63

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.

His father yanked him off the bed.

“How many times have I told you to stay away from her?!” His voice was ice, his glare cutting deeper than the slap.

“F-Father, please—!” Teena tried to protest, her voice weak.

The grip on Haari’s collar tightened. He winced, feet barely touching the ground. His father’s fury weighed down on him like a storm.

But before the next blow could fall—

“Excuse us, sir.”

The door slid open. A nurse and a doctor entered, trays in hand.

Their father froze. In an instant, his expression shifted, the rage vanishing behind the cold, respectable mask he wore in front of outsiders.

“It’s time for her medication,” the doctor announced.

Silence stretched.

Then, with a sharp exhale, their father let Haari go, dropping him like discarded weight.

“ I'm sorry please go ahead,” he said, stepping aside.

Haari staggered, the world blurry for a moment. His cheek throbbed. He didn’t look back. Didn’t say a word. He simply walked out of the room.

Through the small gap between the doctor and nurse, Teena watched his retreating figure. Her hand clenched the bedsheet until her knuckles turned white.

The memory dissolved.

Haari sat hunched in a plastic chair near the hospital reception, his cap pulled low, mask hiding his face. The sterile lights buzzed faintly overhead, the same suffocating hum he remembered from years ago.

He tapped his fingers against his knee, steady, steady—though his chest twisted with unease.

The counter ahead was crowded, voices overlapping. Patients asking questions, families demanding updates. He waited, breathing slow, until the crowd thinned.

Then, he stood and stepped forward. “Excuse me,” Haari said, voice calm but low.

The receptionist, a young man just past his twenties, looked up. “Yes, sir? How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a certain patient,” Haari leaned in slightly, careful to keep his tone neutral. “Can you check if that person is admitted here?”

The receptionist nodded. “Of course. But first—your name, sir?”

“…Huh?” Haari blinked.

The man adjusted his chair. “We need to verify your identity before releasing any information.”

Haari’s heartbeat quickened. He hesitated.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond—

“Yeah, she’s gonna be fine. The doctor said she’ll be discharged soon.”

A deep voice, from just behind him.

Haari’s breath caught. His shoulders tensed.

That voice, he recognize that voice very clearly.

No mistake, their is no mistaake—

It was his uncle who live next door to his childhood house.

His uncle from the hometown he swore never to return to.

Haari’s fists clenched inside his jacket pockets, his nails biting into his palms.

Behind him, the man’s words trailed off mid-sentence. A pause.

Then—the sound of footsteps shifting.

“…?”

His uncle had turned, frowning, eyes narrowing as they landed on Haari’s masked face.

Something about that voice—

Haari’s chest tightened.

Suspicion.

He could feel it in the way the air shifted. His uncle’s footsteps grew closer, heavy, deliberate.

Haari’s pulse quickened.

But then—

THUD!

A loud crash echoed through the reception hall.

An elderly woman had collapsed nearby, her cane clattering across the tiles.

Instantly, nurses rushed over. Visitors scrambled aside.

Haari’s uncle hesitated, torn for just a moment—then hurried toward the fallen woman, kneeling beside her.

Even as he helped lift her up, his eyes flickered back to Haari. Just once.

Haari lowered his cap further, shadowing his face. He turned slightly away, letting the chaos swallow him.

The scene blurred—dissolving into another place, another time.

The warm glow of the living room lamp washed over the space.

Hartik—Haari’s father—sat stiffly on the couch, eyes glued to the evening news. His eldest son sat beside him, legs crossed, silently mirroring his father’s posture.

Behind them, Teena closed the kitchen door quietly, balancing a steaming cup of chai. The scent of cardamom and ginger drifted through the air.

Then—Knock, knock. Teena go and opend the door, " Huh? uncle what are you doing here at this hour?"

" Hey, Teen how have you been." Uncle said as he walked inside.

Closing the door " I'm fine uncle, how about you?" Teena asked.

" Same as always, but believe that you have lot to celebrate today right?" Uncle said.

"..?" Teena confused before she could ask anything uncle has already walked over to her father. “Hey, Hartik.”

The familiar baritone.

His uncle’s voice. Both father and eldest son glanced up.

Hartik raised an eyebrow, though a faint smile touched his lips. “Oh? What a surprise. Come in, have a seat.”

He lowered himself into a chair near them.

“How’s your daughter doing now?” Hartik asked, his tone unusually warm, almost gentle.

“She’s doing better,” his uncle exhaled, weariness in his voice.

“That’s a relief.” Hartik nodded, accepting the cup of chai from Teena. “Last time I saw her, she was in bad shape.”

“Yeah… she’s been through a lot.” His uncle accepted the cup Teena handed him, fingers curling around its warmth. He took a slow sip, eyes distant. “But the doctors said she’ll be discharged soon.”

His uncle took a slow sip of chai, eyes drifting around the room as though weighing its silence.

Then, with a casual smirk, he said—

“So… he finally came back.”

The words dropped like a stone into water.

A pause.

Hartik frowned. “…Huh? Who?”

Their uncle chuckled softly. “Kids always find their way back home eventually.” He set the cup down with deliberate calm. “So where’s Haari?”

The air froze.

The chatter of the TV dulled, fading into nothing but static in the background.

Father’s grip on the remote tightened. Hartik’s brows drew together.

“What… did you just say?”

At the doorway, Teena’s hands tightened around the tray until her knuckles turned white. Her throat felt dry.

“…Uncle,” she said, her voice controlled, careful. “You know he left home years ago. And didn't came back, so how could he be here, we don't even know where is he?”

Her uncle shrugged. “But didn’t he come back?”

Hartik leaned forward, voice sharp. “Back?”

Her uncle nodded slowly. “Yeah. I saw him today.”

Teena’s eyes widened. Her chest lurched, her heart skiped a beat for once.

Her hands shook violently; the porcelain rattled. She almost dropped the tray.

Her voice escaped louder than she intended—raw, panicked.

“WHAT?! WHERE?!”

“At Mehnga Hospital.” His words were firm, decisive. He set his cup down with a thud. “ When go to see my daughter he was their alone, It was him.”

Teena’s breath caught. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure it was Haari?”

Her uncle locked eyes with her, unwavering. “More than sure. I heard his voice clearly. It was him.”

The world around Teena blurred.

Her mind went blank.

Her body moved before thought could catch up.

She snatched her keys from the table and stormed toward the door.

“Teena!” Hartik’s voice thundered, but she didn’t stop.

The engine roared to life. Tires screeched against the pavement.

Her heart pounded so hard that it hurt.

“Haari… Haari… is it really you?” she whispered under her breath, clutching the wheel tighter with every turn.

She pressed harder on the accelerator.

The city blurred past.

Until—

Mehnga Hospital arrived.

She burst through the entrance, footsteps echoing against the sterile hallways.

“BROTHER!!” Her voice cracked, desperate, echoing through the corridors. “BROTHER!! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

She turned corner after corner, checked every waiting chair, every passing face— but their was no sign of him.

Her lungs burned. Frustration bubbled up.

Then her eyes locked onto the reception counter.

She ran straight for it.

“Hey!!” She slammed both hands against the desk, startling the young receptionist so badly he almost fell off his chair. “Did someone named Haari come here today?!”

The boy blinked, confused. “Uh—ma’am, who exactly are you?”

Teena gritted her teeth, voice trembling with urgency. “That’s not important! Just tell me if he was here!”

The receptionist frowned, his tone professional. “I’m sorry, but we can’t share information about patients with unknown people.”

SLAM!

Her palms cracked against the counter again.

Her voice tore through the silence, raw and broken.

“HE’S MY BROTHER!!”

The entire lobby went silent.

All eyes turned toward her trembling figure, chest heaving, eyes burning with tears she refused to let fall.

The receptionist swallowed, looking around nervously. "Ah, please calm down, ma’am—"

Just then—

"Teena, that’s enough."

A hand rested on her shoulder.

She turned to see her brother and their Hartik standing behind her.

Her vision blurred with tears.

"How can I?" she whispered, voice trembling.

"I finally… I finally heard his name… after all these years… How can I calm down…?"

The receptionist, sensing the weight of the moment, hesitated before checking the records.

"Ahm… Yeah. We did have a visitor this morning… A man named Haari Kichiro."

Silence.

Teena froze.

brother’s eyes widened.

Their father’s expression, unreadable before, hardened.

" What! What did you just say " Teena asked just to conform if she hasn't misheard the name.

" We did have a visitor this morning… A man named Haari Kichiro." The receptionist repeated.

"Kichiro?" Teena’s body stiffened as she wishperd under her breath.

Her mind raced—Did he just say… Kichiro?

But that’s…

The receptionist, unaware of the growing tension, continued, "He also registered his contact number with us."

Teena didn’t waste a second she snaped out of her thoughts. She whipped out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she dialed the number. She quickly make a call on the number in hope to hear Haari voice after all these years.

The line rang. Once. Twice.

Then—

"The number you have dialed is invald please check the number you have dialed."

Teena’s breath caught in her throat.

"What…?"

She redialed, the number thinking it would be computer mistake. But the response didn't changed.

She turned to the receptionist slam her both hands on the table " Hey did you gave me the right number."

" Yes Ma'am, this was the number he registed here." The receptionist said.

She turned to the receptionist, her voice sharp. "Are you sure this is the number he gave?"

The receptionist nodded. "Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly what he wrote down."

Teena didn't believed on him she walked beside him and match the number, receptionist was right, he gave her the exact number Haari had registed there.

Brother walked beside her and placed his hand on her sholder firmly, she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes was sill in tears. Brother calm expression was saying to her to stop.

Her grip on the phone tightened. "Why…? Why would he…?"

Teena's heart pounded.

If this was really Haari… why would he give a fake number?

In the morning.

"What's your name, sir?" the receptionist asked, fingers poised over the keyboard.

Haari hesitated. His throat felt dry.

"Ah… it's… Haari Kichiro."

The receptionist typed his name into the system. "Haari Kichiro," he repeated. "And your contact number, sir?"

"It's xxxxxxxxxx -."

"Thank you for cooperating. Now, who exactly are you looking for sir?"

Haari exhaled slowly. His hands, resting on the counter, clenched into fists.

"Do you have any patients from the Chandigarh incident six months ago ?"

The receptionist checked the records. "Yes, we received three patients from there—two women and one man."

Haari’s heart skipped a beat. Ashi… could she be one of them?

"Did either of the women go by the name Ashi Nicawa?"

The receptionist frowned, scrolling further. "One of the female patients is unidentified, and she's still here we also trying to locate anyone of her known… If you’d like, you can check to see if she’s the person you’re looking for."
Haari nodded.

Receptionist stood up. " Please follow me."

Haari’s face remained unreadable. But inside—A storm was raging.

His heart pounded like a war drum, each beat screaming the same desperate hope. Let it be her. Let it be Ashi.

The receptionist pushed the door open. A bright, sterile light spilled from the room, illuminating the patient lying inside.

Haari’s breath hitched. His body froze. The air in the room felt heavy. The woman on the bed…