Chapter 56 :

Anvaya's POV

Mrs. Lavanya’s eyes were sharp—too sharp. They did not just look at me, they cut through me, slicing into the quiet confidence I carried when I walked into work this morning. Her stare wasn’t neutral. It wasn’t professional. It was heavy. It was damning. Her gaze alone told me something unpleasant had arrived, something I hadn’t prepared for.

But what could possibly go wrong?

I obeyed the rules. I followed the protocols. I had done everything I was told to do.

Unless…

My mind flickered back unwillingly.

Had Viola? Did she… complain? Did she file a complaint because she thought I was too close to her husband? My blood went cold. The idea itself was absurd, yet the thought grew louder in my mind.

No, no, that couldn’t be it. But then—what was it?

“Morning to you too, Ms. Shaurya,” Mrs. Lavanya greeted, her tone dripping with mockery. My stomach knotted instantly. The same woman who always smiled at me, who encouraged me, was now looking at me like I was filth under her shoes.

What the fuck had happened?

My eyes darted to Nitya. My only friend in this suffocating place. She looked back at me, but all I saw in her gaze was helplessness. Even she couldn’t explain what was unfolding.

I forced myself to face the HOD again. My voice trembled, but I tried to stay steady. “Ma’am, can you please tell me what has happened? I don’t happen to understand.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped further into my cabin with a kind of authority that made the air heavy. Then she handed me a file.

The folder felt unusually heavy in my hands. With shaking fingers, I flipped the cover open.

The first line screamed at me in bold black letters:

Details of the Deceased

My brows furrowed in confusion. Deceased? Who?

I scanned the lines below. And with every single word that registered in my mind, I felt the world around me shrink. The walls drew closer, the ceiling lowered, the light dimmed. My ears filled with a dull ringing, blocking out everything else.

The patient I had been assigned yesterday… had died.

How?

The file told me. Cold, merciless words typed across a sheet of white:

Reason: Low blood pressure due to heart blockage. Wrong medicines provided to the patient, leading to the blockage and subsequent death.

Doctor assigned: Dr. Anvaya Shaurya.
Date: 21 September, Sunday, 2025.
Time: 10:00 a.m.

It was all there. Written in black and white. Clear as crystal. And with it, only one conclusion: I was guilty.

My throat ran dry. I lifted my eyes to Mrs. Lavanya, but they were wide, desperate, hollow. “Ma’am, what is this? I… I can’t understand.”

She folded her arms, unmoved. “Since when did you start not understanding English?”

The words stung, more than they should have. I shook my head in disbelief, my voice cracking. “Ma’am, I didn’t do such a thing. This is… this is—”

“Fake?” Her voice was cold steel. “What do you want to say, Ms. Shaurya? That the hospital authority is lying?”

I wanted to scream. The same woman who once told me she believed in my skills, who praised me, who smiled… was now spitting venom, doubting me for something I hadn’t done.

I felt my chest tighten, air catching in my lungs. “Ma’am, I didn’t do this. Why don’t you trust me?” My plea was almost childish in its desperation. But this wasn’t about a mistake on a report or a delayed submission. This was about death. Someone’s life was gone. And worse—everyone believed it was because of me.

My composure snapped like brittle glass.

“Ma’am, I—I can never do such a thing!” My words rushed out, stammering, trembling. “I have proof—the medicines I fed, the timing—I wrote it all down. I’ll show you.” My hands shook as I pressed them against the desk, grounding myself, but nothing grounded the terror rising inside me.

What was happening? When had everything twisted so horribly?

Unless… unless it was planned.

Viola. Was she behind this?

But I couldn’t spiral into paranoia now. This wasn’t about her. This was my career, my life’s work. And it was slipping away, dripping through my trembling fingers.

No. No, this shouldn’t happen. It can’t.

I stumbled out of my cabin, my eyes desperately searching. Then I saw her. Medha. The nurse who had been with me yesterday. A spark of hope lit inside me.

I grabbed her hand. Too harshly, maybe, because she flinched. “Doctor, what are you doing?”

“Please—please don’t get scared.” My voice cracked, words falling apart. “I just need your help, just come with me.” I was nearly begging as I pulled her with me, dragging her hope into my dying flame.

We stopped in front of Mrs. Lavanya. I placed Medha beside me like a final shield. “Medha, please tell ma’am. You were with me yesterday. I told you to note down the medicine names, the timings. You must have the paper, right? Please bring it—”

I stopped. My heart sank. Medha wasn’t looking at me. She was staring down at the floor, silent.

“No,” I whispered, my throat closing. No. This can’t be.

“Medha, why don’t you say something?” My voice shook, desperation bleeding through every syllable.

She finally lifted her face, guilt flashing for just a second before she said, “I’m sorry, doctor. But you didn’t tell me to note down anything. I was just beside you when you were feeding the medicines.”

My body turned to ice.

She was lying.

But why?

“Medha, p-please. Stop lying.” My voice was breaking, collapsing in on itself. “I told you. I clearly remember that. Please—please bring the clipboard.”

But she stood still. Like a wall. Her silence was louder than screams.

“No, doctor. There’s no such clipboard.”

Her words shattered the last fragile thread of hope I clung to.

Even she… had betrayed me.

I stared at her, my eyes wide, tears spilling down my face. Betrayal burned worse than the accusation itself.

What the fuck was even happening?

Behind me, Mrs. Lavanya’s footsteps clicked closer. Her voice carried mockery like poison. “Now you don’t have anything to prove, do you?” Her eyes—once familiar—were strangers now.

“She said you just fed without penning down anything. Do you even know the consequences of what you’ve done?”

I shook my head violently, sobs bursting free. I didn’t want to cry, not in front of her, not like this. But the fear of losing everything—my dream, my life, my identity—was clawing through my chest.

Cardiology wasn’t just a profession. It was my lifeline. And it was being ripped away from me.

“Ma’am, please,” I begged, my voice hoarse. “At least try to understand me. I didn’t do anything. I can never. It’s just some—some mistake, some misconception. The CCTV footage must be there.”

She sighed, as if I were exhausting her patience, and removed her glasses. Her gaze cut into me. “Stop this drama, Ms. Shaurya. The CCTV clearly shows you didn’t check the meds. You just gave them.” She shoved a tablet into my hands.

My trembling fingers pressed play. The footage loaded. There I was, on the screen. Picking up the medicine bottle. Taking two tablets. Feeding the patient.

But that wasn’t the whole scene. It wasn’t everything. It didn’t show me checking before. It didn’t show the clipboard.

My lips trembled. My whole body shook. “Ma’am, it’s not complete—”

“But you fed the meds, right?” Her interruption sliced through my protest.

Before I could respond, a voice rose beside me. Fierce. Protective. “Ma’am, she’s saying she didn’t do anything. Then why don’t you believe her?” Nitya’s eyes were blazing.

“Ms. Nitya, stay away,” Mrs. Lavanya snapped. “If you interfere again, your medical license will be cancelled.”

My heart stopped.

Nitya was about to rebel further, her fists clenched, but I caught her hand, squeezing tightly. She looked at me, her anger warring with disbelief at why I stopped her.

Because I couldn’t. I couldn’t drag her into my fall.

I shook my head, my eyes stinging with tears. “No, Nitya. Please.”

Her chest heaved in frustration, but she stepped back, huffing.

And just like that, I was alone again.

Yesterday, I was laughing. Smiling in someone’s arms. Today, I was standing in ruins. Everything turned upside down—my world collapsing over a misunderstanding. Or maybe, something worse. A deliberate frame-up.

“Ms. Shaurya, you’re expected in the conference hall.” The director’s assistant’s voice pierced through the tension.

I knew what was coming.

It was the end.

And I had nothing left to prove my innocence. No clipboard. No ally. No trust.

What more did they need to bury me?

My body sagged. I felt hollow, powerless. I didn’t even have the will to defend myself anymore. The fight was gone. I wanted to run, disappear, vanish into nothingness.

I wished it was just a nightmare. But it wasn’t. This was too vivid, too sharp, too cruel.

This was a living nightmare.

•

11:10 a.m.

My feet stumbled across the hospital’s back garden pavement. Each step dragged my body like dead weight. My shoulders slumped. My face was expressionless now, but my cheeks were wet, streaked with dried tears that had painted me in helplessness.

The verdict had been given. Permanent suspension. Medical license cancelled.

My career was gone.

“Today, I, Anvaya Shaurya, accept myself guilty for the death of the patient named Manoj Kumar…”

The words replayed in my ears, hollow and cruel. They had forced me to recite that statement. To confess to something I didn’t do. To brand myself guilty. I had said it, because what else could I do? Standing in that conference room surrounded by higher authorities, I hung my head low.

Had I fought for myself, I was threatened Nitya would lose her career too.

They threatened me to accept the fault.

The world swam hazily—branches of the willow trembling above, blurred sunlight dripping through leaves like liquid gold. But none of it mattered. Nothing felt real.

All I could feel was the crushing weight in my chest.

It wasn’t physical—no, it was worse. It was the weight of knowing I had lost everything.

A career I had carved with sleepless nights and bloodied sacrifices.
A dream that had breathed inside me longer than I could remember.
A name I had polished carefully, one patient after another.

All of it, smashed to pieces in a single morning.

I tried to breathe, but the air burned my lungs, stung my throat. Each gasp came jagged, shallow.

I pressed my palms to my face, trying to hold myself together, but the tears slipped through anyway, hot trails cutting down my skin.

“Why me?” My voice cracked out, dry and trembling. “Why always me?”

The question lingered in the silence, unanswered.

Because who would answer? Who cared?

I had been thrown away. Just like that.

And it wasn’t just the punishment—it was the betrayal that stung sharper than any blade.

Medha.
The nurse I trusted, the one who stood beside me, watching, learning. She had looked me in the eye and lied. Lied so smoothly it almost seemed rehearsed. She erased me with a single denial.

Mrs. Lavanya.
A mentor I had admired. A woman whose approval once mattered to me more than anything. She hadn’t even hesitated before condemning me. All those words she once spoke of trust and faith—ashes, scattered like they never existed.

The hospital.
The authorities.
Everyone.

They didn’t even give me a chance. Didn’t pause to think—Could Anvaya really be capable of this?

No.
They had been waiting for me to fall. Waiting for the moment I’d trip so they could shove me down further.

And Nitya…

I closed my eyes, my chest tightening at her name.
She had wanted to stand up for me.

To fight.

And I—coward that I was—stopped her. I made her stay silent. I had crushed the only hand that reached out for me because I couldn’t bear to ruin her too.

A bitter laugh tore from my throat, ragged and broken. It startled even me. The sound didn’t feel human. It felt like the sound of something cracking apart.

The willow leaves swayed gently above, mocking me with their serenity. The world moved on. Patients came and went. Nurses hurried along. The sun shone. Birds sang.

Everything continued—while I had ended.

I dragged my knees to my chest, hugging them tightly, burying my face in the hollow between. My whole body shook with sobs I couldn’t contain. The tears came endlessly, not loud wails but quiet, raw gasps—the kind that left your throat scorched and your chest bruised.

I wasn’t strong. Not like I had pretended to be.

I had thought I could handle anything. Long nights. Exhaustion. Pressure. Death even. I had told myself I was resilient. That cardiology wasn’t just my career, it was my identity, my existence.

But today… today I realized how fragile I really was.

All it took was one accusation, one lie, and I shattered.

“Maybe they were right,” I whispered into my knees, the words foreign yet venomous on my tongue. “Maybe it was me. Maybe I did it. Maybe I wasn’t careful enough.”

The thought struck me like lightning, leaving a ringing ache behind.

No.
I had checked. I knew I had.
But doubt crept in like poison, filling every crack in my mind.

What if I misread the label? What if I didn’t record the dosage right? What if I had been too distracted? Too careless?

I remembered the patient’s face—the faint smile when I adjusted their blanket, the way their tired eyes searched mine for assurance. They had trusted me. And now they were gone.

The guilt stabbed deep. Even if I wasn’t at fault, I was still the doctor assigned. Their life had been in my hands. And those hands had failed.

My stomach twisted violently. I gagged, pressing my fist to my lips, but nothing came out. Just the bitter taste of bile, and the heavier taste of shame.

I wasn’t Anvaya Shaurya, the proud doctor anymore.

I was the murderer of a patient.

The careless one.
The one who killed.

My hands trembled cold, my heart shook against the ribs at the thought. It wasn't true but the way it was framed — anyone would think it was the truth.

And it didn’t matter if I wasn’t guilty. Because the world had already painted me red with blame.

The weight of that realization pressed me deeper into the bench. I no longer had the energy to resist it. My breaths shortened more.

For the first time in years, I wanted to disappear. To vanish into nothing.

Because how do you live when everything you are has been stripped from you?

How do you move forward when your dream has been stamped into the mud?

How do you stand tall when even your reflection whispers guilty?

I looked at my hands, trembling, stained with invisible blood.

I hated them.

I hated myself.

“Why did you trust people, Anvaya?” I whispered to the air, half-crazed. “Why did you think anyone would stand by you? Fool. Stupid fool.”

My tears blurred again, hot and merciless.

The truth was worse than death.
It wasn’t just the world that no longer trusted me.

It was me.

I no longer trusted myself.

And that… that was the cruelest punishment of all.