Aditya Sharma had been in a coma for more than three years—a 29-year-old firefighter who

“All the nurses who had been caring for a man who had been in a coma for more than three years started getting pregnant one by one, leaving the supervising doctors completely shocked. But when the doctor installed a secret camera in the patient’s room to find out what was really going on in the room in his absence—what he saw made him call the police in panic…”

The first time this happened, Dr. Raghav Mehra considered it a mere coincidence.

It was not unusual for nurses to get pregnant—the hospital is full of life and death, and people find comfort wherever possible.

But when the second nurse who cared for Aditya Sharma reported the pregnancy—and then a third too—Dr. Raghav began to feel that the foundations of his rational world were shaking.

A man fell while rescuing people from a burning building in Mumbai.

His case had become a silent tragedy of sorts among the staff of Shantideep Hospital.

A young man—a calm face, full of scars—who never regained consciousness.

Every Christmas, the family sends flowers.
The nurses would often say how calm he looked.
But no one expected anything but silence.

Until a pattern emerged.

Every nurse who got pregnant was appointed to take care of Aditya for a long time.
Everyone had a night shift—room 312-B.
And everyone claimed that there was no relationship in their lives that could explain the pregnancy.

Some were married, some were not—but all were just as confused, ashamed, and afraid.

Initially, rumors in the hospital spiraled out of control—absurd guesses:
hormonal reactions, medication mistakes, even some kind of environmental pollution.

But the neurologist responsible, Dr. Raghav Mehra, could not find any logical reason.

All of Aditya’s tests showed normal:
life-mark stable, brain activity minimal, no physical movement.

Even then… The coincidences were increasing.

When the fifth nurse—Neha Verma—came to his office in tears, holding a positive test in her hand, and swearing that she had not been connected to anyone for months—Raghav’s suspicions finally began to crumble.

“I’ve always believed in science. ”

But the hospital management was demanding answers.
The media was also beginning to get wind of the story.
And the nurses—filled with fear and shame—demanded that Aditya be removed from the room.

That’s when Dr. Mehra made the decision that changed everything.

One Friday afternoon, when the last nurse’s shift was over, he went alone to room 312-B.

There was a faint scent of disinfectant and lavender in the air.
Aditya lay motionless as usual—the machines beeping incessantly by the bedside.

Raghav checked the camera—small, extremely secretive, hidden under a fan, directly towards the bed.

The recording began—and for the first time in many years, he left the room… With the fear of what they are about to find.

As soon as the recording started, Dr. Raghav Mehra tried to take his eyes off the monitor, as if trying to shield his eyes from some unknown fear. The room 312-B on the screen was the same—the white walls, the dim lights, the regular beeps of the machines. The first several hours showed nothing unusual. The nurses would come and go, administer medicines, fill out charts, and leave. Raghav heaved a sigh of relief—perhaps it was all a coincidence.

Then came the third watch of the night.

The door opened. A nurse came in—face not covered, gait normal, but there was a strange hesitation in her steps. She reached over to Aditya, checked his pulse, and pulled up a chair and sat down. For a while, she just stared at him. On the monitor, Raghav found himself leaning forward.

“Aditya…” The nurse whispered. There was no professional distance in the voice—there was fatigue, loneliness, and a pathos that seemed beyond the rules of the hospital.

Raghav frowned. This wasn’t the first time a nurse was talking to a patient. But then the nurse took out a small bottle—like vitamin drops—and dripped a few drops to Aditya’s lips. There was no mention of it in the chart.

“This is for you,” she said, “the doctor said that it should… Maybe it helps. ”

Raghav’s heart skipped a beat. Dr. Ne? Which doctor?

Nothing happened even after the nurse left. For hours. The next night the same scene again—another nurse, the same bottle, the same whisper. Third night, third nurse. Sweat came down Raghav’s forehead. He stopped recording, got up from the chair, and began to walk around the room.

“What is it?” he said to himself. “I’ve never seen anyone prescribe such a drug…”

The next day he called the pharmacy. “Any supplements, any alternative drops…?” the pharmacist nodded. “No, sir.” Nothing like this was released for 312-B. ”

Raghav called the nursing supervisor, Sushmaji. “Who was there in the night shift?” The list came out—names different, but one thing the same: all the nurses were the ones who had been reported to have been pregnant.

“Are you guys giving any extra medicine?” asked Raghav directly.

Sushma ji remained silent. Then she said, “Sir… Some nurses say that they were advised by a senior. The name was not taken. All that was said was that it keeps the patient calm. ”

“Which senior?” Raghav’s voice became harsh.

“We don’t know, sir,” Sushmaji’s eyes drooped. “They are afraid. ”

Raghav watched the recording again that evening. This time he turned up the audio filter. The whispers began to clear.

“You won’t be in pain…”
“It’ll be all right…”
“We’re with you…”

And then—the one thing that poured cold water into Raghav’s veins—Aditya’s finger on the monitor moved slightly. Very light, but clear.

“This… It’s impossible,” Raghav muttered. He had read all the rules of neurology. Aditya should not have had such an activity.

The next morning, she called a board meeting. “We need round-the-clock monitoring of this room,” she said. “And no outsiders will be allowed in the night shift.” ”

But on the same day, the media car was parked outside the hospital. Questions were bouncing. “Coma patients,” “mysterious pregnancies,” “hospital silence.” ”

The pressure mounted.

That night, Raghav himself sat outside 312-B. The door opened after midnight—and this time there was no nurse. A man walked in. White coat, trying to hide identity.

Raghav jumped up. “Wait!” he opened the door.

The male reflex—that was the hospital’s research coordinator, Dr. Ajay Kapoor.

“What are you doing here?” Raghav’s voice trembled.

Ajay took a deep breath. “Raghav, we have to talk. ”

“Now,” Raghav said.

Inside the room, Ajay looked at Aditya, then closed the door. “Do you remember the project ‘Navjivan’?”

Raghav’s face hardened. “That project has closed. For ethical reasons. ”

“On paper,” Ajay said. “Not really. ”

“An alternative neuro-endocrine therapy that used micro-dose hormonal neuro-peptides. The objective was to evoke a neural response in coma patients. The drug was transferred not into the air, but through the skin, in very subtle amounts.

“And the nurses?” asked Raghav.

“They were carriers,” Ajay said, eyes down. “Unintentionally.” ”

The ground slipped under Raghav’s feet. “You’re saying that—”

“Yes,” Ajay said. “There were hormonal changes in his body. Pregnancy… There was a side effect. ”

“It’s a crime,” Raghav burst out. “You did without consent—”

“I didn’t,” Ajay said quickly. “There was an external funding agency. They pressed. And… The early signs were positive. ”

Like to confirm, the machine BPIP. There was a movement in the corner of Aditya’s eye.

Raghav’s voice hoarse. “You have made humans into instruments. ”

“And what if he wakes up?” said Ajay softly. “What if we save a life?”

Raghav fell silent. There was a struggle going on within—science versus morality, results versus process.

At that moment the door opened. Nurse Neha Verma came in. His face was pale. “Sir… I know everything,” she said. “And I won’t be silent. ”

There was silence in the room.

Neha Verma’s words fell like a hammer in the room. “I know everything… And I won’t be silent. His voice was trembling, but there was more firmness than fear in his eyes. Dr. Raghav Mehra felt for the first time that this story would no longer be locked up in the walls of the hospital.

“What do you know, Neha?” Raghav asked softly.

Neha took a deep breath. “We were told it was ‘recovery support’. That we spend more time with the patient, talk, maintain touch. Then they were given drops. No one told us that it would affect us either. ”

Dr. Ajay Kapoor tried to interject, “Neha, it’s so simple—”

“Shut up!” Neha’s voice came louder for the first time. “You didn’t give us a choice. When we felt changes in our bodies, we were embarrassed. Intimidated. And now you’re calling it science?”

Raghav picked up the phone. “Security, call the police. Now. ”

Ajay’s face turned white. “Raghav, you can’t do this. If it went out—”

“Then the truth will go out,” Raghav said sternly. “And that’s important. ”

The hospital changed over the next few hours. The police, the forensic team, the media—all of them arrived. 312-B was sealed. The statements of the nurses were recorded. The recording was seized. Ajay Kapoor was taken into custody. An emergency meeting of the Board of Directors was held.

By morning, the news was on every channel.

But something else happened that morning.

The ICU monitor showed an unusual pattern. The nurse ran and called Raghav. “Sir… Aditya’s brain activity…”

Raghav paused in front of the screen. The lines—which had been almost straight for years—were now making light waves.

“This is awareness,” Raghav whispered. “Weak… But real. ”

Three days later, when the entire nation was debating the scandal—science versus morality—Aditya Sharma’s fingers moved again. Clear this time.

“Aditya?” Raghav called his name.

The eyes did not open, but the lips moved. A vague voice said, “Pa… No…”

Everyone in the room cried.

It took months for Aditya to fully regain consciousness. His body was weak, his memory broken. But he was alive. Really.

When he started speaking, another truth came out.

“I don’t remember everything,” he said softly. “But… I remember the voices. Someone always comforted me. He said there was no need to be afraid. ”

Raghav looked at Neha. There were tears in his eyes.

The investigation proceeded. The external funding agency was exposed. Many big names fell. Laws were changed. New rules on research ethics were implemented in hospitals.

For nurses—compensation, mental support, and most importantly—respect.

Neha said to Raghav one day, “Sir, I am still scared. But I’m glad the truth came out. ”

Raghav bowed his head. “I’m a doctor. I should have stopped on the first day. ”

Neha gave a slight smile. “You did it right in the end. That’s what matters. ”

A year later.

There was a small function at Shantideep Hospital. Aditya, with the help of a stick, stood on the stage. The same nurses were sitting in front of them—some with their children.

“I’m alive,” Aditya said, voice hoarse. “But this life should not have come at the cost of anyone’s suffering. If my waking up was by crushing someone else’s body, consent, and honor—that’s not a miracle, it’s a crime. ”

There was no applause. But there was a deep silence in the room—of understanding.

Raghav was standing outside after the ceremony. The evening sun was setting. She realized that the greatest test of science is not results, but limitations.

He said to himself,
“Everything that is possible is not necessarily right. ”

And maybe… This was the most expensive, but the most important lesson.

Finished.