The year was 1992. The scene shifted to a rooftop restaurant overlooking the sea in Bombay alive with the buzz of a wild birthday celebration. The salty breeze mingled with the clinking of glasses and raucous laughter. Among the crowd was a striking teenager, Asmee Joshi the seventeen years old daughter of the late Dr. Mukund Joshi, a renowned dialectologist and the former dean of the Jasubhoy Jirawala Hospital. Asmee was the centre of attention yet her eyes betrayed a storm brewing beneath her confident smile. Her laughter was loud, carefree and laced with a reckless abandon that unsettled some guests Across the table her friends cheered as she downed yet another drink. Her eyes sparkling with mischief. But beneath the gaiety a storm was brewing. Suddenly, Asmee's cell phone buzzed sharply. She snatched it up, her face darkening as she recognized her mother's number. "Hello?" she snapped, voice sharp. "Asmee, darling, please calm down," her mother's voice trembled, "I'm worried about you." Asmee remained rooted for a minute. Nobody has had a hint what was going on. In a trice Asmee burst out. "Worried? After what you've done? You think a few phone calls can erase your betrayal?" Asmee hissed, pacing furiously. "You didn't even wait a year after father's death before parading your affairs with those…womanizers!" Asmee answered and within seconds the atmosphere shifted instantly. Her voice became sharp and angry and cut through the music.
Her mother's voice cracked, "You don't understand, Asmee. Life moves on." "Not for me!" Asmee shouted, her voice carrying across the restaurant. Heads turned and whispers began. "I'm sick of pretending!" Everyone knows they've been at their daggers drawn since Asmee's father's accidental demise. Asmee is vexed with her mother's affairs with womanizers, just after a year of her father's sudden demise. In college Asmee has earned the title of "manizer" which has been the talk of the town for quite some time. It looks like she wants to torment her mother for her infidelity towards her late father. "Why can't you just leave me alone, Mom?" Asmee snapped pacing the rooftop. "You think I'm not aware what you've been doing? How you moved on so quickly after Dad died?" Her mother's defensive and cold voice crackled through the line. "Asmee, please. Don't make this harder than it already is." But Asmee was relentless. "Harder? You betrayed him! You betrayed us!" Everybody hears Asmee loosing temper and squabbling with her mother over the phone. She slammed the phone down, her face flushed with anger and humiliation. Guests nearby exchanged uneasy glances. The tension palpable. The argument escalated until Asmee's voice broke with frustration and pain. Suddenly her face paled. She clutched her abdomen staggering toward the restroom. "I need to go," she muttered, voice trembling. Inside the cramped restroom, panic set in as she realized she was bleeding heavily. Memories of her fragile health flashed through her mind. She forgot her anaemia and her missed periods. She fumbled for her phone and dialled her family physician, Dr. Tushant Deshmukh. "Tushant, I'm bleeding…it's bad," she whispered, voice shaky. "Calm down, Asmee. I'll be back from China in two days but until then, try to rest. I'm adjusting your medication over the phone," he replied gently.
Before he could finish a wave of intense cramps doubled her over. She collapsed onto the cold tile floor. Tears streaming down her face as pain wracked her body. After a moment she pulled herself up trying to steady her breath and clean the blood staining her clothes. When she finally reached home exhaustion claimed her. She collapsed into bed. She felt her head throbbing. She slipped into unconsciousness, total unconscious.