The hospital smelled clean in the way old places tried to be.
Arjun slowed as he walked past the reception desk. A man in a white coat laughed softly with a visitor, hand resting a little too casually on a file. Somewhere down the corridor, someone argued about a payment window.
Meera's room was at the far end.
She looked smaller every time he saw her.
Her eyes opened when he stepped in. She smiled first—always did—before her body caught up and pulled in a careful breath.
"You're bleeding again," she said.
"Other guy was worse," Arjun replied. He pulled a chair close and sat. The machine beside her clicked and hummed, steady, patient.
She watched his hands. "Did they pay you?"
He peeled the tape from one knuckle. "Soon."
She nodded, like she'd heard that answer before.
The doctor came in without knocking. He glanced at Meera, then at the chart, then finally at Arjun.
"She needs the procedure," he said. "Her condition won't wait."
Arjun stood. "Then do it."
The doctor hesitated. Just long enough to mean something.
"There's a list," he said carefully. "Government cases. Priority patients."
"And?"
"And sometimes," the doctor added, lowering his voice, "files move faster when they're… encouraged."
Arjun looked past him, down the hallway.
A man in a suit stepped out of a private room laughing, phone pressed to his ear. A nurse followed, apologizing. The man didn't slow.
"How much encouragement?" Arjun asked.
The number came out smooth. Familiar.
Arjun nodded once. "If I pay?"
The doctor adjusted his glasses. "We'll see what can be done."
When he left, Meera reached for Arjun's sleeve.
"Don't," she said softly.
Arjun covered her hand with his. It felt too light.
"I will," he replied.
Outside the room, the hallway buzzed on—machines working, people waiting, decisions being delayed for reasons no one wrote down.
Arjun stood there for a moment, jaw tight.
Then he turned and walked back into the city.