The case in question.

Rudransh's POV :

If someone had told me a month ago that the woman capable of unravelling my composure would walk into my life-not as a stranger, not as a patient, but as my lawyer-I'd have laughed in their face. Yet here she was. Miss Kashvi. Calm. Fearless. The storm I didn't even know I'd been waiting for.

And me? The surgeon who prides himself on keeping steady under pressure? My pulse was thundering like a runaway train. Get a grip, Rudransh. This isn't an exam. She's not the invigilator, no matter how distracting.

Her eyes locked on mine-steady, unreadable, sharp as a scalpel. She wasn't impressed. She wasn't intimidated. She was studying me, weighing every word, every flicker of expression. A part of me admired her discipline. Another part of me... wanted to forget the case and just keep looking at her.

But reality dragged me back. Work first. Always.

I leaned forward, steadying my tone. "Alright, let's begin. As you've seen in the news-Mr. Anil Mehta claims I operated on his wife. He says I promised him care, and broke that promise."

"That's what the articles say," Kashvi replied crisply. "If you only brought me here to complain about the news, don't waste my time."

I felt my jaw tighten. "No, Miss Kashvi. I'm coming to the point." I slid a set of papers across the table. "Mr. Mehta claims I performed that surgery. But I wasn't even in the country. I've been in Germany for the past two weeks, and only returned three days ago. Here-my flight tickets."

She picked them up, eyes scanning the details. Then, without looking up, she asked, "And what proof do I have that these aren't forged?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Forged? Miss Kashvi, I'm a surgeon. My time is measured in lives saved. I don't waste it on faking travel documents. But if you'd like, you can verify with the airline yourself."

Finally, her gaze lifted. A smirk touched her lips. "Relax, doctor. I was testing you."

Testing me. Of course she was. "So? Pass or fail?" I asked, knowing the answer already.

"If you'd failed, we wouldn't be continuing this conversation." Her smirk deepened-but before I could reply, her phone buzzed. She excused herself, stepped out, and took the call.

When she returned, my breath caught despite myself. The fitted black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, the slim trousers, the ornate brooch at her waist, hair slightly messy yet somehow deliberate-she didn't just wear professionalism; she embodied it. A storm wrapped in elegance. And here I was, trying not to drown in it.

"Let's move quickly, doctor," she said, voice all business again. "I have urgent matters waiting."

I nodded, forcing my thoughts back. "As I said, I wasn't even present when Mrs. Mehta was admitted. After seeing the news today, I immediately called a meeting with the surgeons who were there. They told me everything."

I drew in a breath, my voice lowering. "She came in clutching her chest, gasping for air, drenched in cold sweat. Years of unhealthy habits-poor diet, no exercise, uncontrolled blood pressure, dangerously high cholesterol-had been silently destroying her. The team worked fast: oxygen, emergency meds, prepping for angioplasty. But her arteries were severely clogged. The damage was already catastrophic. During the procedure, her heart slipped into a fatal arrhythmia. They tried everything. Shock, drugs, compressions. But her heart had already lost the war long before it reached the table."

I paused, meeting Kashvi's eyes. "This wasn't medical negligence, Miss Kashvi. It was the price of years of neglect. My team fought for her life, but some battles end before they even begin."

I had to leave the office mid-meeting with Rudransh because another client had called me urgently. Sometimes, though, no matter how professional I try to be, my mind drifts.

I went to the café she had mentioned on the phone and sat down, thinking about the case. Two high-profile clients, one case-both presenting compelling evidence. It was almost ironic: the same situation, two completely different perspectives. The real question wasn't who had the better argument-it was whose story truly mattered. I still hadn't decided which side I would take.

After a few minutes, I called my client. She said she was on the way, so I ordered a milkshake while scanning the café. As I walked toward the counter, my foot caught on something, and I stumbled-right into a woman.

To my surprise, it was Mrs. Nandini Agarwal. Senior-most lawyer at our firm, one of my absolute favorites, and a constant source of inspiration. Seeing her outside the office was rare; she always looked effortlessly poised, commanding attention even in casual settings.

I immediately straightened, cleared my throat, and said in my most professional voice, "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Agarwal, I-"

She waved a hand lightly. "It's fine, Miss Kashvi. Did you get hurt anywhere?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you! How are you? It's rare to see you outside the office."

"I'm fine," she said, smiling faintly. "Just taking a quick coffee break."

I noticed my client walking in, so I quickly said, "Oh, I hope you enjoy it, Mrs. Agarwal. Have a great day! I'm sorry, I need to run."

"Sure," she replied, still smiling. "You too."

Even in that brief encounter, I felt a little lighter-her calm confidence was contagious.

After finishing with my client, I returned home, exhausted. Every muscle ached. Every thought felt heavy. Yet my mind wouldn't rest.

The case wouldn't leave me alone. Two high-profile clients. One case. Conflicting stories. Conflicting evidence. The irony wasn't lost on me. The same situation. Two completely different perspectives. The question wasn't who had the stronger argument. The question was-whose story would hold up in court?

I spread the files across my desk. Flight tickets. Media clippings. Rudransh's notes. Snippets of medical reports I had managed to gather. Not everything was here yet. Not all statements. Not all evidence. But enough to see a pattern forming. Some claims didn't add up. Some seemed exaggerated. Some... rang true.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. Both sides had merit. Both sides had proof. Yet my instincts-years of reading people, reading cases-told me which way the truth leaned. Which side I should take. Which side I would fight for.

The decision settled over me quietly, but with absolute certainty. I didn't need the remaining statements to know where my professional judgment lay.

I picked up my phone. My fingers hovered over the dial for only a second before I pressed.

"Hello," I said. Calm. Precise. Certain. "I'm taking the case. Consider it confirmed."

I hung up. Relief. Anticipation. Exhaustion. All at once. The path was set. The work had only just begun.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***