She looked up—and was surprised to see an unknown man standing there, his hand extended toward her.

Confusion crept into her mind. Who the hell was this man?

"Good morning, IAS Aarohi Javed," he said, his voice polite, almost eager. "It's so nice to meet you. I'm IAS Rishi Gupta, currently posted at your post." He introduced himself with a tone that was less professional and more... fanboy.

She stared at him for a moment, still confused, but decided to shake his hand anyway. Her fingers brushed against his briefly before she pulled away.

"Ma'am, I have heard a lot about you," he continued, his eyes bright with admiration. "I wanted to meet you once. I saw you on TV giving an interview, and you inspired me to be what I am today. Ma'am, can I get your autograp—"

His words faded into the air, becoming nothing more than background noise. Her eyes had already drifted away from him, scanning the room again, searching for that one particular person—Sidharth—tied on the floor, begging to be released, defeated, finished. But he wasn't there.

"Ma'am... Ma'am... Ma'am."

She jolted out of her daze, her gaze snapping back to Rishi. He was looking at her, concern mixed with confusion on his face.

"Huh?" she said, voice distant, clueless.

"Ma'am, autograph," he said gently, trying to bring her attention back.

She looked at him, then down, and saw a small diary in his hand along with a pen. As she was about to reach out and take the pen, the door opened.

Her attention snapped to the doorway instantly.

There he stood.

Her breath caught.

His hands tied behind his back, police guns pointed at his forehead, his face bruised and defeated. 

But no—this didn't look like how she had imagined him to be. This wasn't what she had expected.

He stood there in his perfectly tailored three-piece suit, immaculate as ever. His hair was a little wet, slicked back neatly. 

One hand held a handkerchief, which he used to wipe the other hand with slow, graceful movements before slipping it into his pocket. Behind him, a policeman held the door open, almost respectfully.

This was not what she had expected.

Why wasn't he tied up? Why was he still free?

Her heart pounded, confusion and frustration mixing into something sharp and angry. She snatched the pen from Rishi's hand and pointed it toward Sidharth, her voice rising.

"Why is he still free? Tie his hands! Or else he will run away—you don't know about him! He is so clever, he would—"

Rishi cut her off, gently taking the pen back from her hand in a respectful gesture. His expression was calm, almost apologetic.

"Ma'am, you are taking it wrong," he said softly. "He helped us."

Aarohi looked at him in anger, her eyes blazing, and turned to face Rishi fully. "Oh, you're sold, huh? He bought you with his money. That's the inspiration you took from my interview, huh? You bastard. Officers like you are the reason why our country is corrupted—"

Her lecture went on, sharp and relentless, each word aimed like a dagger. Rishi tried softly to interrupt, glancing hesitantly between her and Sidharth, who was now leaning against the doorframe, clearly struggling to control his laughter. 

His expression was almost amused, as if the entire situation was entertainment to him.

"Ma'am," Rishi tried again, voice gentle but firm, "we were trying to catch this Yashraj Khanna, but he kept slipping out of our hands. And as our chief secretary knew him, he came up with this idea. So Sidharth sir acted as his business partner and helped us catch him. Though... it could have cost him his life."

Aarohi kept glaring at Rishi, her jaw tight, her hands clenched at her sides. "Is this a movie or fiction? You think I will believe bullshit like this, huh? Ask your AI to come up with a better story, because you can't fool me. Do you even know what type of man he is—"

Her words were cut off abruptly.

Sidharth moved behind her in one swift motion, wrapping his arms around her in a tight back hug, his chest pressing against her back. 

He almost lost his usual expressionless demeanor in front of everyone, the corner of his lips twitching into what looked dangerously close to a smile. His other hand landed firmly over her mouth, holding her in place, denying any further words from escaping.

She struggled against his grip, but he held her firmly, his strength undeniable. His voice, low and calm, carried over her muffled protests.

"Hope your work is done, Mr. Rishi," he said, addressing the officer without looking away from Aarohi. "Now you may leave with the bastard. I will take care of the rest of the things."

Rishi awkwardly looked at them, then quickly turned and walked out with the other officers.

 They had already collected all the evidence, and Yashraj had been taken away earlier. The room emptied completely, leaving only the cleaning staff, who entered quietly to begin restoring order.

Sidharth guided Aarohi out of the room in the same position—his arms still wrapped around her, holding her firmly against him. They stepped into his private lift, and he pressed the button for the 55th floor. The doors slid shut with a soft hum, sealing them in silence.

Only then did he release her.

He leaned back against the lift wall, folding his arms in front of his chest, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked at her. She was busy glaring at him, her eyes blazing with anger, her chest rising and falling with each frustrated breath.

"You are really a bastard, aren't you?" she snapped, voice sharp. "How can everyone obey you like some trained dog? How much money are you feeding them, huh?"

In one smooth motion, he pulled her closer, gripping both of her hands. His thumb slowly traced the back of her hand, a deliberate, almost intimate gesture. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unyielding.

"I think you forget something," he said, voice low, steady. "Alongside the fact that you had forgotten long ago that I am your husband. And I warned you a few minutes ago, didn't I? If you talked to me rudely... then remember what I will do to you, hmm?"

The lift dinged softly as the doors opened with a gentle ting sound.

"Then I should do what I said before, hmm?" he murmured, his tone almost playful, but laced with something darker.

He guided her softly out of the lift and toward his cabin, his hand resting lightly on her back, steering her forward as if she were a precious possession he had no intention of letting go.

"Listen," he said as soon as they reached his room, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. He released her hand, letting his arms fall to his sides. 

"If you give me one last chance to prove myself... and if that's true, would you at least try to give this relationship one more chance? Even though I might be a stranger to you, you can try it for once. As much as you can't remember... we were once. And we are husband and wife. What do you say?"

She looked down, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. "What if you were proved wrong, then?"

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. "I will call my lawyer and file for divorce. Or whatever you wish."

She looked at him then, really looked at him. His words should have given her happiness. They should have felt like freedom, like victory. But instead, they stung—sharp and unexpected, without her even realizing why.

Still, she nodded.

_______________

"So, do you remember what your name is?" asked one person, voice calm and steady.

The other person slowly nodded. "Aarohi. Aarohi Javed."

"When were you born?"

Aarohi thought for a second, her brow furrowing slightly as she searched her memory. "17th January 1997."

"Are you married?"

She nodded again. "Yes."

"To whom?"

"He is a businessman. Sidharth Sisodia."

"When were you married to him?"

She paused for a second, eyes drifting slightly as if recalling a distant memory. "22nd November 2021."

And like this, Aarohi answered so many questions.

"Who was your first crush?"

She gave a name.

"Which year did you get your first period?"

She answered quietly.

"What were your friends' names from school?"

She listed them, one by one.

"What were your 10th and 12th percentages?"

She recited the numbers.

"What award did you receive in college?"

She named it.

Then came the more personal questions.

"What is the one thing that only you and Sidharth knew about each other?"

She paused, then answered, her voice softer.

"And what is the one thing that only you knew about yourself?"

She answered that too.

Then they switched to the questions about their relationship.

"How did you two get married?"

She described it, piece by piece.

"When did you have your first baby?"

Her voice wavered slightly.

"How did you lose your second baby?"

She didn't answer immediately.

"Who proposed to whom first?"

She smiled faintly.

And so many more questions—before marriage, after marriage, moments shared, moments lost.

Then the questions changed.

"Was Sidharth ever a mafia?"

"No."

"Were you ever in West Bengal?"

"Yes, but only for trekking with my friends. Nothing more."

Then they asked about Ishita.

"Do you know anyone by the name Ishita?"

"No. No one like that ever existed. I was never called by that name."

And many more things. Question after question, each one digging deeper, each one trying to piece together the fragments of a life she couldn't fully remember.

The doctor entered the private room and turned off the TV when the recording ended. 

He looked at Sidharth and Aarohi, who were still sitting there, watching the final moments of the session where they had hypnotized Aarohi to dig into her past—to prove that those memories still lived inside her head, that she had just forgotten them.

Aarohi sat there silently. 

The clip couldn't be fake. All those things she had said in that recording were true. Every date, every name, every detail. In fact, all the questions around her theory of Sidharth being a mafia boss had turned out to be nothing. 

The Aarohi in the recording had said nothing like that had ever happened.

The doctor cleared his throat and spoke. "Sir, now how would you like to proceed? Her memories are still there, which means they can be recovered. But I can't guarantee if she will be as expressive as before. Or would you like to attend daily sessions? But they will be much more time-consuming."

Sidharth held Aarohi's hand softly, bringing her out of her thoughts. 

He turned to her, his voice gentle but steady. "Do you want to take the treatment now? Do you trust me? And if yes, how would you like to proceed?"

She looked at the doctor, almost confused and clueless, unsure of what she should do. Her fingers twisted slightly in her lap before she finally spoke. "Can I get some time? I will come tomorrow morning and tell you about my decision."

The doctor nodded slowly, then turned his gaze toward Sidharth, waiting for further confirmation.

Sidharth took a deep breath and stood up, his posture straight, his expression calm but unreadable. "As she wishes," he said in his professional tone. "We will come tomorrow with the answer."

He turned to Aarohi and softly held his hand out for her. She looked at it for a moment, then stood up, still too lost in her thoughts to acknowledge him. She walked out of the office without a word, her steps slow, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Sidharth sighed quietly, watching her go. He stayed behind for a few more minutes, talking to the doctor in low tones, discussing details, possibilities, risks. Then he finally turned and walked outside.

When he reached the parking spot, he saw her leaning against the car. Her arms were folded against her chest, her gaze fixed somewhere blankly in the distance. She didn't look up when he approached. She didn't seem to notice him at all. 

She just stood there, lost in a storm of thoughts he couldn't reach, her silence louder than any words she could have spoken.

He looked up at the weather. It was a dark night, the sky heavy with clouds that looked like they would rain any moment. The wind was cold, biting through the air, making the atmosphere feel even heavier.

He pulled out the key and unlocked the car, the lights flashing briefly in the dim parking lot. Then he walked toward her, his steps slow, deliberate. When he reached her, he said in a soft tone, "Let's go."

She came out of her thoughts and looked at him. She saw him standing there, a soft smile on his face—something rare to see on him, something that made him look almost vulnerable.

"I was expecting you to have already flown away, running away from me," he said, his voice quiet. "I'm surprised you're still here—"

He paused when he saw her eyes brimming with tears.

"Aaru, you okay? What hap—"

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and after a long, shaky breath, she spoke. 

"Look, you don't know how I feel right now. It feels like I'm surrounded by strangers whom I'm supposed to trust, but something keeps holding me back. And I don't know what is true and what is not. So... be honest."

He felt something inside him break hearing her voice, muffled as if she would burst into tears any second. Her words hit him harder than he expected, each one carrying a weight he hadn't realized she was holding.

"Was that recording inside really true? You really didn't pay him to make me say that?"

Sidharth sighed and cupped her cheeks gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had already started to fall. "I promise."

She looked down, her face still in his hands, as tears began to drip from her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know if I can still trust you or not, but I feel so bad for disturbing you, for being a burden on you. I don't know what I should believe, but I feel so guilty for bothering you."

He froze hearing her words. He had been expecting her to blame him, to call him a devil, to accuse him of ruining her life again. But not this. Never this.

"Please... it feels so heavy here," she said, pointing to her heart. "I tried everything, but I'm tired now. I'm sorry I blamed you. I bothered you. Because of me, your life is a mess now. You had lost your wife, and now it's me who you have to deal with—"

He cut her off by pulling her into a tight hug. She clutched his shirt tightly, her fingers gripping the fabric as her tears fell freely. Again, she felt safe in his arms. His hand held her waist and back securely, while her arms wrapped around his neck, holding on as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

The weather, which had been cloudy for the last two hours, finally decided to drip down. Rain began to fall, slow at first, then heavier, making both of them wet. But neither of them moved. Neither of them cared.

"Shh, it's okay. I never lost my wife. It's always you, no matter what, okay? I promised for seven lives, and I will keep that. So don't be rubbish. And I'm not bothered. I'm lucky I got you again when I almost lost you that day."

His own voice somehow got heavy, thick with emotion he rarely let show.

After a good two minutes, he pulled her away slightly and cupped her face, his thumbs wiping away the tears still clinging to her lashes. "So, do you wanna get the treatment now, or what?"

She sniffed, trying not to start sobbing again, and looked down. "I don't want any treatment. If the treatment would bring back the memories of that dead kid... I don't wanna go back into that. I won't be able to bear that again—the feeling. I wanna stay like this for a while."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm despite the rain soaking through his clothes. "You're doubting me and trying to find evidence against me, okay? I'm fine with that."

His words, though sarcastic, made her break into a chuckle, even as more tears came out. "I still doubt you, okay," she said softly, whining slightly, her voice trembling.

He laughed a bit more, opening his arms slightly to kiss her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. "Fine. I am ready to clear all your doubts, always, okay? Just promise you won't attack me with a knife again."

She chuckled, nodding again. "Promise."

They both stayed in silence after that. Her head lay on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, while he looked somewhere blankly, just feeling her in his arms. The rain kept pouring over them, soaking through their clothes, but neither of them moved to escape it.

"I would still suggest you take the treatment," he said after a while, his voice low but firm.

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Why?"

"Because I don't want that stupid coma dream of yours to affect your whole life and leave you in trauma."

She thought for a second, her brows slightly furrowed. Then she nodded slowly.

Before either of them could say anything else, his phone rang.

He pulled it out of his pocket and saw his mother's name on the screen. He picked up the call and put the phone to his ear, though both of them could hear the tiny voice from the other side.

"Paaapaa, when are you and Mumma coming? It's 8:4 already."

Behind Ritvik's voice, they could hear his mom correcting the little one. "Bacche, it's 8:20, not 8:4."

But Ritvik was too busy talking and continued, "Please come fast, and also bring yellow chart paper. The teacher asked to bring it tomorrow."

Then he cut the call without waiting for any response, making both of them chuckle.

They pulled away from each other and walked to the car. She sat in the driver's seat, started the engine, and drove the car out of the hospital parking lot, the rain still falling steadily around them as they left the building behind.