INT. OPERATING ROOM – NIGHT
The room is tense. Cold. Sterile.
The overhead surgical lights flood down like spotlights on a tragedy in motion. Monitors beep in uneven rhythms. The tray clinks as scalpels are laid out. Everyone is quiet — except the machines, screaming for a heartbeat slipping away.
Saif lies unconscious on the table, bloodied and pale, his chest rising with effort. The IV drips steadily. The wound near his ribs oozes dark red.
Dr. Mahi Shaikh stands at the head of the table, masked and gowned. But behind her eyes — fury, panic, guilt, and disbelief rage like a silent storm.
MAHI (calm but cold):
"Vitals?"
NURSE:
"BP 58 over 28. Pulse irregular. We're losing him."
MAHI:
"I said I'm not losing him."
She picks up the scalpel. Her hand trembles for just a second.
She breathes in.
The tremble disappears.
The surgeon takes over.
MAHI (sharp):
"We're going in. Thoracic entry. Rib cage compromised. I need full focus — he's bleeding internally."
NURSE RIA:
"Ready, doctor."
The first incision is made.
Blood spills. The suction begins.
MAHI (focused):
"Clamp the artery. Hold pressure. I need retraction — now!"
---
But even as she works, memories flash in her mind:
Just hours ago, his lazy grin as he handed her coffee.
His soft voice saying, "I remember everything."
That warmth in his eyes she mistook for kindness… never obsession.
She blinks the memories away. Focus.
NURSE:
"Doctor — his heart rate's dropping!"
MAHI (shouting):
"Epinephrine! 1 mg IV push — now!"
They inject.
The monitor spikes — then drops.
NURSE (panicked):
"Flatline—!"
MAHI (furious):
"NO. Start compressions. Charge paddles to 200."
She grabs the defibrillator.
MAHI:
"Clear!"
ZAP.
His body jolts. Nothing.
MAHI:
"Again! CLEAR!"
ZAP.
A beat.
Then — beep… beep… beep.
NURSE (relieved):
"Sinus rhythm restored."
MAHI (quiet, breathing heavy):
"He's not going anywhere. Not tonight."
---
She works for another hour, hands steady, heart anything but. Stitch by stitch, artery by artery, she fights for the life of a man she thought was just a friend.
But as she closes the final suture, a thought whispers in her mind:
Why was Saif on that rooftop?
Why hasn't anyone come to see him?
And why… does it feel like this isn't just an accident?
---
INT. POST-OP ROOM – LATER
She stands outside his room, still in scrubs. Watching him through the glass. He's alive.
But something inside her says:
This is only the beginning.
Something dark is crawling out of the shadows.
And Saif… might be the reason why.