The coffee machine in the doctors' lounge was acting up again—sputtering like an old scooter on its last leg, dribbling lukewarm black liquid into a paper cup that already had a tiny tear near the rim. 

I'd beaten the usual crowd by a solid ten minutes, still riding the high of actually being early for once.

 My scrubs smelled faintly of the fresh detergent Mum's housekeeper used, and for the first time all week, I didn't have dried jam or Betadine crusting anywhere visible. 

Small victories.

I was reaching for a second sugar packet—because hospital coffee tasted like regret without it—when I heard the soft scuff of shoes behind me.

Kavita.

She'd been moving slower than usual all morning, that stubborn strand of hair escaping her scrub cap again, now plastered to her damp temple. 

Her white coat hung a little crooked, one shoulder seam slightly twisted, and there were faint dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. 

She'd been up most of the night with back-to-back cases; I'd seen the OR schedule.

Then her step faltered.

Just a tiny wobble—knees buckling for half a second, one hand shooting out toward the counter but missing by inches. 

Her shoulder clipped the edge of the machine, and the half-full cup she was holding tilted dangerously.

I dropped the sugar packet. It hit the floor with a soft patter as I lunged forward, coffee sloshing over my fingers—hot enough to sting but not scald

. My arm slid around her waist instinctively, the other catching her elbow to steady her. 

She was lighter than I expected, all tension and exhaustion wrapped in scrubs. 

Her body leaned into mine for a split second, warm through the thin fabric, the faint scent of hospital soap mixed with something softer—maybe the ghost of the mango body lotion she must use at home. 

Her breathing was shallow, a little too fast, and I felt the faint tremor in her left pinky against my sleeve.

"Easy, Doc," I muttered, voice lower than I meant. "I've got you."

At the same moment, heavy footsteps came from the other side of the lounge.

Harsh Shah.

He'd apparently been lurking near the vending machine, that stupid half-smirk already forming on his face until he saw her wobble. 

He strode over fast, white coat flaring, reaching out like he still had some claim.

But I was already there.

Harsh's hand stopped mid-air. His eyes—dark, sharp, the kind that probably intimidated interns in the cath lab—locked onto me.

 The look he gave was pure venom: jaw tight, nostrils flaring just a fraction, lips pressed thin like he'd tasted something sour.

 Possessive. Annoyed. 

Like I'd touched something that belonged in his OR, not mine.

I held Kavita steady another beat until she found her balance, then slowly let go, my hand lingering a second longer than necessary on her elbow.

 She straightened, color creeping back into her cheeks, but her fingers still gripped the counter edge, knuckles pale.

Harsh didn't move away. He just stood there, arms now crossed, giving me that same mean stare—like I was the janitor who'd wandered into the wrong wing.

I met his eyes dead-on, irritation bubbling up hot and fast, mixing with whatever that weird protective twist in my chest was from overhearing him yesterday. 

"What's with that look?" I said, keeping my tone light but edged, the cocky grin sliding into place even as my pulse kicked up. 

"You don't deserve to touch her. Not after the way you were talking to her this morning. Begging for her own daughter and you shut her down like she's some inconvenient consult. Real classy, Dr. Shah."

The words landed heavier than I planned. The lounge suddenly felt smaller—the hum of the faulty coffee machine louder, the faint lemon disinfectant from the corridor seeping in, the distant beep of a monitor from the ICU wing reminding everyone we were never really off-duty.

Kavita's head snapped toward me, eyes widening first with surprise, then flashing with that familiar fury. "Shreyansh—" she started, voice low and warning, but there was a new crack in it, exhaustion bleeding through.

Harsh's smirk twisted into something uglier. He took one step closer, towering a bit, the faint scar on his forearm visible where his sleeve had ridden up. "Kid, you've been here what—a week? And suddenly you're the hero defending her honor? Stay in your lane before you embarrass yourself more than you already do with those shaky retractors."

I laughed once, short and sharp, wiping the spilled coffee off my hand onto my scrub pants where it left a faint brown streak. "Lane? At least I caught her instead of standing there calculating how to use it against her in your next custody round. You treat her like she's the problem when she's the one keeping people alive while you play God with hearts. Touch her again like you own the moment and we'll see whose lane gets messy."

Kavita stepped between us fully now, one hand pressing lightly against my chest—not hard, but firm enough to feel the heat of her palm through the thin scrub fabric.

 Her fingers were still trembling just a little. Up close, I could see the tiny red lines in the whites of her eyes from lack of sleep, the way her lower lip was chapped from biting it during long cases.

"Enough," she said, voice weary but steel-edged, the same tone she used when I'd nearly crashed that patient last week.

 "Both of you. This isn't the place. Shreyansh—go prep for rounds. Now. And Harsh..." She turned to him, something resigned flickering across her face. "We're done here."

Harsh held my gaze a second longer, that mean look promising this wasn't over, then gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, white coat snapping as he left. 

The door clicked shut behind him a little too hard.

Kavita exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple with two fingers. The escaped hair strand had fallen further, brushing her cheek now. She looked at me—really looked—exhaustion, irritation, and maybe the tiniest flicker of something else I couldn't name.

"You shouldn't have said that," she murmured, but there was no real bite left.

I shrugged, picking up my half-filled coffee cup from the counter, the liquid now cold and bitter. "Maybe not. But someone had to."

 My voice came out lighter than I felt, the cockiness masking the way my own hands still buzzed from catching her. "You okay, Doc? Or do I need to call a real doctor?"

She gave a faint, tired huff that might've been almost a laugh. "Rounds. Five minutes. And fix your collar—it's flipped again."

I still didn't like her.

Not really.

But standing there with lukewarm coffee burning my tongue and Harsh's mean look etched in my mind, I realized something annoying.

I really, really didn't like him touching her either.

The lounge door had barely clicked shut behind Harsh when Kavita turned back to the counter, one hand still braced on the edge like the floor might betray her again. 

Her breathing was measured now—too measured, the kind of controlled inhale she used in the OR when things were going south. 

I stood there like an idiot, lukewarm coffee forgotten in my grip, the paper cup denting under my fingers.

"You look like you're about to keel over," I said, keeping my voice light even though my pulse was still doing that stupid flutter from catching her. "When's the last time you had water? Or food? Or sleep that wasn't stolen in the on-call room?"

She shot me a glare over her shoulder, the weary kind that could slice through bone. "I'm fine, Shreyansh. Go prep for rounds."

"Fine people don't wobble like they're on a ship in a storm." I set my cup down with a soft thud and rummaged through the small fridge in the corner—the one stocked with sad hospital provisions. 

My hand closed around a bottle of oral rehydration salts, the orange kind that tasted like artificial mango gone wrong. There was also a half-empty packet of glucose biscuits and a sealed electrolyte pouch.

 I grabbed them all, plus a fresh bottle of plain water. "Here. Electrolytes. Glucose. Hydrate before you drop and I have to explain to my director-mom why her star neurosurgeon face-planted because she treats her body like a rented scooter."

Kavita straightened, turning fully toward me. Irritation flashed across her face—clear, sharp, the same look she gave me when I'd over-pumped that BP cuff last week. "I don't need babysitting from a manchild who couldn't even put his scrubs on straight seven days ago. Put those back."

I didn't. Instead I stepped closer, holding out the ORS bottle like a peace offering. "Come on, Doc. You just nearly took a header into the coffee machine. Drink this. Eat the biscuit. I'm not asking as your annoying shadow—I'm asking as the guy who doesn't want to hold retractors alone if you pass out mid-case."

She exhaled through her nose, a long, resigned sound, and reached for the water instead, unscrewing the cap with fingers that still carried that faint tremor in the left pinky. "You're impossible."

"Yeah, well, you're stubborn." I twisted the cap off the ORS and mixed it into the water bottle, the powder fizzing faintly orange. 

Kavita took the bottle from me, her fingertips brushing mine—warm, dry, callused from years of glove friction. She took a small sip, then another, grimacing at the taste. "Happy?"

"Not yet." I tore open the glucose biscuit packet and held one out. "Eat."

She rolled her eyes but took it, biting off a corner with deliberate irritation. Crumbs caught on her lower lip for a second before she licked them away. "Satisfied, kid?"

There it was again—that word. It should've annoyed me more, but right now my brain was too busy short-circuiting for entirely different reasons.

Because as she shifted her weight to lean against the counter, trying to steady herself while sipping the electrolyte mix, her white coat gaped open just a fraction more. 

The top two buttons of her scrub top had come undone sometime during the wobble—probably when she'd clipped the machine or when I'd caught her. 

The thin blue fabric parted, revealing the soft curve of her cleavage and, scattered across the skin like tiny dark constellations, a handful of small moles. 

One just above the swell, another lower, slightly asymmetrical, a third faint one peeking near the edge of what must be her bra line. 

The skin there was smooth, a shade warmer than her face, with the faintest sheen of sweat from whatever long night she'd had.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen skin. 

God, no. I'd seen plenty—club lights, late nights, girls in barely-there dresses laughing with their heads thrown back.

 But this... this was different. Clinical lighting, no makeup, no performance. 

Just raw, tired, real. 

The kind of intimate detail you weren't supposed to notice on your terrifying mentor who'd spent the week calling you useless. 

My brain glitched. Thoughts flatlined. 

Heat rushed up the back of my neck, stupid and sudden, and I couldn't look away fast enough.

 My mouth went dry. The biscuit in my hand crumbled a little between my fingers.

Kavita noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Her eyes flicked up, caught mine staring, and in one smooth motion she tugged the scrub top closed with her free hand, fingers fumbling the buttons back into place. 

A flush crept up her neck—faint but visible—disappearing under the collar of her white coat. 

The escaped strand of hair fell further across her cheek as she straightened fully, irritation sharpening into something closer to embarrassment mixed with fury.

"Eyes up here, Shreyansh," she said, voice low and clipped, the weariness edged with steel. She set the electrolyte bottle down with a firm clack on the counter. 

"This is exactly what I meant. You're not here to gawk. You're here to learn. And if you can't keep your gaze professional for five seconds, you can go shadow someone whose anatomy lessons don't involve my chest."

I blinked, forcing my brain back online, the cocky grin sliding into place like armor even as my ears burned. "Whoa—hey, I wasn't— It was an accident. You shifted, the coat ...umm.." 

I gestured vaguely, trying to play it off, but my voice came out a notch higher than usual. "Not my fault the uniform is basically tissue paper after a long shift. And for the record, I've seen skin before. Plenty. This is... different. Clinical. Medical. Totally professional short-circuit."

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest now, the fabric pulling taut, hiding everything again.

 Her jaw was set, but there was a new tightness around her mouth—the same resigned exhaustion I'd heard when she begged Harsh for Eknoor. "Professional? You nearly dropped a patient last week trying to show off, and now you're short-circuiting over a few inches of skin because you're sleep-deprived and hormonal. Grow up. Or at least pretend to."

I rubbed the back of my neck, the spot where my scrub collar suddenly felt too tight. 

The lounge felt smaller, the hum of the faulty coffee machine louder, the distant trolley wheels clattering like they were laughing at me. "Okay, fine. Message received. No more staring. No more electrolytes if you don't want them. But you still look like you're running on fumes, Doc. At least finish the drink before we go torture more brains."

Kavita picked up the bottle again, took one last deliberate sip, and capped it. The flush on her neck had faded, but her eyes still held that sharp warning. She brushed past me toward the door, shoulder bumping mine lightly—deliberate this time.

"Rounds. Now," she said without turning around. "And if you mention this incident to anyone—including your mother—I will make the next craniotomy feel like a vacation compared to what I'll put you through."

I watched her go, the white coat swaying with her steadier steps, that one button now securely fastened.

My brain was still half-glitched, the image of those tiny dark moles burned behind my eyelids like an afterimage from the OR lights.

But damn if my body hadn't just betrayed me in the most inconvenient way possible.

I grabbed my own coffee, now stone cold, and followed her out.

This week was never going to let me live it down.