The Girl Who Loved in Silence

People often say that if you work hard enough, dreams come true.

They don't see what it costs.

My name is Muskan, a thirty-one-year-old and I am a neurosurgeon.

Even after saying those words aloud, they still feel unreal. Every morning when I pin on my hospital ID and walk through the automatic doors before sunrise, I remember the little girl who studied under a dim lamp while the rest of the house slept. That little girl would never have believed she'd one day hold someone's brain in her hands, fighting for their life.

I grew up in a family where discipline wasn't a choice—it was the law.

There were no late-night outings. No birthday parties with friends. No vacations. My day was planned from the moment I woke up until I went to bed. Study. Eat. Pray. Study again. Marks weren't appreciated; they were expected.

I was always an average student wanted to compete with the toppers.

At times, I hated it.

At times, I wanted to scream.

But somewhere between the endless textbooks, coaching classes, and sleepless nights, I found something that wasn't forced upon me.

Medicine.

I still remember the first time I watched a documentary about brain surgery. The human brain looked like a universe folded inside a skull—billions of neurons, memories, emotions, dreams... everything that made us human.

From that day onward, I knew.

I didn't just want to become a doctor.

I wanted to become a neurosurgeon.

Everyone said it was impossible.

"The training is too long."

"It's one of the hardest specialties."

"Girls should choose something easier."

Their words only made me study harder.

Years passed in libraries, taking daily classes Physics, Chemistry, Botany, Zoology and repeating it again the next day no Sunday's holiday due to endless test but it took me six attempts to clear my Neet ug entrance exam.

 There were nights when I thought and cried, was it a mistake am I lagging somewhere in my preparation that all my batchmates have completed their degrees and I am still preparing for my exam but finally I cracked it in my sixth attempt with good rank and pursued my mbbs from AIIMS RISHIKESH.

Days when I didn't sleep for thirty-six hours.

Moments when I questioned if I was strong enough.

Yet every obstacle became another reason not to quit.

Today, my mornings begin before the sun rises.

At 5:00 a.m., my alarm rings.

By 6:00, I'm reviewing MRI and CT scans while sipping bitter coffee that's long gone cold.

Morning rounds follow, checking on patients recovering from surgery.

At 8:00, the operating room becomes my world.

The silence inside an operating theatre is unlike anything else. Every heartbeat on the monitor matters. Every millimeter of movement matters. One mistake can change a person's entire life.

Some surgeries last four hours.

Others stretch to twelve.

By the time I remove my gloves, my shoulders ache, my feet burn, and my stomach reminds me that I forgot lunch again.

But then I meet a patient who can smile after a successful tumor removal.

A child who can move their fingers again.

A father who opens his eyes after brain trauma.

Those moments make every sacrifice worth it.

People think surgeons are fearless.

We're not.

We simply learn to keep our fear hidden beneath calm hands.

Yet despite saving lives every day...

There was one thing I never had the courage to fight for.

Love.

Or perhaps...

One-sided love.

His name was Raghav.

We sat in the same classroom during high school.

He wasn't the class topper.

but was the most popular boy he had the kind of smile that make every girl fall for him and I was one of them, but he was committed to someone and loyal I was sad for myself but was happy for him.

He had friends from almost all the classes and was the naughtiest boy of the class. 

When teachers scolded his, he'd quietly except his mistake and will repeat it the next day.

I don't remember the exact day I fell for him because I wasn't the one who tolerate misbehave towards anyone.

Maybe it happened slowly.

Maybe it happened all at once.

All I know is that every morning, I'd unconsciously look toward his desk before opening my books never miss a single day going to school.

We hardly spoke.

A few conversations about assignments.

A few exchanged notebooks.

A few eye contacts and his remark toward me being teachers favorite.

That was all.

I wanted to tell him.

So many times.

But every time I imagined confessing, another voice inside me whispered—

Focus on your studies, girls like you are never meant for love this thing is only for beautiful people.

he will never reciprocate your feeling, he had high standard, don't embarrass yourself nobody finds you attractive.

So, I buried those feelings beneath entrance exams, medical school, residency, and years of relentless training.

Time moved on.

Graduation photographs replaced school uniforms.

Hospital corridors replaced classroom hallways.

The little girl with impossible dreams became Dr. Muskan Patel, Consultant Neurosurgeon.

Everyone congratulated me for achieving my dream.

No one knew that somewhere inside me; a chapter had never been finished.

Sometimes, after an exhausting surgery, I find myself wondering...

Where is Raghav now?

Did he become the person he always wanted to be?

Is he happy with his gf?

Are they married?

Does he ever remember the quiet girl who always sat two rows behind him?

Perhaps he doesn't.

Perhaps he never noticed.

And maybe that's okay.

Because not every story is about being loved.

Some stories are about learning to carry love silently, while still chasing the life you were meant to live.

Mine... is one of them one-sided love painfully beautiful from my point of view and I like my thought that no one can alter them. I can play any scenario in my mind being in love with him.

I always think the possible scenarios if he was mine, if I was his better half, will I ever meet him confess my feeling and many more.

he will never know how much I love him, how many times in a day I pray to Mahadev to keep him safe and help him achieve his dreams.

NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE AFTER 5 VOTES