Inaaya's POV
There was something wrong with the air in the ICU wing that morning.
Not the sterile chill, or the quiet shuffle of overworked nurses — no, it was something beneath the surface. Like a whisper trapped in the vents, too faint to name but too sharp to ignore.
Dr. Aleena Mirza was already in the Clinical Review Room when Inaaya walked in.
She wasn't expected there. She didn't even hold a case on the docket today.
But she sat at the head of the table — not by accident — and sipped from a ceramic teacup like it was her home.
"Dr. Inaaya," she greeted smoothly, lips curved. "How wonderful. I was hoping to see your report firsthand."
There was no reason for the knot in Inaaya's throat to tighten. And yet it did.
Aleena gestured to the chair beside her.
The room was filled with other attendings, residents, one ICU consultant, and two board representatives. But somehow, Aleena's presence eclipsed them all. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
As the charts were projected on screen — Mr. K.N. Sharma, 68, post-operative sepsis, worsening renal failure — Aleena leaned in just slightly. Her eyes remained on the monitor. Her smile never wavered.
"Why was there no nephrology consult until day four?" she asked.
Inaaya opened her mouth to explain — they'd flagged it early, escalated through the system, delays due to consultant shortages — but Aleena was already looking at Dr. Kaushik for confirmation.
He nodded, unreadable.
"I understand," Aleena murmured. "Still... some might say that's a delay in escalation. Time-sensitive, isn't it? Sepsis progression?"
Her voice was gentle. Like a question made of velvet.
But it cut just the same.
Inaaya forced herself to answer calmly, her hands beneath the table clenched into her coat sleeves.
Aleena turned to her. "I'm not blaming you, of course. We've all made errors in high-pressure environments. Especially when adjusting to... leadership burdens."
She didn't say: for someone like you.
But she didn't need to.
The consultant beside Inaaya shifted in his seat.
Something slippery slid beneath the moment — a tone dressed as compassion but soaked in undermining.
⸻
Later, during the next patient review, Aleena interrupted twice.
The second time, she gently redirected a treatment plan away from what Inaaya had recommended. On the surface, it seemed valid — but the justification she used wasn't based on the most recent labs.
"An oversight, perhaps," Aleena said lightly. "We've all been there."
But her hand brushed Inaaya's forearm in mock reassurance, and Inaaya's skin burned for reasons she couldn't explain.
When Aleena left the room ten minutes later, it was quieter. No one said anything.
But Inaaya felt like the walls had leaned in, listening. Watching.
⸻
Hours later, Inaaya found herself in the patient's room — Mr. Sharma now on vasopressors, barely conscious. His daughter clutched her father's hand and whispered prayers.
The same daughter Aleena had spoken to privately earlier.
The woman turned when Inaaya entered. Her expression had shifted — no longer hopeful, no longer trusting. Just cool. Reserved.
"I was told the antibiotics might've been delayed," she said quietly.
Inaaya's heart kicked in her chest.
"I... we escalated within protocol. Everything was done on time."
The woman nodded, not believing her.
Somewhere behind her, Aleena's words still echoed.
"We've all made errors..."
Ofcourse, it was Aleena's doing.
Inaaya stepped back into the hallway, every inch of her buzzing with heat and cold and shame — not because she'd done anything wrong, but because Aleena had made her feel like she had.
⸻
That evening, she walked past the boardroom as its door clicked open. Voices murmured.
She glimpsed Aleena and Dr. Kaushik inside.
Their silhouettes looked like shadows coiled around each other. Neither turned to acknowledge her.
But just before the door closed again, Aleena looked over her shoulder.
And smiled.
Not warm. Not cold.
Just... deliberate.
Like she knew.
⸻
Back in her office, Inaaya dropped her stethoscope onto the table, leaned against the edge of her desk, and stared at the wall.
The lights flickered once.
Her chest felt tight — but not with exhaustion. It was something deeper. Something ancient and animal, buried in the gut:
You are being outplayed.
She wasn't sure where the thought came from.
But it stayed.
⸻
"Aleena never raised her voice. She never needed to. Her words carried the weight of trust, and her smile wore the shape of concern.
But something in her always felt... staged. As if the softness was just fabric she'd pulled over steel."
⸻
Inaaya didn't sleep that night.
And for the first time in weeks, she avoided Aaryan's department floor completely.
Because suddenly, everything felt rigged.
And Aleena — elegant, eloquent Aleena — stood in the center of it all, arranging her pieces with a calm hand and a rehearsed heart.