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‘The only way the dead can speak,’ repeated Hema, feeling goosebumps on her arms.
37
Atharv’s room was, as Kimberly knew it would be, steeped in darkness save for the light coming from a table lamp.
He sat there reading on his laptop, preparing for a high-risk surgery scheduled for the end of the week. Looking at Atharv hunched over his laptop, an expression of intense concentration on his face, Kimberly felt something warm gush through her heart.
Atharv was fast gaining a reputation as a top surgeon for some of the most complicated brain surgeries in children and Kimberly had watched his growth in the last five years with immense pride.
His success felt like her own.
Kimberly had often wondered what she liked best about At
harv. And she had to say it was his smile, the kind smile that always made her feel better even when it wasn’t directed at her. She loved every second she got with him, even the bits in the OT – especially the bits inside the OT where he was a magician with his scalpel.
‘The safest pairs of hands,’ a news article on his work had described him not too long ago, and Kimberly had thought they couldn’t have written a truer word. She had known Atharv long enough to know he was also one of the most ethical, hardworking and genuinely nice people she’d ever met.
‘Call for you, Atharv,’ she said and he looked up, a preoccupied look on his face.
‘Who is it?’ he asked, shutting his laptop.
‘Koyal,’ said Kimberly.
His face brightened in an instant and Kimberly could only stare at the transformation. She shook her head – no, she couldn’t let that make her feel all weird, she wasn’t going to be that kind of woman.
‘Oh brilliant, thanks Kim,’ he said. He got up and walked out of his office to take the call, leaving behind Kimberly who slumped into the chair he’d been sitting in seconds ago.
The door was open and she could hear Atharv’s voice.
It sounded so happy.
Too happy.
‘That is great,’ he was saying. His accent, she noted, was now more British than it was American.
‘Um … let me check my diary … hmm … how about Saturday evening?’
Saturday evening.
The evenings she most looked forward to. It had become a tradition for the single people in their department to head out for a classy dinner in central London. Most doctors led lives so consumed with work and patients that they ended up being one another’s social circle too – and that was such a brilliant excuse to spend more time with Atharv out of the hospital. God only knew what all Kimberly had said no to, just to be at the restaurant every Saturday evening.
‘That’s the only time I’m not operating,’ he was saying, laughing.
‘See you, bye.’
Pause. She said something to which he laughed.
‘You are mad,’ he said, laughing in the nicest way possible.
‘Still on for Saturday dinner, Atharv?’ Kimberly asked gingerly when he walked back in, trying to sound casual.
‘You mean the group doctor dinner?’ he asked.
Group doctor dinner.
‘Yes,’ she said, smiling.
‘I might just go out with Koyal, I think…’ he said and then paused. ‘Would that be okay with you? I know we usually hang out together in that mad group,’ he asked, genuine concern in his eyes.
