INT. HOSPITAL – MAHI'S OFFICE – LATE MORNING
The room is filled with the faint scent of antiseptic and old coffee. Dr. Mahi Shaikh sits at her desk, flipping through Saif's case file. She frowns — something about his documents doesn't add up.
MAHI (softly to herself):
"No emergency contacts... no listed address... just an alias and a fake insurance form?"
Her brows furrow, but before diving deeper, she closes the file.
She picks up a notepad and jots down a list:
Pain meds
Soft diet
Limited movement
Emotional support?
She sighs, then gets up and walks toward the recovery wing.
---
INT. HOSPITAL – RECOVERY FLOOR – OUTSIDE ROOM 213
Mahi stops just outside Room 213 — Saif's room.
She raises her hand to knock but pauses as she hears soft voices from inside.
The curtain is slightly open, giving her a partial view.
Saif sits up in bed, pale but alert. Tubes in his arm. A thick bandage across his ribs.
He stares across the room… silently.
In the other bed, his roommate — a younger man — laughs with his family.
A woman places fresh flowers on the side table. A child runs to hug the patient. The air is filled with warmth, life, love.
Mahi watches Saif's face.
He doesn't say a word.
Just watches…
Eyes hollow.
A ghost of a smile playing at his lips, but his chest rising with something heavy. Something aching.
He shifts slightly, turns his head away, pretending not to notice — but the pain is unmistakable.
He is alone.
Utterly, invisibly alone.
No flowers.
No visitors.
No one even knows he's here.
No one… except her.
Mahi lowers her eyes, guilt and empathy twisting quietly in her chest.
She knocks gently, then pushes the door open.
---
INT. ROOM 213 – MOMENTS LATER
MAHI (softly):
"Sorry to disturb."
Saif glances at her, quickly hiding whatever emotion was on his face.
SAIF (faint smile):
"You never disturb, Doc."
She walks in, setting the clipboard down.
MAHI:
"I just reviewed your medication. You'll need to stay on pain control for at least another 48 hours. I'll also be starting you on a high-protein diet — if that's okay with you."
SAIF (nods slowly):
"You saved my life. You can feed me tree bark, and I'll still say thank you."
Mahi chuckles softly but her eyes drift toward the empty space beside his bed.
She hesitates, then speaks.
MAHI (gently):
"Anyone you'd like me to call? Family? Friend?"
A pause. Too long.
SAIF (softly):
"No one left to call."
His voice cracks at the edge, even though he masks it well.
SAIF (recovering):
"People like me… we're not the ones who get flowers and visits. We get forgotten."
MAHI:
"You're not forgotten."
He looks up at her — and for a split second, his eyes say a thousand things. Things she doesn't understand yet. Things she's not ready to see.
She clears her throat.
MAHI (professional):
"I'll check back in a few hours. If you need anything… just press the buzzer."
SAIF (softly):
"What if what I need can't be buzzed for?"
She pauses — heart skipping a beat.
Then gives a polite nod and leaves the room.
But as she walks away, something about the way he said it…
…lingers far too long in her mind.