The sterile scent of disinfectant clung to Dr. Shanaya Oberoi’s nostrils, a familiar, yet irritating, aroma. She tapped a manicured nail against the chipped Formica of the break room table, eyes scanning the medical school directory. Another hour to kill before her shift started. Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“Daksh, you won’t believe the case I just overheard,” she said into the receiver, her voice clipped, efficient. “Dr. Kapoor, the neurosurgeon? The one who practically owns this hospital?”
A beat of static, then her brother’s drawl. “Kapoor? The ice king? What’s he doing in neuro, conducting brain surgery with a scalpel and a poker face?”
Shanaya snorted. “Apparently, he’s got a knack for cutting-edge stuff. But get this—they’re saying he’s… aloof. Unapproachable. A ghost in scrubs.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “The whispers are he’s cold as a cadaver. No personal life. Just… surgery, surgery, surgery.”
“Sounds perfect for a surgeon,” Daksh said dryly. “They’re supposed to be detached. Emotionless. Otherwise, they start empathizing with the tumors.”
Shanaya rolled her eyes. “Easy for you to say, sitting pretty in finance. Try facing down a scalpel-wielding god with a god complex.” She glanced up as the door creaked open, and a man stood silhouetted in the frame. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved with a quiet grace that bordered on predatory. It was Dr. Kapoor.
Her breath hitched. He wasn't what she expected. Not cold. Not aloof. Just… silent. His eyes were dark, assessing, and seemed to dissect her with a single glance. She felt a prickle of unease, a strange heat crawling up her neck.
He didn’t say a word, just nodded once, a curt acknowledgement, and walked past her, disappearing into the labyrinthine corridors of the hospital.
Shanaya’s fingers fumbled with her phone. “Daksh?” she breathed, her voice suddenly small. “He just… walked past me. And I think I lost the ability to form a coherent sentence.”
Daksh chuckled. “Lost for words? Shanaya Oberoi, the woman who’s debated ethics with the dean? What’s he got under his skin?”
“I don’t know,” Shanaya whispered, watching the space where Kapoor had disappeared. “But I have a feeling this is going to be a very, very long shift.” She stared into the space where he had been, her own heart hammering a cold rhythm against her ribs. She didn’t need a scalpel to feel a cut. She felt one anyway.