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Arman Kashyap

Arman Kashyap had stacked up medical degrees from premier medical

colleges, but he was best known for his degree in attitude from God knows
where. He walked the hallways of GKL Hospital with a confidence not seen

in doctors three decades older and much wiser. His peers said he was
arrogant because he belonged to a family of remarkable doctors and

extraordinary businessmen. His father was the country’s leading heart
surgeon, his mom, a sensitive and highly popular psychiatrist amongst rich,
bored and horny housewives, and his older sister, a paediatrician whose

average day was littered with appointments with celebrities—medicine and
excellence ran in his blood.

But the arrogance didn’t stem from his impressive background. He just
knew he was that good.
And he knew he wasn’t just a jerk. Had he been one, he would have

worked in the chain of hospitals his father had amassed in the last twenty
years. He would have been sitting pretty in a corner office with a few

brilliant doctors working under him, doing whatever he would have asked
them to. But he didn’t choose to be that, instead he chose to work out the

grind and prove his worth every minute of every hour in a hospital where he
held no influence. He had earned every bit of the reputation that he had got

himself in the last three years. His sincere good looks—he stood at six feet,
had short hair and wore expensive rimless spectacles—and savage drive to
succeed had helped.

‘So, you look like you made someone’s life hell today,’ Zarah said as
Arman approached her.