Advait ran like a man on the brink of losing his sanity. His breath was ragged, his pulse hammering in his ears, but none of it mattered. His body was on autopilot, fueled by the sheer terror clawing at his insides. The only thing he could see, the only thing he could feel, was the image of his wife—Diya—lying on a ventilator, fighting for her life. Weak, fragile, yet refusing to give in.