The 90-Hour Illusion

Rohan’s heart raced as he signed the appointment letter, but not out of excitement. The six-figure salary was tempting, but the fine print—a grueling 90-hour workweek—felt like signing away his freedom. Still, he had no choice. He had just married Meera, the love of his life, and they needed financial stability. He rationalized it: It’s just a phase. I’ll make it work.

Meera, a newly minted doctor, was equally busy. Her night shifts at the city hospital left her drained. Their honeymoon plans had already been postponed twice, sacrificed on the altar of ambition. “Once things settle down,” Rohan promised her, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—her or himself.

Days blurred into nights as Rohan immersed himself in coding marathons and back-to-back meetings. At first, he thought he could handle it. “It’s just work,” he’d tell himself, but soon, the long hours chipped away at his resolve. His company’s CEO, an advocate of relentless hustle, had recently introduced a new mantra: Work is worship. Weekends are for the weak.

One day, the CEO’s email made headlines: “How long can you stare at your wife? Get to the office!” It was meant as a rallying cry, but for Rohan, it felt like a dagger. The words echoed in his mind as he sat at his desk, staring blankly at his monitor. He realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a meal with Meera.

That night, Rohan stayed late again, and when he finally returned home, the apartment was dark. Meera had left a note on the dining table: “Missed you again. Emergency case. Sleep well, love.”

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Rohan slumped into a chair, guilt gnawing at him. He opened his laptop, hoping to distract himself, but his mind kept drifting to Meera. He imagined her tired yet determined face, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her patients. And then it struck him: he was spending more time thinking about her at work than actually being with her.

That night, Rohan couldn’t sleep. His thoughts swirled between brief moments of restlessness and an endless wait for Meera to return home from her night shift. He knew she’d only be back in the morning, but the thought of her absence gnawed at him.

By the time the first rays of dawn crept into their apartment, Rohan was already preparing for another long day at work. He knew it would be grueling—his team was rushing to meet a project deadline, and he wouldn’t be back until late. Meera would be gone again by then, her shift starting before he could return.

As he stared at his laptop during a quiet moment at work, he found himself lingering on a picture of Meera. Her smile seemed to reach out to him, soft and reassuring, yet he felt a pang of sadness. He realized he wasn’t even living life; he was just surviving through hours, minutes, and seconds. He finished his tasks, took the elevator down, and then suddenly everything went black.

When Rohan opened his eyes, blurry lights swam above him, and a colleague’s voice broke through the haze. “What happened?” Rohan croaked. “You blanked out,” his colleague explained. “We couldn’t wake you up, so we called an ambulance.”

As Rohan struggled to piece together what had happened, the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the sharp, sterile smell of disinfectant filled his senses. Through the haze of his half-closed eyes, he thought he saw Meera—her worried face peering down at him, her hands expertly setting up a drip, her gaze darting to the monitors. A pang of disbelief hit him. How could she be here? No one at his office had her number. It was impossible. Yet there she was, moving with calm precision, her presence both soothing and surreal.

"Am I dead?" he wondered. "Is this heaven… or hell?" His chest tightened as confusion blurred the lines between reality and a dream.

"Someone, please inform my wife that I’m in the hospital," he whispered weakly, his voice barely audible. “Her name is Meera and her number is saved in my phone as my only love, please call her and let her know” he begged. The nurse nearby injected something into his IV. He felt his body growing heavier, his mind sinking into a deep, inescapable sleep. The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was Meera's face, her soft, reassuring smile lingering like a fading light. The nurses exchanged knowing smiles. Meera bent closer, smoothing his hair. “I’m here now, Rohan. Nothing will happen to you. Just rest.” Her voice was the last thing he heard before slipping into a deep, dreamless slumber.

When he woke up, the world felt softer, quieter, as if it had been wrapped in a comforting haze. His hand was warm, clasped in someone else’s. He blinked, his vision clearing, and there she was—Meera. Her tired eyes held a gentle smile, her hand brushing his hair back with tender familiarity.

“It’s time to go home, love,” she said softly, her voice steady and reassuring.

Rohan stared at her, his mind racing to make sense of it all. How was she here? He had been so sure it was a hallucination, a trick of his overworked, exhausted mind. But her presence felt undeniably real. He glanced around, taking in the surroundings—the hospital ward, the nurses moving about. And then, like a bolt of lightning, the truth hit him.

This was her hospital. He had been brought to the very place where she worked. Meera had been there all along, rushing to his side the moment she’d heard. A wave of emotion surged through him—relief, gratitude, and something deeper, a quiet awe at the serendipity of it all.

Rohan was discharged that morning. Exhaustion and stress had taken their toll, but he was otherwise fine. As they walked out of the hospital together, the morning sun felt warmer, brighter. For the first time in months, they were together in the morning.

At home, they shared breakfast—simple toast and tea, but it felt like a feast. Later, they lay down, holding each other close. As Meera drifted off to sleep in his arms, Rohan stared at her peaceful face. He realized how much he had missed moments like this.

As he watched Meera sleep, her breathing steady and serene, Rohan couldn’t help but reflect on the irony of it all. It had taken an emergency, a moment of utter collapse, to bring them back to each other. Life had been pulling them in different directions, but here they were—together, at last, sharing a stolen slice of normalcy.

He felt a strange mix of elation and surrender. If this was what it took to have moments like these, so be it. He’d gladly take the upheaval, the scare, just to hold her like this and feel her warmth against him. It wasn’t the way he’d imagined finding time for each other, but in its own chaotic way, it had worked. For the first time in months, he felt whole. ‘They’ felt whole, and complete.

He touched her gently and kissed her cheek, “Tomorrow is a Sunday, maybe tomorrow, we’ll both take a day off?—?not to escape work, but to remind ourselves why we work in the first place.”

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