Behind The Masks

Chapter 3

Aarohi braced herself against the counter, pressing her palms into the cold surface as if it could ground her. Her breath came in uneven bursts, her pulse still racing, adrenaline refusing to settle. Sweat dampened the stray strands of hair clinging to her forehead, but she barely noticed. Her mind was stuck on the past thirty minutes—the rhythmic compression of her hands on the patient’s chest, the futile shock of the defibrillator, the haunting flatline that followed.

She squeezed her eyes shut. They had done everything. And yet—

“I need water,” she murmured, not expecting an answer.

A bottle appeared in front of her.

“Here.”

Aarohi’s head snapped up, startled. Karan stood there, holding out the bottle, his expression unreadable. His eyes, however, held something—something quiet and searching. Concern? Pity? No, not pity. Something else.

She hesitated before taking it, fingers brushing his briefly. “Thanks,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Behind her, the cries of the grieving family swelled, raw and all-consuming. Aarohi stiffened, turning slightly so they wouldn’t see the exhaustion etched into her face.

“You did an amazing job,” Karan said, his voice steady, like he was stating a fact.

Aarohi let out a hollow breath, fingers tightening around the bottle. She could hear the sincerity in his tone, but it didn’t land the way he probably intended. It wasn’t about how well she had performed. It wasn’t about skill or effort.

Her gaze flickered toward the stretcher, where the body lay still. “Doesn’t matter,” she muttered.

Karan followed her line of sight. A beat of silence passed before he spoke, his voice quieter this time. “Sometimes, you have to let go. It’s better. For them. And for you.”

Aarohi turned to look at him fully, something about those words catching her off guard.

For them. And for you.

She wasn’t sure why, but the way he said it made her feel—exposed. Seen. As if he understood something she hadn’t voiced.

She swallowed. “I didn’t realize you were here,” she said, more to fill the space between them than anything else.

“I walked in while you were giving compressions,” Karan replied. “Got paged for another case.”

Aarohi nodded, finally taking a sip from the bottle. The cold water hit her throat, but it did little to wash away the weight pressing on her chest. Around them, the ER remained a whirlwind of movement—nurses rushing, monitors beeping, voices layering over one another. Somewhere in the distance, a Diwali firecracker burst outside, a sharp contrast to the grief within these walls.

She took a small step back, widening the space between them.

A patient’s attendant approached Karan then, asking something in a panicked voice. His focus shifted instantly, his posture straightening as he addressed the concern with quiet, measured words.

Aarohi watched him for a second longer than she should have. He had this way of speaking—firm, clear, but with a kind of calm that settled people. That steadiness only made her more aware of how unsteady she felt right now.

She exhaled. “I’ll see you later.”

Karan looked up briefly, something unreadable flickering across his face. For a moment, he seemed like he wanted to say something. But before he could, Aarohi turned and walked away, slipping past the chaos, past him—leaving the night and everything it had stirred, behind.