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Author POV:

The hallway stretched long and cold, its sterile silence only broken by the whisper of footsteps as the doctor's words weighed heavy on my mind.

"Don't force her to remember."

"No pressure on her brain."

"There's no guarantee her memory will return."

I had no choice but to nod and leave with the papers signed, my heart tangled in a mess of relief and dread. The truth was, she wasn't really my wife. I didn't even know her name until the accident. Yet here I was, tangled in a web of lies and circumstances I couldn't escape. If the police found out she wasn't who I said she was, I would be finished.

The room felt heavier when I returned, as though the weight of my deceit had seeped into the very air. Avni sat by the window, her eyes distant and lost. The sunlight caught in her hair, framing her in a soft halo of gold. She turned at the sound of my steps, her gaze meeting mine with innocent curiosity.

The nurse gave me a knowing smile and left, closing the door behind her.

When we were alone, Avni offered me a small, tentative smile. My breath caught. She had no idea who I was, but in that moment, it didn't matter. The way her eyes softened, the way her lips curved ever so slightly-something stirred inside me.

I forced it down. This wasn't real.

"We're leaving now," I said, my voice cool and detached.

She tilted her head, her brows knitting together. "Where?"

I swallowed. The answer burned on my tongue. Where was I taking her?

"Home," I said quietly, the word slipping from my lips before I could think better of it.

Her expression didn't change. No flicker of recognition, no warmth. Just confusion. Of course, she doesn't remember.

I took a step closer, then another. Her eyes never left me, wide and questioning. Slowly, I extended my hand to her. She stared at it for a long moment before placing her own in mine. It felt... wrong and right at the same time. Too small. Too familiar.

"Come," I whispered. "Let's go."

Her grip tightened just enough to send a spark through my veins.

The walk out was a blur. Every step felt like crossing a bridge built on lies, the ground beneath ready to crumble. I kept my eyes forward, guiding her to the car as though I knew what I was doing.

But I didn't.

Outside, the air was sharp and clear, a world far too real for the story I was living.

I opened the car back door, my breath hitching when she settled into the seat with quiet obedience.

She belonged here with someone. Someone who wasn't me.

I slammed the door shut and made My way to the driver seat and clenched the steering wheel. My hands trembled.

There was no turning back now.

•••••••••••••••••

The hum of the car engine was a dull roar in my ears, blending into the rhythmic pulse of my thoughts. I gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, my knuckles turning white as I kept my gaze fixed on the road ahead. Every mile between the hospital and my apartment was a mile deeper into a lie I couldn’t back out of. Beside me, Rohit sat quietly, his usual chatter absent for once.

Behind me, she—the woman whose name I now had to say as if it belonged in my life—sat silently, her head turned toward the window. She watched the world outside as though she were seeing it for the first time, her eyes wide, lost, and full of questions.

I caught myself glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her profile was delicate, her lips slightly parted as though on the edge of speech.

Not that I was watching her, I told myself, snapping my eyes back to the road.

The silence between us grew thick and suffocating. Even Rohit, who usually filled the quiet with jokes or complaints, seemed to sense the tension. His knee bounced restlessly, but he didn’t say a word.

••••••••••••

Avni POV

The car slowed as we reached our destination. I blinked up at the towering apartment building that loomed above us, its sleek glass windows glinting in the sunlight. My eyes followed the structure upward, feeling a strange pull of recognition that I couldn’t place.

"Home."

That’s what they had called it.

I shifted in my seat, my heart thudding unevenly as I tried to piece together the fractured memories in my mind. But it was like grasping at fog—every time I thought I had a piece, it slipped away.

Glancing forward, I looked between the two men in the front seat. Rohit turned to me first, his face open and kind, but his eyes were tinged with worry. Then there was him.

Abhimanyu.

He didn’t meet my gaze right away. His eyes stayed ahead, his expression carved from stone—calm, unreadable, distant.

When he finally glanced back at me, his look was different from Rohit’s. I couldn’t name what I saw there, but it made my stomach twist.

The car door opened, and he stepped out.

I followed his lead, pushing open my door. The ground felt uneven beneath my feet, the world tilting just enough to make me sway.

A sharp dizziness swept over me. I sucked in a breath and shut my eyes, waiting for the inevitable fall.

But instead of the cold, hard ground, I felt warmth.

A hand gripped my waist, strong and steady. In one swift motion, I was turned around and held firmly against a solid chest.

The warmth spread through me, steadying my breath, quieting the pounding in my head.

I opened my eyes.

And there he was.

Abhimanyu’s eyes held mine, dark and intense. His grip was firm, his hand pressing gently against my back. The heat of his touch seared through the thin hospital gown I still wore, anchoring me to the moment.

I searched his gaze, trying to find something—anything—that would make sense.

But his eyes gave nothing away.

“Bhabhi, are you okay?”

Rohit’s voice broke through, his concern pulling me back to reality. I turned my head and found him beside us, his brows furrowed with worry.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice was soft but steady. I pushed lightly against Abhimanyu’s chest, signaling that I wanted to stand on my own.

“Just a little dizzy.”

Rohit grinned, his shoulders relaxing.

“Good. You scared me there.”

“Let’s go,” Abhimanyu said.

I nodded and took a step forward. My legs buckled again, and once more, I felt the world slipping away.

This time, Abhimanyu didn’t wait for me to fall. His arms came around me, lifting me up with a practiced ease that took my breath away.

“Wh-what are you doing?” I stammered, my cheeks heating as he held me close to his chest. “I can walk!”

“If I let you walk,” he said, his voice was dry and flat, “it’ll be night before we get inside.”

His words stung, but I bit my tongue. My cheeks burned as embarrassment curled inside me.

“Whoa, Bhai! Carrying her like a hero in a movie!” Rohit’s laughter rang out, full of delight.

I buried my face against Abhimanyu’s shoulder, hoping the ground would swallow me whole. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath my ear, strong and unshaken. He didn’t seem affected at all.

••••••••••|

In the Apartment

The apartment smelled of stale coffee and spices, a mix of bitter and rich that lingered in the air like a memory refusing to fade. The aroma was warm, almost comforting, yet it hinted at neglect—like someone who had been too preoccupied with life to worry about simple things like cleaning.

I glanced around, my eyes roaming over the disarray. The living room was spacious but far from orderly. Clothes hung over the back of a recliner as if tossed there in haste. A laptop, still open, glowed faintly on a cluttered coffee table surrounded by stacks of half-read books.

Loose papers lay scattered across the surface, their corners curling as if they had been there for days. A single empty coffee cup balanced precariously on the edge.

The apartment felt lived-in, but not in a cozy, welcoming way. It carried the weight of someone who existed here without truly living, someone too tired, too distracted, or too burdened to care about the mess.

Abhimanyu carried me inside without a word. His arms were solid around me, his steps sure and unhurried.

When he reached the couch, he set me down with a grunt that was neither gentle nor rough, but practical, like a man completing a task he didn’t particularly enjoy.

My back sank into the worn leather cushions, the material cold against my skin. I felt the pull of fatigue creeping into my bones, but I fought it, sitting up straighter even as my body ached.

“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Rohit appeared beside me, his ever-present smile dimmed but not gone. He held out a glass of water, the condensation beading along its surface. “Here, Bhabhi,” he said softly.

“Thank you.” I took the glass with both hands, the coolness soothing my dry palms.

I sipped slowly, feeling the cold water ease the parched sensation in my throat.

The silence between us stretched thin, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the next room. I felt eyes on me, his eyes, but I didn’t look up right away.

“The doctor said you need to rest,” Abhimanyu said suddenly. His voice cut through the quiet like a blade—sharp, direct, and devoid of warmth.

He held out a packet of pills, his gaze elsewhere, as if even looking at me required effort he didn’t wish to expend.

I took the pills from his hand without meeting his eyes. The edges of the foil were cold and sharp under my fingers. I swallowed them dry, ignoring the bitterness that clung to the back of my tongue.

When I finished, I placed the empty packet on the table and finally looked at him.

“You don’t have to carry me again,” I murmured, trying for a hint of defiance even though my voice wavered.

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something, amusement, perhaps?—crossing his face before it disappeared behind his usual mask.

“I’ve seen how well you walk,” he said flatly, his tone slicing through my pride.

The words stung more than they should have.

My lips parted to argue, but before I could protest, he leaned down again. His arms slid under me with practice ease, lifting me as though I weighed nothing at all.

“Abhimanyu—”

“I’m not arguing about this.”

The finality in his voice left no room for negotiation.

I sighed, defeated. My head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a contrast to the tension thrumming between us. His scent, a mix of musk, fresh linen, and something darker, more elusive—filled my senses, making me acutely aware of just how close we were.

The warmth of his body seeped into mine, chasing away the cold. I felt the firmness of his grip, the subtle strength in his arms, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself lean into it.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered, my voice small and unsure.

“I know.”

The words were soft, almost tender, but there was a distance in them, a wall that kept me on one side while he remained firmly on the other.

He carried me toward the stairs, his steps steady and unhurried. Each one echoed in the quiet apartment, a slow and deliberate rhythm that matched the beat of my heart.

“You could have cleaned up,” I said, glancing back at the chaos we left behind.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” he replied without looking at me.

I snorted softly. “I’m your wife. You don’t consider me company.”

He didn’t respond.

As we reached the top of the stairs, I felt my cheeks flush with heat. My embarrassment surged anew as I realized how ridiculous this must look, me, a grown woman, being carried like a child.

“Are people always this dramatic around here?” I muttered.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was so brief I almost missed it. “Only when they insist they don’t need help.”

I rolled my eyes but kept my head against his shoulder, my blush hidden by the shadows of the hallway.

The room he carried me into was a stark contrast to the chaos of the apartment. As he pushed the door open with his foot, I caught my breath.

The space was dark and cool, the air tinged with the faint scent of sandalwood and rain. It was simple—clean lines, minimal furniture, but something about it felt calm, intentional.

A large bed with a dark wood frame sat against the far wall, its charcoal-gray comforter neatly smoothed, the pillows arranged with precision.On one side, a small nightstand held a single lamp with a warm amber glow, casting long, soft shadows across the room.

Opposite the bed, a sliding glass door led to a balcony.The heavy curtains were pulled back just enough for a sliver of moonlight to slip through, silvering the floor with its pale light.

The walls were bare except for a solitary clock ticking softly in the corner. No photographs. No decorations. Just the essentials.

He crossed the room silently, his footsteps muffled by a plush black rug. The mattress dipped as he laid me down, careful, deliberate. I sank into the bed’s softness, the cool sheets a soothing balm against my warm skin.

Without a word, he pulled the comforter over me, tucking it around my shoulders with a gentleness that felt at odds with his earlier indifference. His hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary before he straightened and moved to leave.

“Wait.”

My hand shot out before I could stop myself, my fingers circling his wrist. His skin was warm beneath my touch, the pulse steady and strong.

He stilled.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. His dark eyes shifted down to where our hands connected, his expression unreadable. Then he slowly turned his head to meet my gaze.

“Please stay,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.

His brows lifted, a hint of something—amusement? curiosity? flickering in his eyes.

“Didn’t you just tell me I should keep the apartment clean?”

“I know.” I tightened my grip when he tried to pull away, my fingers clinging with quiet desperation. “But… still. Stay. Just until I fall asleep.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy and full of things unsaid. His eyes searched mine, as if weighing the truth of my words against something else entirely.

Finally, he sighed—a soft, almost imperceptible sound and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

He didn’t speak.

I didn’t need him to.

I smiled faintly, the corners of my lips lifting in the dim light, and let my eyes flutter closed. His pres

ence was an anchor in the dark, a silent sentinel keeping the night’s shadows at bay.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt safe.

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