Shiv Natraj Naseeruddin Shah, an elderly psychology professor, arrives at a Kochi hospital to visit his comatose wife Pankaja Suhasini Maniratnam. At the same time, Tara Deshpande Kalki Koechlin, a young advertising agent, comes to the hospital late at night after hearing that her husband, Rajat Deshpande Arjun Mathur, was involved in a car accident. She’s consoled by Rajat’s quirky co-worker Girish Rajeev Ravindranathan, but she brushes off his comfort quickly, overwhelmed by the shock of the moment. Tara is deeply unsettled to see Rajat hooked up to a ventilator, and she leaves the scene with a sense of unsettled despair.
In the sterile waiting lounge, Tara approaches Shiv, mistaking him for a physician, and asks for guidance. Shiv shares the quiet truth about his own life: his wife suffered a stroke eight months earlier while he was out watching a cricket match, and she has remained in a coma since. The two strangers discover a shared ache, and an unlikely bond begins to form, grounded in their parallel grief. Later, Girish drops Tara off at a hotel and presents her with Rajat’s bag. Inside, she discovers Rajat’s watch and slips it onto her wrist, a small yet intimate link to the husband she’s trying to understand. The next day brings a jarring moment when Tara scans Rajat’s phone and encounters an intimate message from a colleague named Sheetal, who turns out to be a man. Shiv witnesses the misread, and the moment becomes a touchstone for their growing alliance—two people who misread the world, yet find humor and humanity in each other.
The two spend more time together, sharing tea, stories, and the slower pace of waiting that accompanies medical uncertainty. Shiv visits Tara at the hotel again, and she candidly confesses how she feels abandoned by friends and followers on social media. Through Shiv’s steady, almost clinical calm, Tara begins to see the broader patterns of grief, including the classic five stages of grief, and she finds some anchor in his experience. Their companionship grows into a cautious, hopeful partnership, as they navigate the murky line between hope and realism.
Tara finds strength in this unlikely mentor, a wiser counterpart who has weathered similar storms. They embark on small, shared adventures to cope with pain: Shiv invites Tara to a temple where she experiences a moment of quiet reverence, while she, in turn, takes him shopping and shows him how ordinary pleasures still exist in the wake of tragedy. The medical questions behind Rajat’s condition come into sharper focus when Rajat Deshpande’s doctor, Dr. Nirupam Malhotra Rajat Kapoor, informs Tara that Rajat has a hematoma in his brain and that surgery could bring a chance of recovery but carries a real danger of partial paralysis. Tara is torn between preserving Rajat’s dignity and recognizing the weight of risk; she seeks Shiv’s perspective, but he challenges the medical establishment’s motives, suggesting that hospitals and insurers sometimes value policy over people.
A heated confrontation follows: Shiv clashes with Dr. Malhotra, accusing him of being a pawn of the system that profits from fear and expensive procedures, while Tara insists she’s a realist who must do what she believes Rajat would want. The two voices—Shiv’s principled doubt and Tara’s practical determination—spark a tense debate about the ethics of medical intervention and the meaning of love in dire circumstances. Tara’s friend Ishita arrives later and urges a more spiritual path, even suggesting prayers, while Tara—who has never identified as religious—quietly chants Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō when she’s alone with Rajat, seeking a sense of calm beyond the hospital’s white walls. Ishita’s advice, though well-meaning, complicates Tara’s sense of identity and priorities, especially as Ishita’s own life shifts with marriage and family.
Meanwhile, Shiv continues to press for unconventional solutions, hoping to give Pankaja a chance to breathe on her own. His research and persistence put him at odds with Malhotra, who remains cautious and skeptical of anything that could jeopardize the patient’s safety. Tara’s emotional landscape shifts as she weighs the possibilities, and she becomes more decisive about Rajat’s fate—even as the emotional toll weighs heavily on her. The night deepens, and Tara and Shiv share a dance at Shiv’s home, a private celebration of their fragile bond, which both amuses and unsettles the neighbors. They discuss what their respective spouses have come to mean to them, then drift to sleep on a couch, wrapped in the quiet, uneasy peace of shared grief.
The next morning arrives with new resolve. Tara attempts to contact Rajat’s mother and, with Girish presenting the necessary insurance papers, she receives a quiet support that steadies her. After careful consideration, she chooses to proceed with the surgery, hoping for a meaningful chance at recovery. Rajat is taken to the operating room, and Tara holds his hand, offering a quiet vigil of trust and hope. Meanwhile, Shiv makes a stark, personal choice about Pankaja: he removes the ventilator and lets his wife determine her own fate, hoping she will take the final, living breath on her own. The film flashes through memories of the couples at their strongest moments, painting a bittersweet portrait of love amid aging and illness.
As the operation unfolds and the hospital hums with clinical precision, Tara sits in the waiting lounge, while Shiv sits beside her in silent solidarity. The camera slowly pulls back, capturing the two of them singly and then together, a partner pair formed in crisis, facing an unpredictable future with quiet dignity. The story ends on a note of ambiguity and tenderness: two people who have learned to bear each other’s pain in ways neither anticipated, finding a kind of fragile companionship that recognizes life’s precarious beauty.
