Uzozisola Monday 1st September 2025 Written Update Etv
Nandini goes numb when Rajdeep admits he left her in that room. He drags her out of the nightclub like a commodity, and she only stares at him, shock freezing her voice. Her chest tightens as the truth sinks in: she has been traded for a business favor. Rajdeep’s grip is iron-cold; he shoves her into the car and tells her there was a deal with Makhija — their last hope to save the project. Nandini protests that she would never help him with something like that, that she’s his wife and the mother of his child, but his anger has already taken over. He jerks the car to a stop, shoves her out, and the humiliation turns violent — he slaps her, grabs her by the neck, and when she says she was going to tell him everything, he kicks her belly before speeding away. She crumples on the roadside, stunned and bleeding, and for a long moment all she can do is breathe through the dark.
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Meanwhile Mauli is racing toward the hospital. Her phone rings — a nurse calling about an emergency — and Kunal takes it from her because she can’t hear properly over the roar in her head. Mauli apologizes into the car, upset that she promised Kunal time together and then had to rush off; Kunal squeezes her hand and tells her they will learn to live around this “third” thing in their life, this work that keeps pulling her away. They joke, briefly and tightly, about the balance they will have to carve out between love and duty. But beneath the banter both feel the pressure: Mauli’s hands are already clenched for the operating theatre ahead.
Nandini finds Rajdeep’s phone on the road and, with fingers that shake, dials a number she prays will answer. The ring goes through inside the moving car; Kunal, who had left his phone in Mauli’s bag and is now driving, hears the incoming tone and recognizes Nandini’s faint voice on the other end. At first he can’t make out where she is — only a ghost of a signboard — but his training kicks in: he asks fragments, types furiously into his map app, and narrows down the location to Patkar Library. Fear and adrenaline sharpen his movements; he tells the nurse at his hospital to keep Mauli ready, that Nandini is hurt badly and they’re bringing her in.
On the roadside Kunal finds her curled like a broken bird. She clutches his collar, crying that she doesn’t know where she is and that everything hurts; he wraps his jacket around her and cradles her as best he can while cursing the distance and the traffic. Her breathing thins; his voice is a steady anchor in her ear, promising that Mauli will look after her, promising she won’t lose consciousness. When she slips in and out he slams the accelerator harder, racing toward the emergency lights of the hospital.
Back inside the hospital, Mauli steps out of the operating theatre with the weight of a hundred past surgeries on her shoulders. The nurses tell her this is her ninety-eighth operation; she has two more to reach a personal century, and the team jokes — lightly, almost reverently — that her track record is perfect. Mauli swallows the levity and steels herself: this case is complicated, she says, but it is also her duty. She sends staff running to keep an OR on standby. Even as she prepares scalpels and panels, she is thinking seven moves ahead — how to stabilize a trauma patient weeks into pregnancy, how to counter internal bleeding, how to keep the baby safe.
Kunal pulls Nandini through the emergency doors and into the bright chaos of the reception. Her lips are white; a slow, terrible fog of dizziness claims her in waves. He repeats the facts to the registrar in short, sharp bursts: female, blunt trauma, possible abdominal injury, unconsciousness imminent. The receptionist nods, relays the message to Mauli directly, and the whole unit snaps into motion. Mauli’s face appears at the corner of the curtain, steady as a lighthouse. She checks Nandini herself with a surgeon’s practiced calm, barking orders that turn fear into action. Monitors hum; an IV goes in; somebody readies blood. Kunal tries to hold Nandini’s hand, to keep her anchored, murmuring the promise he made: “Don’t go. Don’t lose her.” Her eyes flutter open once and she mouths his name before the darkness reclaims her.
Between the OR and the reception the hospital feels like a living thing — tense, breathless, waiting. Mauli strides to the surgeons and paces the steps, then pauses only to ask Kunal for a clear, honest promise that he will keep Nandini conscious until the operation begins. He nods, throat tight. He tells her where Rajdeep’s phone was found, what Nandini whispered on the line, and Mauli’s jaw tightens with a different kind of fury: professional focus, then the private, old-worn anger at a world that uses women as bargaining chips. She sends the anaesthetist in and steps toward the operating light, resolute.
Outside the emergency bay, traffic snarls like an insult; time narrows. Kunal presses his forehead to the steering wheel for a second — helpless, furious, aching — before he’s yanked back into motion by the urgency of the moment. Mauli finishes the last checks and pulls on gloves, her face set. The team wheels Nandini into the theatre, the doors hiss shut, and under the bright lamp Mauli begins to work, every motion precise, every breath a prayer for mother and child.
UPCOMING
Kunal gets stuck in a traffic jam and Mauli paces the hospital waiting room, counting heartbeats. Later, when the truth comes out, Mauli faces Rajdeep and slaps him hard across the face.
