On the doorstep of Rudraksh’s bedroom, Vardhaman stood with a determined expression. He tapped lightly on the door, his knuckles barely grazing the wood.
“Bhaiya, open the door. It’s me, Vardhaman.”

Aanand and Anusuiya exchanged anxious glances. Her fingers were tightly entwined, her lips moving in soundless prayers. Aanand’s jaw was clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The door remained shut. Silence pressed against the hallway walls.

Vardhaman knocked again, harder this time. “Bhaiya! Rudraksh Bhaiya! Open the door!” His fists pounded the wood, each thud echoing down the corridor.

Anusuiya’s breathing quickened. Her chest rose and fell in sharp bursts as she fixed her gaze on the door, as if willing it to open.

Aanand’s face stayed stern, but his twitching eyelids betrayed the unease beneath.

The air grew heavy, the silence between knocks suffocating.

Anusuiya turned suddenly to Aanand, anguish twisting her face. “If anything happens to my son, I’ll leave you!” Her voice cracked, spilling over with desperation. Tears streamed freely, her fists striking the door. “Rudraksh! Beta, please open! Beta!”

Aanand’s composure faltered, his skin turning pale. He reached out to steady her, but she shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “This is all because of you!”

Aanand stared at her, stunned. “What are you saying? It’s your overpampering that—”

“Please!” Vardhaman’s voice broke as he clutched his hair, tugging in distress. “Stop fighting! This isn’t the time!”

The words froze them in place.

“Dad, we need to break this door,” Vardhaman urged, breath trembling. “We can’t wait… Bhaiya might be—” His voice caught on the thought.

Aanand gave a short nod, his decision firm. “Call the guards!” he commanded, his voice carrying down the hallway.

Within moments, two guards hurried in, bowing quickly. “Sir?”

Aanand pointed sharply at the door. “Break it.”

The men charged, their shoulders slamming against the wood. The door rattled but held. They braced again, sweat already beading on their foreheads. On the second blow, the frame groaned. On the third, the hinges gave way and the door swung open.

Anusuiya pushed past everyone. The moment her eyes fell inside, a strangled cry tore from her throat. “Rudraksh!”

Aanand and Vardhaman rushed forward, horror seizing their faces.

Rudraksh lay motionless on the cold floor, surrounded by shards of glass, broken ceramics, and torn photographs. His face was pale, lips streaked with dried blood, scratches cutting across his cheeks and forehead. A gash above his brow had bled and crusted, leaving dark trails on his skin. His right palm was crimson, jagged glass still embedded deep. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed he was alive.

Vardhaman started forward, but Aanand’s firm hand stopped him. The floor glittered with glass, each step a hidden danger.

A guard stepped carefully into the room and knelt beside Rudraksh. He lifted him gently, cradling his head and shoulders as though holding something fragile.

Anusuiya’s hands fluttered helplessly toward her son’s face. “My son…” she whispered, trembling.

Vardhaman pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as panic clawed at his chest. His eyes stayed fixed on his brother’s limp body being carried out of the room.

Aanand’s face, carved with lines of strain, betrayed the weight of fear he refused to voice. Still, his tone was steady. “Get him to the hospital. Now.”

He glanced at his wife and younger son, a flicker of vulnerability passing across his features before resolve set back in.
“Vardhaman, stay with your mother.”

The words were soft but final.

As Aanand strode out after the guards, Anusuiya’s broken pleas trailed behind him, her voice echoing through the bungalow.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

The car screeched to a halt outside the hospital, tires screaming against the road before falling silent. The guard leapt out, Rudraksh’s limp body heavy in his arms, and followed close behind Aanand as they pushed through the sliding glass doors.

The hospital swallowed them in a rush of antiseptic air. White walls stretched in every direction, harsh under the fluorescent lights. The reception desk buzzed with the low murmur of telephones and the shuffle of papers, while a distant intercom crackled with announcements no one had time to truly hear. Somewhere nearby, the wheels of a gurney screeched against the tiled floor, a thin metallic whine that pierced the already frantic air.

Aanand’s eyes locked on the receptionist. He strode forward, voice breaking through the sterile calm.

“Excuse me!” His words rang sharp and urgent. “Where is Dr. Choudhary? It’s an emergency!”

The receptionist lifted her gaze slowly from her paperwork, her face composed, her tone measured. “Sorry, sir. He’s on dinner break. Approximately two hours.”

The words struck Aanand like a blow. His shoulders sagged, his face drained of color. For a heartbeat, he simply stood there, the noise of the hospital muffling into a dull roar around him.

He fumbled for his phone, his hands unsteady. The screen shimmered before his eyes as he dialed the number he had trusted for years. Each ring stretched into an eternity until, finally, a familiar voice answered.

“Oh, Maurya! What brings you to call today?” Dr. Choudhary’s warmth spilled through the receiver, but it only deepened the tremor in Aanand’s throat.

“Choudhary…” His voice broke. “I’m sorry to disturb you at dinner, but… Rudraksh—he’s been in an accident.” He swallowed hard, the words barely scraping past his lips. “Please, save him. I will owe you everything.”

There was a brief pause. Then Choudhary’s tone shifted, firm and steady. “Don’t worry, Maurya. I’m on my way. In the meantime, get him shifted to the emergency ward. Tell the staff it’s my order.”

Aanand closed his eyes, gripping the phone as if holding onto the man’s promise itself.

“And Maurya. Everything will be fine; have faith.”

The line clicked off. The sounds of the hospital rushed back – footsteps clattering on the floor, a child crying down the hall, a nurse’s hurried instructions shouted to someone unseen. Aanand straightened, his hesitation gone.

He signed the forms with quick, practiced strokes, his hands moving faster than his mind. Within minutes, Rudraksh was taken into the emergency ward, swallowed by a flurry of nurses in white coats and the steady pulse of beeping monitors.

Aanand stood at the threshold, the sharp tang of antiseptic thick in his lungs, clinging to Choudhary’s words like a prayer.

A/N: Friends are special, isn't it? And if you have lived years of friendship with the same person, it's even more special, like a miracle. Do you have someone like this in your life?

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