long.

He had already combed through every hospital in Chandigarh—calls, records, even visits. Each time, the same answer: nothing. No sign of Ashi. No clue.

But just as he was about to click to the next city, his scrolling came to a halt.

His breath caught. His fingers froze mid-air.

There, in bold letters, was a name he never expected to see.

MEHNGA HOSPITAL, (PUNJAB).

The word burned in his mind. Punjab.

Haari’s heart pounded violently, his pulse thundering in his ears.

That name. That place. He knew it—too well.

The familiarity wasn’t fleeting; it was bone-deep. Like an old scar he never wanted to see again. The kind of memory that refused to fade, no matter how far one ran.

“What…?” His voice was barely a whisper.

His mind raced, confusion battling dread. Why is that hospital here?

It wasn’t a major hospital. Just a small private clinic—an ordinary facility for minor injuries and colds. It didn’t have the staff, the wards, or the equipment for critical cases. And yet… there it was, listed among the emergency transfers.

A chill crawled up his spine. Something inside him twisted violently, clawing at buried memories.

And then the voices came.

“Brother…"
"YOU KILLED HER!”
“Brother! Brother…"
" IF ONLY YOU WEREN’T—”

The accusations echoed, blending with the sound of his own heartbeat. Haari’s hands gripped the laptop so tightly his knuckles whitened.

MEHNGA HOSPITAL was in the nearest city to his hometown. The place he had visited countless times as a child. The town he had sworn never to set foot in again.

The place he had abandoned.

The place where everything had changed.

Haari’s jaw clenched as the war inside him raged.

If Ashi was there, if she truly had been taken to that hospital—then he had no choice. He had to go.

But returning meant tearing open wounds he had spent years trying to bury. It meant facing the people, the memories, and the pain he had run from.

His chest tightened until breathing itself felt heavy.

“…What should I do?” he muttered, his voice trembling as he stared at the glowing screen.

Two paths.

Ignore the name, move on, and continue the search elsewhere.

Or return.

Back to the hometown he had forsaken.
Back to the past that still haunted him.
Back to the storm he could never truly escape.

His fingers hovered above the keyboard, but his heart had already decided.

Haari exhaled sharply and snapped the laptop shut. His fists clenched tight.

“…I have to go.”

The cold breeze brushed against Haari’s face as he stood before Mehnga Hospital.

His fists tightened inside his jacket pockets, to not be recognized by someone familiar Haari wears cap on his head and mask on his mouth which also coverd his nose, his masked face tilted upward toward the familiar building. It felt both near and impossibly far, like a scar he had tried to forget but could never erase. This was it—the place he swore he would never return to. And yet, here he was… chasing a ghost.

Drawing in a slow, steady breath, he adjusted his mask and stepped forward. His sneakers echoed faintly against the tiled floor of the hospital lobby.

Don’t get recognized. Don’t stop moving.

The sterile sting of antiseptic filled his lungs. It was suffocating. Memories clawed their way up, unbidden.

—“Father! Father! Is Teena going to be okay?!”

A small voice echoed in his head. A boy’s voice. His own, from years ago.

Little Haari, only six, tugged at his father’s sleeve, desperate for an answer. His father’s gaze remained locked on the doctor, listening in silence. Not a glance spared for his son.

Haari’s tiny fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his father’s coat. He turned, eyes brimming, toward his older brother.

“Brother… Teena’s gonna be okay, right?”

But his brother didn’t answer either. Didn’t even look at him.

The silence was crushing, heavier than any words could be.

Haari’s throat had tightened, his small hands clutching the hem of his shirt. Why won’t they answer me? The loneliness pressed deep into his chest, a hollow ache.

Later in hospital room where Teena was admited, when his sister finally lay alone—resting, her breathing faint but steady—Haari crept into her room.

The beeping machines hummed softly in the darkness.

He reached out carefully, his tiny hand wrapping around hers.

Warm. Soft. Real.

He squeezed gently, almost afraid she’d vanish if he let it go.

Then a tired voice stirred the silence.

“…What are you doing?”

Haari flinched, eyes snapping up. “A-ah! You’re awake?”

Teena let out a sigh, weak but sharp enough to scold him. “…Of course I am. You’re hurting me, you idiot.”

“H-huh?!” Haari’s eyes widened.

“That hand you’re holding? It hurts.”

His gaze dropped in panic—his small fingers were gripping right where the IV needle was taped to her skin.

“Oh no! I—I’m sorry! I didn’t even notice! I’ll call the doctor—!” He scrambled to pull away, panic flooding his voice.

But Teena shook her head, her lips curving faintly. “…No need. It’s fine.”

“But you said it hurts—”

“Not anymore.”

Little Haari looked down almost about to cry said, " I'm sorry I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just scared if something happend to you."

Her voice softened, her tone gentler than before. " I'm fine."

Haari froze, staring at her. She was pale, weak, her hair sticking slightly to her forehead… yet she smiled at him. A warm, tired smile that only an older sister could give.

Something knotted inside his chest.

“Teena…” His throat burned. His words tumbled out in a rush. “Y-you’re going to get better, right? I asked Father, I asked Brother, but they won’t tell me anything. I’m scared… if something happens to you…”

The silence stretched. Haari’s eyes wavered, brimming with tears he didn’t want to shed.

Then Teena’s hand moved. Weak, trembling… yet determined.

Flick!

Her finger tapped lightly against his forehead.

“Owww! Teena, why’d you do that?!”

She smirked faintly, eyes soft even through her fatigue. “You idiot. Of course I’m gonna be fine. It’s just a little fever.”

“B-but—”

“Haari,” her voice grew gentle, her words threading between breaths, “of all things, fever is the only thing I can’t handle. But that doesn’t mean I’m dying. Stop crying like a baby.”

" Who said I was crying!" Haari said.

" You are." Teena said in teasing toon, " Just look at you eyes they are just waiting for flood out."

“I said I’m not!” Haari puffed up his cheeks, twisting his head away in defiance.

Teena’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk. Her whisper was barely audible. “…Is that so? Let’s see.”

The room fell into silence.

Haari frowned. He waited for her to tease him again, to say something—anything. But she didn’t.

Curious, he peeked at her from the corner of his eyes.

She lay still. Too still.

“…Huh?”

His heartbeat stumbled.

Seconds stretched into eternity.

“Teena?” he whispered, nudging her arm lightly. No response.

His chest tightened.

“Teena… hey, wake up.” He shook her arm, his voice trembling. Still nothing.

Panic surged through him. His small hands trembled as he clutched her desperately.

“Teena! Teena!!” His cries rang through the room, raw and terrified.

In blind desperation, Haari buried his face against her arm—and bit down. Hard.

“AAHHHH! Haari?!”

Teena shot upright with a wince, clutching her arm.

Haari froze.

Her glare burned through his tears. “Why did you bite me, you little gremlin?!”

But Haari didn’t answer. He just scrambled onto the bed, throwing his arms around her tightly.

“Teena! You’re okay! You’re really okay!” His voice cracked, trembling with relief.

Teena blinked, stunned for a heartbeat, before sighing softly. “…See? I told you. You’re a crybaby.”

“I don’t care!” Haari sniffled, rubbing his damp eyes against her shoulder. “Just don’t do that again! It’s scary!”

Her expression softened, her hand weakly patting his back. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. So stop crying already, geez…”

And just then—

Bang!

The door burst open.

Their father stormed in, heavy steps filling the room, their older brother trailing behind with wide, alarmed eyes.

“What happened?!” Father rushed to Teena’s bedside, his hand pressing against her forehead, checking her pulse, scanning her face. “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?!”

Teena hesitated, then shook her head with a faint smile. “…It’s nothing, Dad. I just scared Haari a little.”

“Are you sure?” His voice was sharp, desperate.

“Yeah… sorry if I worried you.”

Their father exhaled, his tense shoulders loosening. But then—his gaze dropped to her arm.

The faint tremble in his breath vanished. His eyes hardened.

Without a word, he grabbed her wrist, pulling up her sleeve up.

A deep bite mark, red and swollen, stood out starkly against her pale skin. The shape of small teeth.

The room froze.

“Haari.” His father’s voice was low, dark, heavy with something Haari couldn’t name.

Haari stiffened, his breath caught in his throat. His lips parted, but no sound came.

Teena’s eyes widened. “Father—”

SMACK!

The sharp slap cracked through the room.

Haari staggered back, his small hand flying to his cheek. The sting burned, his eyes welling up, but before he could even react, a rough grip seized his collar.