Shades Of Purple

Chapter 12 - VIP Patient

PIHA'S POV:
[A WEEK LATER]
4TH MARCH

It's currently 11 pm, and I'm wondering why fate won't leave me alone. It has been seven days since that incident, and I'm having a pretty hard time forgetting it. One, I have no idea why he was at Fortis that day. And two, why is he the only person I keep thinking of?

I pray to God that we don't cross paths ever again. Why, you may ask. That’s because he reminds me of Roman.

I huff in annoyance. Well, this week has been quite good from a professional viewpoint; I got to do things I've always wanted to. Additionally, my appointment is with a VIP patient tomorrow. It's as weird as it sounds. Well, VIPs are just normal patients who are rich or popular and get additional facilities like an entire luxurious ward for themselves. Sounds plain.

I toss and turn in bed, hoping that sleep would engulf me soon, but nah! Instead, I see a blue-eyed man who's been dominating my thoughts ever since I met him.

____________

I ignore the pimple on my forehead that has been begging for treatment. No thanks; I'm already late.Nice way to start your day, Piha!

I look like shit right now, and dear future husband, if you see me, just treat me like an invisible entity. I'm a cent percent sure I'm going to end up being yelled at by the VIP guy or girl.

I fight back my urge to slip into a cute and comfy skirt. Instead, I choose a pair of denim jeans and match them with a purple knit-style top. I adorn myself with accessories and leave for Fortis.

It has been two days since it has started raining. I hope it doesn't lead to flash floods, considering the useless drainage systems we have. The road ahead is barely visible due to the heavy rain and smog, the droplets pitter-pattering against the windshield with full force despite the wipers working at full throttle.

I sigh. Eww! The day cannot get any worse.

I park my car in the upper parking lot because I don't want it to flow away with the receding water. Shoving the backpack on my right shoulder, I slam the door behind me. I stop myself from getting into the car again and drive to the nearest chai (tea) stall. Enjoying the rain, I could sip on my masala tea, but no, I'm not that lucky.

As soon as I reach the reception, I see the receptionist guy wink at me. He looks somewhat familiar. I throw him a questionable look and take my report. As I open the door of the VIP ward, I stop dead in my tracks.

I blink twice to make sure that I'm not hallucinating.

Please, no!

Furtively glancing at the dossier in my hands, I quickly open the reports.

(RAGHVANSH BIRLA, 31 YEARS AGO, M)

Yes! It’s evident. God hates me so much.

I see him lift his gaze from the newspaper he had been reading, and his angry eyes meet mine.

Why wouldn't he be angry? You're 20 minutes late.

I bite my lower lip nervously and see his gaze soften as if saying something, and he continues staring at me—staring at my soul—for a good five minutes.

Then, he gets up and leaves, banging the door behind him.

My eyes shut on their accord due to the loud noise. I'm pretty much sure he broke the door. But I can't figure out why he did that. Thinking over what just happened, I feel a pang in my heart. What went wrong? Does he think I'm not qualified enough to examine him, or is it because I crashed into him the other day?