She stood by the operating table holding her breath steady and cam. She was trained for operation theatre still she felt everytime it was her first time seeing an open heart .

The beeping sound of the heart monitor filled the operation theatre like a constant reminder that a real human heart was lying open right there under the bright lights.

She had been standing in this position for the last three hours and her legs had started to complain somewhere around the second hour but she did not move an inch.

Assisting Dr Akash Sharma was not a small thing. He was one of the best cardiologists in the country and every move he made inside the OT was calculated and precise like a sculptor working on his finest piece of art. He was best at what he did.

Today Dr Smriti was assisting him performing a coronary artery bypass graft on a sixty two year old patient who had walked into AIIMS with s severe chest pain.

Smriti followed Dr Sharma's every instructions without any hesitation, sometimes she couldn't believe how serious and focused he became in operation theatre otherwise he was the least serious person in hospital.

She handed him the forceps exactly when he needed them and she suctioned the field just before he asked for it.

Dr Sharma glanced at her once through his magnifying lenses and gave her a small nod of approval. That nod meant more to Smriti than any words could have said out loud.

When the surgery finally ended and the patient's heart started beating on its own again without any external help, a quiet sense of relief passed through the entire team.

Dr Sharma stepped back from the table and pulled down his mask. His face looked tired but satisfied because the surgery had gone exactly as planned.

"Good work today, Dr Smriti," he said while removing his gloves. "You did not miss a single step."

Smriti smiled behind her own mask and thanked him before turning to help the nurses close up. That was how she had been raised by her training. You did not leave the table until every last stitch was in place and every instrument was accounted for.

The junior nurses looked at her with admiration because they had seen how calmly she handled the pressure of working next to a man like Dr Akash Sharma.

Once the patient was shifted to the ICU and the post operative notes were written, Smriti finally walked out of the OT complex and into the corridor.

She stretched her neck from side to side and let out a deep breath that she did not even realise she had been holding for the past hour.

As she walked towards the resident doctors room, she met several of her colleagues who greeted her warmly. Dr Meera rai, who was her batchmate and also a close friend, came running from the other end of the corridor and linked her arm with Smriti's.

"You looked like a rockstar in there," Meera said with genuine excitement in her voice. "Everyone is talking about how smoothly that surgery went. Dr Sharma rarely gives compliments but I heard what he said to you."

Smriti shook her head modestly because compliments still made her feel a little shy even after all these years of working hard and proving herself. "It was a team effort," she said. "I just handed him the instruments at the right time."

Meera laughed and pulled her towards the canteen where the rest of their friends were already waiting.

Lunch time at the hospital was never a luxury because emergencies could come at any moment but today the universe seemed kind enough to give them a proper break.

The canteen was crowded with doctors and nurses and medical students all talking in loud voices about their morning schedules.

Smriti sat down with her tray of food and looked around at the familiar faces.

She had been at AIIMS for almost eight months now and somewhere along the way these people had become her second family.

Dr Rohan Biswas passed her a bottle of water without being asked. Dr Priya Rathod pushed the bowl of salad towards her because she remembered that Smriti liked to eat healthy before evening rounds. These small gestures of friendship made the long shifts and the difficult cases feel bearable.

"So Smriti," Rohan said while biting into his paratha, "how long do you plan to stay in Delhi after your course ends? Everyone says you are going back to London."

Smriti paused for a moment because that question always made her think. She had promised her mother that she would return once her junior residency was complete. But Delhi had started to feel like home in a way that London never quite managed to become, and she knew exactly why.

"I do not know yet," she said finally, playing with her spoon"Let me finish what I started here first. Then we will see."

The conversation moved on to other topics after that. Someone talked about a difficult case they had seen in the emergency ward last night. Someone else complained about the hospital food which everyone did every single day without fail.

Smriti laughed at the jokes and added her own comments here and there because she had a warm personality that made people feel comfortable around her.

She was not the kind of doctor who kept a cold distance from her colleagues. She believed in kindness and she showed it in small ways every day.

After lunch she had to make her routine visit to the paediatric cardiology ward where the youngest patients of the hospital were admitted.

This was not technically her assigned duty because she was training under Dr Sharma in adult cardiology. But she had developed a habit of stopping by the paediatric wing whenever she had some free time because the children there reminded her of something that she could not quite put into words.

Diya was a five year old girl with curly black hair and the biggest brown innocent eyes Smriti had ever seen.

She had been admitted three weeks ago with a congenital heart defect that required careful monitoring and eventually a complicated surgery.

The little girl lay in her hospital bed with a pink blanket wrapped around her tiny body and a tube running from her nose to a machine beside her bed. But despite all of that, Diya smiled as soon as she saw Smriti walking towards her room.

"Angel doctor," Diya said in her small sweet voice, "you came back."

Smriti sat down on the edge of the bed and gently tucked a strand of hair behind Diya's ear. "Of course I came back," she said softly. "I told you I would come and read you a story today, did I not?"

Diya nodded eagerly and patted the space beside her on the bed so Smriti could sit closer.

The nurses in the ward often told Smriti that Diya did not smile for everyone. She was a quiet child who kept to herself and only opened up to a few people. Dr Akash Sharma was one of them and Smriti had slowly become another.

She knew that Diya was a special patient to Dr Sharma because he visited her every single day without fail even on his busiest days.

Smriti did not have a storybook with her today but she did not need one. She told Diya a made up story about a little bird who was scared to fly but then one day she jumped off her nest and discovered that the sky was waiting for her all along. Diya listened with her full attention and when the story ended she asked Smriti if the bird ever got hurt while learning to fly.

"Maybe a little," Smriti said honestly because she did not believe in lying to children. "But the hurt did not last forever. And the bird was so happy in the sky that she forgot all about the fall."

Diya seemed to think about this for a long moment before she smiled again and said, "I want to be like that bird."

Smriti felt her heart clench inside her chest but she kept her smile steady because that was what Diya needed from her right now.

She stayed with the little girl for another twenty minutes until the evening nurse came in to give Diya her medicines. Then she kissed the top of Diya's head and promised to come back tomorrow.

The evening passed quickly after that. Smriti attended a department meeting where Dr Sharma discussed the upcoming cases for the week.

She reviewed the files of her current patients and wrote down her observations in their charts. She answered a few messages on her phone including one from her mother asking if she had eaten properly today. She typed back a quick yes even though she had only managed to eat half of her lunch before an emergency call had pulled her away from the canteen.

By the time she left the hospital it was well past nine o'clock at night. The Delhi air felt cooler than usual and the streets were still busy with cars and auto rickshaws and people walking home after a long day.

Smriti took a cab to her father's house which was not so far to hospital. The house was a modest two storey bunglow with a small garden at the front that her father tended to every morning.

She rang the bell and within seconds the door opened to reveal her father Dr Varjesh Kishore standing there with a gentle smile on his face.

He was a tall man with grey hair at his temples and kind eyes that had seen a lot of life. He had retired from his own medical practice a few years ago but his love for medicine had never faded, so he still practices at his private laboratory.

He was the reason Smriti had chosen medicine in the first place.

He kissed her forehead the way he always did whenever she came home and then he said, "I made your favourite."

Smriti looked at him and felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. Her father had never been a man of many words but his actions spoke louder than any speech ever could. She smiled and said, "Dad, you do not have to do all this every night. You should rest."

Her father ran his fingers lovingly through her hair the way he used to do when she was a little girl sitting on his lap. "Why not," he whispered softly, "after all I have my daughter after years."

Those words hit Smriti right in the chest because she knew exactly what he meant.

Twenty years.

She had spent twenty years away from him in London while he lived here in Delhi alone.

Her parents had separated when she was only five years old and her mother had taken her across the continents leaving her father behind.

Twenty years of birthdays without him. Twenty years of school functions and college graduations and every small milestone in between. No amount of phone calls or video chats could ever make up for that lost time.

She gave him a small smile first and then it grew wider until she was showing her teeth because she did not want the evening to turn sad. "Dad," she said chuckling, "I am here right now. Let us live in the present."

She hugged him tightly and felt his arms wrap around her the same way they had done when she was a child. "I promise I will make up for all twenty years I was away from you," she said against his shoulder.

Her father pulled back and looked at her face. "And I promise you, daughter," he said, "that I will give you all twenty years' love in return. Now go and freshen up. I will arrange the food."

Smriti smiled and walked towards the stairs that led to the first floor where her bedroom was. She climbed each step slowly because she could hear her father humming an old song in the kitchen below and the sound made her feel safe and at home.

Her room was exactly the way she had left it this morning with her books stacked on the desk and her bedsheet perfectly made on bed.

She entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. As she discarded her clothes and stepped under the warm water, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift back to London.

She remembered how much she used to miss her father all those years. She had lived in London with her mother for twenty years.

She had never really understood why her parents separated at first place. Her mother was a successful professional in a clothing line in her own right and she had raised Smriti with love and care.

But there had always been this silent ache in Smriti's heart that she could not explain to anyone.

She had always wanted to become like her father. That was the honest truth.

While other children wanted to become actors or cricketers or astronauts, Smriti had looked at her father's old photographs and decided that she would study medicine just like him.

She completed her MBBS in London and everyone around her assumed she would stay there for further studies. Her mother certainly thought so. Her friends in London thought so. But Smriti had made a different choice.

She came back to India for her father. Yes she had promised her mother that she would return to London as soon as her course at AIIMS was completed.

But deep down she did not know if she would be able to keep that promise.

India had started to feel like where she belonged and her father had started to feel like the missing piece of her heart that had finally found its place.

She finished her shower and wiped her body slowly before putting on a night suit.

She could smell the food from downstairs as she stepped down from last stairs and her stomach growled in response.

When she went down, her father was already waiting for her at the dining table with two plates filled with her favourite dishes.

They ate together and chatted about everything and nothing. He asked her about her day at the hospital and she told him about the successful surgery and about Diya in the paediatric ward, about her freind Mira 's upcoming wedding.

He listened to every word with genuine interest because her daughter's stories never bored him.

Somewhere between the second and third stories, Smriti became that little girl again.

The one who used to sit on her father's lap and ask silly questions about why the sky was blue and where the sun went at night.

She asked him about his younger days as a doctor and he told her stories that made her laugh and cry at the same time. He answered every question patiently the way he always had.

After dinner was over and the dishes were cleared, her father stood at the bottom of the stairs and wished her good night.

But then his voice dropped to a lower and sadder tone and he said, "Tell your mother on the phone that I miss her."

Smriti nodded because she did not trust her voice to stay steady. She walked to her bedroom with a heavy heart and lay down on her bed before dialling her mother's number.

The phone rang three times before her mother picked up. They talked normally for a few minutes about Smriti's day and about the weather in London and about whether Smriti was eating properly.

Then Smriti took a breath and said, "Mom, Dad really misses you."

There was silence on the other end of the line. A long and uncomfortable silence that stretched for so long that Smriti wondered if the call had dropped. Then her mother's voice came back, colder than before but trying hard to hide it.

"It is night in India, Smriti," her mother said. "You should sleep. You have to go to the hospital tomorrow."

The call ended shortly after that. Smriti bit her lip and stared at the blank screen of her phone for a long time before tossing it onto the side table.

She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket up to her chin. She had never asked her father why her parents had separated. She had asked her mother many times over the years but she had never received an answer.

The question remained hanging in the air like a ghost that no one wanted to talk about.

She turned off the light and let sleep take her.