As soon as the doctor closed the door, he leaned toward me. His breathing was rapid and shaky, and he whispered:
—“Call the police right now.”

For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood. All around me, the hospital was busy with its usual hustle and bustle: the sound of hurried footsteps, conversations in Hindi, patients sitting in the wards. Yet, that whisper—so stern, so decisive—took my breath away.

—“Excuse me?”—I stammered.

The doctor shook his head, nervous.
—“Don’t be here. Go outside and call. No one can hear.”

I watched him as he moved on to another nurse. I had no more time: my wife was just having a simple test done in the lab. She was dizzy and had back pain. Nothing indicated a serious emergency. So why was the doctor asking me to call the police?

I tried to go into the lab, but a technician stopped me:
—“Only patients can go in.”

I returned to the corridor. The white light of the hospital suddenly felt cold and strange, as if I’d been placed in an unfamiliar scene. I took out my mobile, but didn’t call. What could I say? That an unknown doctor asked me to call the police without telling them? Who would believe me?

When the doctor returned, he pulled my arm and led me to a corner near the snack machine.
—”Listen carefully,” he said softly.
—”I can’t tell you everything, but your wife is in danger. And if you don’t listen, so will you.”

My voice caught in my throat.
—”What happened to her? Is it the test results?”
—”The tests will prove what we already suspect,” he said.
—”But this isn’t just a medical matter. This… This is a police matter. Criminal.”

I wanted to ask more, but he raised his hand.

—”Who do you suspect?” I asked.
The doctor swallowed, not looking directly at me.
—“Someone who lives with him. Someone who can keep him under observation.”

My heart skipped a beat.
—“Me?”
The doctor looked at me directly for the first time, his eyes serious.
—“I wish I knew. But I can’t take the risk.”

Just then the lab door opened, and my wife came out, tired but smiling. Her arm was bandaged. When she saw me, tension was evident behind her smile, as if she were hiding something.

The doctor quickly walked away.
—“Be normal,” he whispered.

And then it dawned on me: this simple visit to the doctor was about to change our lives.

When my wife emerged from the lab, I tried to control the trembling in my hands. I pretended to smile, but the doctor’s gaze was fixed on my neck. She placed a light kiss on my cheek as she adjusted her jacket.

—“I didn’t think it would be over so soon,” she said.
—“Yes…” —I replied, trying to appear normal.

We started walking down the corridor, and every step echoed in my mind. The doctor’s advice kept ringing in my ears: “Your wife is in danger”… “Don’t pretend you know”… “Someone can keep her under observation.”

I needed time. I had to think.

—“I’ll pay the bill upon registration,” I said.
—“No need, everything is covered by travel insurance,” he replied.

Every simple word seemed suspicious to me. Who was I supposed to protect her from? From whom? From someone outside? Or… from her? Doubt was hitting me like a hammer.

As soon as we reached the waiting area, my wife distracted herself by looking at a kidney health poster. I immediately sent a message to the emergency number:

“A doctor asked me to call. He says my wife is in danger. We’re at Civil Hospital, Delhi. What should I do?”

Not even twenty seconds had passed when I received the call. I stepped aside and received it.

—“Did you send this message?”—a serious voice asked.
—“Yes. I don’t know what’s going on. A doctor said that…”
—“Listen. If a medical professional is recommending police intervention, we have to act. But we need to know if you can leave the person in danger without further ado.”

I took a deep breath.
—“I think so.”
—“Okay. Go to the side gate the doctor told me about. Two officers will arrive in five minutes. Stay on the line, don’t hang up.”

I turned to my wife.
—“Should we go outside for a while? The atmosphere here seems a bit heavy.” —I tried to sound normal.

She looked at me with surprise, but agreed.
—“Sure, I need some rest too.”

We started walking down the corridor leading to the hospital garden. The old building of Delhi’s Civil Hospital, its round domes and stained-glass windows, looked both beautiful and dangerous. My steps picked up speed, as if on their own.

—“Hey…”—she suddenly said—“Is something wrong? You look very pale.”
—“Nothing, just tired.”—I replied.

But her gaze seemed deeper, almost watchful.
—“Are you sure? You seem a little… strange lately.”

We reached the side gate. I looked around. There was no officer in sight. Had they misunderstood me? Was this a trap?

Suddenly, my wife placed her hand on my arm, tighter than usual.
—“Darling…” —she whispered—“if you have something to tell me, now is the right time.”

There wasn’t worry in his voice. There was something else. Every muscle in my body tensed.

I slowly tried to move myself, but he held my fingers tightly.
—”Why did you want to come out?”—he asked coldly.—”What’s going on?”

I didn’t know what to answer. At that very moment, a white van pulled up in front of us. Two men quickly got out. They didn’t look like police. They weren’t in uniform. One called out my full identification.

My wife suddenly let go of my hand.

And for the first time, I saw genuine fear in her eyes.

Both men quickly approached us. One almost stopped, flashing his police ID, while the other was intently focused on my wife.

—”National Police,”—the first said—”Come with us. Now.”

My wife took a step back. She looked toward the hospital door, as if looking for an escape route. I naturally wanted to grab her hand, but she pushed me away forcefully.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said in a stern, surprised voice.

The officer took a step forward.

“For your safety, and for your husband’s safety, please cooperate.”

The word “husband” felt like a blow. She looked away, and her breathing quickened.

The police told me:

“The doctor informed us as soon as the results of the first preliminary test came in. Your wife is not sick. She has been given… a poisonous drug.”

The ground slipped beneath my feet.

“What does this mean?”

“The blood and urine were found to contain traces of a substance that doesn’t match normal medications or drugs. It’s a substance used to control a person.”

My wife pursed her lips, as if holding back a response.

“That’s a lie,” she whispered. “What kind of joke is this?”

But her voice trembled. It wasn’t confidence, it was fear.

The second officer spoke for the first time:
—“We saw a similar case three weeks ago. A foreign woman in Delhi, with exactly the same symptoms, almost the same tests. Turns out she was being chemically controlled to extract information about her bank and international accounts.”

I looked at my wife, perplexed.
—“Were you drugged? When?”

She nodded slowly. But her face was crumbling.
—“No… I don’t know… Sometimes I can’t remember certain nights.”

The police put us in a van. No one was handcuffed, but the tension was so intense that the space seemed to fill. While driving, the officer handed me a sealed envelope.

—“The doctor found this in your wife’s bag, between the inner lining and the clothes. He thought you should see it.”

I opened it. Inside were receipts for three international transfers, all from my wife’s account. Large amounts, recent dates, different European cities.

She covered her face with both hands.
—“I didn’t do it.”—she whispered—“I swear, I don’t even remember being there.”

The officer shook his head.
—“We know. That’s the modus operandi of the gang we’re investigating. They capture someone, slowly isolate them, control them… until the threat is gone.”

A chill ran through my body.
—“A threat to whom?”
—“To them,”—he said—“Your wife works in international finance, doesn’t she? We’ve seen the same pattern. People with access to sensitive information.”

My wife looked at me reassuringly.
—“I thought I was just tired… that the trip had taken its toll. But… there are gaps in my memory. Some things don’t match.”

The second officer added:
—“Evidence suggests he was under observation even before the trip. Someone with close, frequent contact. A full toxicology report will provide more data.”

Then the question that had bothered me from the beginning hit me squarely in the chest.
—“And do you think I…?” I asked with difficulty.

The officer looked me in the eye, unblinking.
—“We can’t let this go now. You’re the closest person to him. But we’re not considering you guilty. We just have to protect both of you… until we know who’s behind this.”

My wife leaned toward me, trembling.
—“Darling… I never doubted you. But tell me the truth… is there anything you haven’t told me?”

I took a deep breath. At that moment, as the streets of Delhi faded into darkness, I realized that the doctor’s words weren’t just saving my wife’s life…

It was opening a door I could no longer close.

The van stopped near a nondescript gray building, near Jawaharlal Nehru Marg. It wasn’t a typical police station; no signboards, no civilians. It simply looked like an administrative office, unobtrusive. The officers told us to disembark.

“We have to record separate statements,” an officer said. “This isn’t a formal interrogation. Just clearing up inconsistencies.”

The word “inconsistencies” hung in the air like accusations. I looked at my wife. She seemed exhausted, not afraid. Still, she held my hand tightly before parting.

I was led into a small room. A metal table and a portable recorder sat in front of me. The youngest officer sat across from me.

“Let’s start with the basics. When did your wife’s first symptoms appear?”

I recalled the past: the dizziness, the irritability, the nights when she’d say, “I don’t remember.” I assumed it was just stress or fatigue.

—”About a week, or a little more.”—I replied.

The officer took notes.
—”Any strange outings? Anyone she’d seen that you didn’t know?”

I nodded.
—”We’re relatively normal. Work, home, gym, office dinners… nothing unusual.”

—”And on the trip?”—he asked—”Was there a moment when she separated from you?”

I thought.

When I was late to get my card at the hotel, she went to the bar. Just ten minutes.

In the park, when I went to the bathroom, she was sitting there.

Small moments, never seemed significant.

—”Yes, there were small moments. But nothing suspicious.”—I admitted.

The officer closed his notebook.
—”Sometimes seconds are enough.” — he whispered.

Meanwhile, in another room, another officer was talking to my wife. I couldn’t hear, but I could see glimpses of her through the semi-transparent glass. She was restless, as if grappling with both self-doubt and an unknown fear.

About an hour later, we met in a small corridor. She was emotionally drained, but when she saw me, she reached out to hold my hand.

—“They said that… that someone might be in my work environment,” she whispered—“someone who had access to my plans, times, and locations.”

—“A colleague?”—I asked.

She denied it.
—“I don’t know. A few months ago, there was a project with European clients. A lot of pressure, impossible deadlines… an outside consultant. He would come in occasionally. Now I remember, always asking professional questions… but now I don’t know.”

We were about to talk more when an officer arrived.

—“There’s an update.” “We just got the full lab results from the hospital,” he said.

My wife took a deep breath.

“And…?”

—“The substance found matches the compound used in recent involuntary control incidents. But most importantly, a fine powder was found in the seams of his bag. Perhaps this was the method of administration.”

My wife’s eyes widened, horrified.
—“But my bag is always with me…”

The officer looked at her seriously.
—“Not always. Not at the airport. Not at work. Not at a restaurant. Just seconds are enough.”

We were taken to a room with a large screen. Another investigator showed footage from a hotel camera. The video showed the lobby bar. My wife sat alone. Then a man in a dark jacket passed by: a mere glimpse, almost invisible… but enough to see something being put into a bag.

My wife put a hand to her mouth.
—“It… it’s the consultant.” — she whispered — “I didn’t notice.”

The officer paused.

—“This man is connected to the organization we were already investigating. And now, because of you, we have proof of direct contact.”

I looked at her. She was trembling. Whether from fear or from realizing for the first time that she was losing her mind.

The investigator added:
—“But there’s one more thing. That’s worrying us.”

He looked at me.
—“That man seems to be following you too. In two different places. And in one, it seems he’s stalking.”

I felt the air thicken.

My wife looked at me with despair.

And at this very moment, the enemy was no longer just “someone close.”

It was someone who was now after me too.