Neel carried her through the emergency doors, her body limp in his arms, her face pale against the crimson of her saree. The red fabric was stark against her white skin, and her head lolled back, her dark hair trailing behind her like a shadow. The hospital lights were too bright — harsh, white, unforgiving — and they seemed to stab at his eyes, making them water. 

The corridors were too long, stretching out before him like an endless tunnel, and the sounds of beeping machines and hurried footsteps were too loud in his ears, echoing off the sterile walls, amplifying his fear. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. All he could do was hold her tighter and pray — pray to a God he had stopped believing in years ago, a God he had dismissed as a fairy tale for the weak and the frightened. But tonight, he was weak. Tonight, he was frightened.