The morning light spilled gently across the hospital room, painting everything in a soft golden glow. For the first time in days, there was no beeping urgency, no frantic footsteps outside — just the quiet hum of life settling back into place.

Rudra lay propped up against the pillows, his arm loosely curled around a tiny, wriggling form beside him. Ivaan was perched cross-legged, still in his cartoon pajamas, clutching a plastic dinosaur in one hand and a biscuit in the other. His cheeks were smeared with crumbs, and his hair stuck up like he’d just fought a pillow battle and won.