The aroma of caramelized onions and seared garlic filled the air, mingling with the tang of fresh tomatoes and the earthy burn of paprika. The clatter of pans, the hiss of boiling stock, and the sharp orders called across the kitchen created a chaotic rhythm only a seasoned chef could dance to.

And Piya Kaur? She didn't just dance — she ruled.

"Dhaniya, not parsley!" she snapped, waving off a trembling intern who had almost ruined her signature curry. "And don't drown the paneer like it insulted your ancestors!"

Another crisis averted. Another dish saved. But the storm brewing inside her wasn't as easy to control.

Her hands moved with expert precision, slicing green chilies razor-thin while her mind wandered — unwillingly — to a familiar name that had popped up in her inbox this morning.

Dr. Viom Chadda.

Head of Emergency, City General Hospital.

'Referral request: food poisoning case – urgent consult.'

She hadn't seen that name in years.

Not since—

A sharp, searing pain jolted her out of the memory.

She gasped. Blood bloomed across her palm, vivid and red. The knife clattered to the floor, a dark streak following its descent.

"Shit," she hissed, grabbing a dish towel and wrapping it tightly around her hand. But the gash was deep. Too deep.

The kitchen fell silent.

"Someone get help!" a sous-chef yelled. "She's bleeding!"

Piya wobbled, her vision swimming, breath coming in shallow bursts. Her pride told her to stay upright. Her body didn't agree.

And just before her knees gave out, she saw the door burst open.

White coat.

Stethoscope.

Familiar, haunted eyes.

"Piya."

His voice was low. Panicked. Real.

Viom.

Her childhood. Her heartbreak. Her what-if.

Before the darkness took her, she saw him rushing toward her — as if no time had passed.

And just like that, the past came bleeding back into her life.

Bright white lights cut through the blur.

Piya winced, a dull throb pulsing from her hand to her shoulder. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a raw sting and a trail of regret.

"Deep laceration across the palm. She's lost a lot of blood," a nurse reported briskly, wheeling her through the emergency wing.

She could hear voices — rushed, clinical, distant.

Footsteps. Machines. The soft hiss of oxygen.

But it was his voice that pulled her fully back.

"I've got her."

She turned her head. Her vision cleared — and there he was.

Viom.

He wore scrubs now. His hair was slightly mussed, dark brows drawn together in the way they used to when he was annoyed or scared — and Viom Chaddha was never scared.

Except when it came to her.

"You're awake," he said, voice low but tight. "Good. Stay with me."

She wanted to say something sharp, something smart — something that would erase the sting in his eyes.

But all that came out was, "...I didn't think you still worked nights."

He paused for half a second. Just long enough to show that her voice still hit him somewhere unguarded.

"I don't," he said, finally. "But for you? The universe made an exception."

She blinked, unsure if it was the blood loss or the weight of his words that made her chest feel tight.

⸻

Trauma Bay 3: 12 Minutes Later

The cut had been cleaned, disinfected, and stitched with delicate precision — by Viom himself.

"Stubborn as ever," he muttered under his breath, adjusting the dressing. "A millimeter deeper and you'd have damaged a tendon."

"I was thinking about you," she said, her voice hoarse. "And I guess the knife agreed I needed a reality check."

He stopped. The silence between them buzzed louder than the heart monitor.

"I didn't ask for this," she whispered, looking away. "You. This... reunion."

"I didn't either," he said, more quietly now. "But maybe we both needed it."

He stood and stepped back, removing his gloves. His eyes met hers, and for the first time in years, there were no walls — just wounds.

"Get some rest, Piya," he said softly. "You're safe now."

She wanted to argue.

She wanted to hate him.

She wanted to believe him.

But all she could do was close her eyes... and let the past settle like dust in the corners of her heart.