Page 94 of A Lab Rat's Guide to Fated Love
But it wasn’t really a choice, was it? After everything she’d done to let Vir have a healthy, long life, how could she just sit there and watch it be taken awayfrom him? If she had to take his place, it wasn’t exactly a choice she could make. It was already made for her.
The events all transpired within seconds—her noticing everything, anticipating both men’s trajectories, deducing the possible outcomes, and choosing the only one that worked for her.
Ryan’s car was a heavy-duty SUV that would easily survive the impact, possibly even without a scratch. She couldn’t say the same about her borrowed old vehicle.
With a deep exhale, Nori stepped on the accelerator.
Vir’s eyes widened, first in recognition, then in horror, as he realized what she was doing. And the speeding black car as it came within his range of sight, a split second before it connected with hers.
She was right. Her rundown, old hatchback didn’t stand a chance. She heard the impact first, before she felt it rattle through her bones.
Then a high-pitched ringing.
And screaming.
And darkness.
Twenty Four
Falling in Hate
April 2019:
National Trauma Center, New Delhi
Vir
Vir’s heart hammered beneath his ribsas he paced the sterile hospital corridor while doing his best to ignore Ryan’s irritating sniffling a few feet away. He swore, if he so much as looked at the guy, he was going to strangle him to death.
How could he sit there without a scratch on him, while Nori was fighting for her life a few doors away? It should’ve been him in there, not her. It was all his damn fault.
Just as it was Vir’s fault for making her step out of her apartment in the pouring rain. Only if he’d listened to her and let her be… He shoved his hands into his jeans’ pockets, shuddering as he recalled the blood. So much blood.
He’d seen it too late, in the split second before the impact, what Nori had already figured out and acted upon. If she hadn’t blocked him with her car, it would’ve been him inside instead of her. No, he’d be a bag of detached body parts at the morgue, not alive in a hospital ward.
A jittery, anxious Anita had called him earlier, warning him of potential danger looming around them both; flickering between them constantly as if undecided on the target yet. And Vir had been waiting near Nori’s apartment since, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, to know she was safe. He’d been debating calling her when his phone had lit up with her name.
The door to the operating room slid open, and a woman in teal green scrubs marched out.
Vir rushed forward to meet her.
“How is she?” he asked, pulling his hands out of his pockets. He clutched them together to keep them from trembling.
“She’s being transferred to the intensive care unit, so you won’t be able to see her right away,” the doctor replied. “She had multiple lacerations along her ribs, and a dislocated shoulder that’s been taken care of. There are minor fractures across her skull as well, but thankfully, there seems to be no significant damage. We’ll have to keep her under for a few days, however, till the pressure from the edema goes down.”
Vir listened to the doctor drawl on in her calm, impassive tone. As if on autopilot, his brain comprehended everything that was being said, but there were parts of him that neither understood, nor could they fathom how it was his Nori’s condition the doctor was describing. His stubborn, proud, over-protective Nori.
“But she’ll be okay,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“The worst seems to be over, yes,” she responded. “But we can’t be sure till after she wakes up.” With a final curt nod, the doctor walked away.
As soon as she was gone, Ryan’s sniffling resumed, to once again grate on Vir’s nerves. Fehim scooted to the seat next to him to offer words of comfort Vir didn’t want to hear.
With his jaw clenched tight, he turned on his heels and stormed out.
He kept walking till he was out of the building, and then some. Scenario after scenario that could’ve, should’ve happened instead, flashed through his mind—alternate versions of reality, where Nori was still untouched and unharmed, safe in her apartment as she should’ve been. All perfectly acceptable. None of them real.
After minutes, maybe hours of listless walking, he stopped to wipe his eyes with the back of his sleeve. It started drizzling again.
