Sunlight, Storms, and Strange Truths

The morning light poured through the wide window like golden fire — too bright, too loud, too real for the sterile quiet of the hospital room. It filtered through half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows on the polished floors and blinking machines. From the expensive monitors to the reclining couch in the corner, everything screamed VIP ward. Whoever she was, she wasn’t just any patient.

A nurse stepped in, clipboard in hand, her expression tired but alert. She did the usual — checked vitals, adjusted the IV, glanced at the monitors — then paused. She looked at the still figure on the bed, the girl wrapped in white sheets, her face peaceful but pale. After a beat, the nurse left silently, making a quick note on her chart.

Hours passed.

And then, something shifted.

First, it was the twitch of a finger. Then the slow, shaky movement of her hand against the sheets. Her brow furrowed, her lips parted as though trying to speak — but nothing came out. Her body tensed, fighting through the weight that held her down.

And then — her eyes fluttered open.

Just a sliver.

Then wider.

Light stabbed straight into them like knives, and she winced instantly, groaning under her breath.

The nurse who had just re-entered the room gasped dramatically, one hand flying to her chest.

“Yahaan toh bhoot hai!” she whispered, half-joking, half-terrified.

The girl didn’t laugh. Her head was pounding, her eyes stinging from the sharp sunlight. All she wanted to do was scream at someone — anyone — to shut the damn window.

But she couldn't even lift her voice.

It felt like her thoughts were running at full speed but her body was stuck in slow motion.

A moment later, a doctor entered the room, young and calm, his white coat billowing slightly behind him.

He approached the bed gently and offered a reassuring smile. “Aap kaisi hain?” he asked softly, placing his warm hand over hers.

She blinked slowly, lips dry, words tangled on her tongue. It took everything in her to form just three:

“Just… close the window.”

Even that sentence sounded broken, disjointed — like each word had to fight to come out.

Before the doctor could respond, the air changed.

Like a storm entering the room.

The door flung open with a gust of wind, and a man stepped inside like he had every right to be there.

He wasn’t just handsome — he was devastatingly handsome. Like he’d walked straight out of a movie. But his face — oh God, his face — was a mixture of too many things at once.

Fear. Relief. Confusion. Hope. Desperation.

He looked at her like he’d just seen a ghost.

The nurse froze.

The doctor stepped aside.

And the girl — already overwhelmed — could only stare.

What none of them could say out loud was the one thing they were all thinking:

Who was she?

And why did this man look at her like she belonged to him?