London ki raat ka rang kabhi poora kaala nahi hota. Hamesha kisi na kisi streetlight ki roshni, kisi ambulance ki blue-red flash, ya kisi hospital ke glass doors ke andar jalti white lights—sab kuch thoda sa zinda rakhti hain.
St. Bartholomew’s Hospital ke corridor me disinfectant ki teekhi khushboo thi. Floor itna clean tha ki roshni us par phisal kar doosri taraf girti thi. Nurses ke shoes ki awaaz aur doors ke soft beeps—yeh sab milkar ek aisi duniya banate the jahan dard routine hota hai.
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