To Where It All Began ✔

1. THE BEGINNING OF THE END...OR A NEW BEGINNING

The faint hum of the overhead lights buzzed as Dr. Amna Biswas glanced at the digital clock on the wall of the emergency room. It was 11:03 PM on the 6th of March-another late night, another gruelling shift. The usual cacophony of the emergency room-the beeping of monitors, the soft murmur of nurses, the hurried footsteps-was nothing new to her. But there was an underlying tension tonight, something she couldn't quite shake.

The city outside had long descended into darkness, but inside the Savitri Medical College and Hospital's ER, time seemed to fold into itself, hours bleeding into one another. She leaned back in her chair for a brief moment, her eyes burning from the strain of being awake for so many hours, yet her mind was far too alert to relax. Her days as a second-year resident in emergency medicine had long since blurred into a continuous loop of endless nights, adrenaline-fueled crises, and the constant hum of medical equipment.

Sleep had become a distant memory, a luxury she seldom indulged in. What did proper rest even look like anymore? Certainly not the serene image of a sun-soaked morning, when the first rays greeted her gently through the window, coaxing her to wake up in peace. Now, her days blurred into nights, and nights into days. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd sat down with a cup of coffee in the morning, allowing herself the simple pleasure of relaxation. Those things, once so simple and pleasurable, had been sacrificed on the altar of her career. She had chosen this life-this unforgiving life. And for the most part, she embraced it. But that didn't mean it didn't take its toll. Here in the ER, life moved fast-faster than she ever anticipated.

With shifts that often spanned over twenty-four hours, Amna had come to understand the art of stealing sleep in the strangest of places. Sleeping had become less of a restful activity and more of a survival mechanism. She had mastered the ability to fall asleep anywhere, at any time-on a stretcher, on a hard and uncomfortable bench in the locker room, or even sitting upright in the hospital's break room with her head leaning against the wall, her lab coat serving as a makeshift pillow.

It wasn't sleep as most people knew it-deep, restorative, peaceful. No, it was fragmented, restless, interrupted by the beeping of duty phone and the calls of nurses, but it was all she could afford. Yet, despite its fleeting nature, she cherished those stolen moments of unconsciousness as if they were her most valuable possession. Her love affair with sleep, though tumultuous and often unsatisfying, was the one constant in her chaotic life.

But when she wasn't sleeping, when the stress of the job weighed too heavily on her, she found comfort in her few simple pleasures. Korean dramas, for one, had become her guilty obsession. They provided her with an escape from the relentless demands of her work, offering her a world far removed from the sterile hospital walls she inhabited daily. The unpredictable twists and turns of those dramas, the melodramatic plotlines, had a strange way of soothing her frayed nerves. Ask her about any of them, and she could recount entire seasons in vivid detail, complete with spoilers, as though those fictional lives had intertwined with her own.

Then there were the Harry Potter books. Those had been her salvation during her years in the orphanage, a place that, while safe, had never truly felt like home. She had read and reread those books so many times that the pages of her copies were dog-eared, the spines cracked from use. J.K. Rowling had crafted a world that offered her solace when she had none. It was a world of magic, of hope, where courage and loyalty triumphed, even in the face of overwhelming odds. And that was something Amna had held on to-an idea that no matter how dark things became, there was always a glimmer of light to be found if one only looked hard enough.

Her childhood had not been easy. Brought up in an orphanage, Amna had learned early on that the world could be harsh, cruel even. But those experiences had also made her resilient. She had grown up faster than most, out of necessity. Life had forced her to mature, to take care of herself when no one else would. And yet, despite everything, she had never become bitter or cynical and had managed to hold on to an optimistic view of life. Much of that optimism she owed to Rekha Biswas, the caretaker of the orphanage who had taken her under her wing. Rekha had been more than a guardian; she had been a mother figure, the one person who had instilled in her a sense of hope, perseverance, and above all, the ability to find light even in the darkest of times.