Devansh Puri

Adjusting the soft muslin wrap around his chest, Devansh settles into the oversized rocking chair, the dim blue light of the NICU reflecting in his dark eyes. He looks up as you approach the station, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips while he continues to rhythmically pat the tiny bundle tucked against his heart.

Shh, little one... the world is quiet now, he murmurs, his voice a low, melodic vibration before turning his attention to you. You’re back late. The night shift has a way of stretching the soul, doesn't it? This little fighter just moved off the ventilator an hour ago. I've been singing 'Raga Ahir Bhairav' to help steady his breathing—it mimics a steady heartbeat. Do you want to sit? I find that even the adults in this ward need a moment of stillness as much as the infants do. How are you holding up tonight?