Next Day – Jhanvi's Home

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, painting golden patterns on the floor as Jhanvi entered her home. 

The familiar scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, bringing an odd sense of comfort. But inside, she was anything but calm.

The events of yesterday replayed in her mind—the stranger she had saved, the way he had looked at her, the way he had said 'Jaan' like she was his entire world. It unsettled her.

She placed her bag on the table and exhaled heavily, pressing a hand against her forehead.

"Stop thinking about it, Jhanvi," she muttered to herself. 

"It was just a moment. Nothing more."

But her heart disagreed.

Before she could dwell on it further, her phone buzzed. Reva's name flashed on the screen.

Reva: "Tu theek hai na? Tera mood kal se off lag raha hai."

Jhanvi: "Haan, bas thodi tired thi."

Reva: "Tu sach mein uss aadmi ke baare mein soch rahi hai?"

Jhanvi hesitated before typing.

Jhanvi: "Nahi... bas thoda ajeeb lag raha hai."

Reva sent a laughing emoji. "Jaane de. If it's meant to be, fate will bring him back."Jhanvi sighed, tossing her phone aside. Fate. As if.

She got up, freshened up, and went downstairs, where her parents were sitting, talking in hushed voices. The moment they noticed her presence, they fell silent, their eyes darting toward her like guilty kids caught red-handed.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, crossing her arms. 

"Kya baatein ho rahi thi, hmm hmm?" she asked, tilting her head dramatically.

"K-kuch bhi toh nahi," her mother replied, a little too quickly, while her father pretended to be deeply engrossed in his newspaper—which was upside down.

Her brows shot up. "Acha? Matlab main itni bewakoof lagti hoon ki maan jaungi?"

Her father cleared his throat and flipped the newspaper correctly, avoiding eye contact. Her mother, on the other hand, smiled nervously. 

"Beta, tum subah-subah itni detective kyun bani ho?"

"Detective toh tab banugi jab mujhe kisi khooni ka pata lagana ho" she huffed, plopping onto the chair beside them.

 "Yahan toh mujhe sirf yeh jaan'na hai ki mere apne maa-baap mujhse kya chhupa rahe hain."

Her father sighed dramatically. "Bas yeh din dekhna reh gaya tha—apni hi beti hum par shak karne lagi hai."

She placed a hand on her chest and gasped. "Beti hoti toh bata dete!"

Silence.

Her mother stiffened.

Her father stopped mid-sip of his tea.

They both looked at her, and for a moment, something unspoken flickered in her mother's eyes—something she didn't understand.

Mrs. Bisht forced a smile, but her heart clenched. "Agar tumhe sach mein pata chal gaya ki tum meri beti nahi ho..." she thought, swallowing the lump in her throat, 

"toh kya tum bhi mujhse door ho jaogi jaise meri Jhanvi mujhse door chali gayi?"

She blinked back the emotions and chuckled lightly. 

"Arre, dramebaz. Tu meri beti hai, nahi toh yeh nautanki kahan se seekhti?"

Her daughter rolled her eyes. "Mujhe bata rahe ho ya nahi?"

"Nahi," her father replied instantly, sipping his tea like it was the most important thing in the world.

"Aap dono milke mujhe pagal kar doge," she groaned, throwing her hands up.

"Voh toh tum phele se ho"Mr.bisht said while sipping his tea earning a playful glare from jhanviShe narrowed her eyes at her father, dramatically placing a hand on her chest. 

"Matlab? Main pagal hoon?"

Mr. Bisht took another slow sip of his tea, nodding with a straight face. "Bilkul."

Mrs. Bisht shook her head, trying to suppress a smile. 

"Tum dono bas ek dusre se ladte raho."

Jhanvi huffed. "Aapne suna na, Maa? Papa ko bas mauka chahiye mujhe taang karne ka." She turned back to her father. 

"Agar main pagal hoon toh mujhe kiske genes mile hain? Aapke!"

Mr. Bisht gasped dramatically. "Main? Pagal?"

"Aur nahi toh kya!" she shot back.

"Beta, pagalpan tumhari maa ki taraf se aaya hai," he whispered loudly, leaning closer as if sharing a national secret.

"Kya?!" Mrs. Bisht glared at him, crossing her arms. 

"Toh tum keh rahe ho ki main pagal hoon?"

"Maine aisa toh nahi kaha..." Mr. Bisht muttered, looking away.

"Acha? Toh kya kaha?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Yeh ki tum... thodi si zyada samajhdar ho," he said with a nervous chuckle, trying to save himself.

Jhanvi burst out laughing. "Wah, Papa! Kya gol gol ghoomake baat samjhayi hai!"

Mrs. Bisht rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling.

Jhanvi leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.

 "Chalo, mazaak band karo. Ab sach batao, kya baat ho rahi thi?"

Her mother's smile faltered for a second, but she masked it quickly. 

"Bas aise hi... ghar ki baatein thi."

"Aise hi?" she squinted.

"Haan, ab sab kuch bataana zaroori hai kya?" Mr. Bisht teased.

"Haan toh!"

"Nahi toh."

"Aap log mujhe pagal bana rahe ho."

"Beta, voh toh tum pehle se ho," Mr. Bisht repeated, taking another sip of tea.

"Papa!" she groaned, picking up a cushion and throwing it at him.

He dodged it, laughing. Mrs. Bisht simply watched them, her heart warming at the sight—but deep down, the fear never left her.

"Agar sach mein isey sab pata chal gaya, toh kya hoga?"

She quickly blinked away the thought and smiled. For now, she just wanted to cherish this moment.

Arushi's POV

The walls of the hotel room had started to feel suffocating. The silence pressing against my chest was unbearable, filling my mind with thoughts I didn't want to entertain. Overthinking was useless, but my heart—my stupid, stubborn heart—didn't understand that.

It had been years. Years of searching, waiting, hoping—only to be met with nothing but dead ends.

I had told myself that I had accepted it. That some people are just... gone. That no matter how much you love them, no matter how much you want to turn back time, fate isn't always kind.

But even after all these years, my heart still longed for her.

Anjali.

My best friend. My sister in every way that mattered. The person I had grown up with, shared every secret with, fought with, laughed with... only for her to vanish, like a cruel trick played by the universe.

One moment, she was there—alive, happy, in love. And the next? She was just... gone.

I had searched for her. We all had. But with time, even hope had started to feel like a punishment.

Because moving on felt like betrayal.

And holding on? That felt like drowning.

But the ones who had suffered the most weren't just me, or her family. It was him.

Aryan.

The man who had loved her like breathing. The man who had built his entire world around her, only to have that world crumble before his eyes.

Losing her had broken him in ways that words could never describe. His love had been fierce, unwavering, the kind that most people only dream of finding. But now? Now, he wasn't the same man.

His mind, once sharp and calculating, had become that of an eight-year-old child. He wasn't Aryan anymore—at least, not the Aryan I had known.

 He was just a lost boy trapped in a man's body, calling out for someone who no longer existed.

And their daughter...

The little girl Anjali had left behind.

 Advika

A piece of Anjali that still remained in this world.

Aahan and I did everything we could for her. We never let her feel alone. But no matter how much we tried, we knew the truth—this family was broken. Aryan was broken. And without his wife, he always would be.

I sighed, shaking my head as I walked down the street, trying to push away the heaviness in my chest.

I needed fresh air. A distraction.

That was when I spotted the small café across the street. It looked warm, inviting—a contrast to the cold ache inside me.

Deciding that some alone time with a cup of coffee would do me good, I stepped inside.The soft chime of the bell above the door rang as I entered, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around me like a comforting embrace. 

The café was lively, filled with quiet chatter and the occasional sound of laughter.

At one of the tables, a woman was feeding a little girl—her daughter, most likely. A man was leaning against the counter, his eyes fixed on the woman with an expression I couldn't quite place.

I exhaled and walked up to the counter, waiting for the barista to take my order.

"What would you like to order, ma'am?"

The voice was soft yet professional.

I looked up.

And the world around me stopped.

The sounds faded. The café, the people, the city outside—it all blurred into nothingness.

All I could see was her.

Standing behind the counter, looking at me expectantly, waiting for my response.

Her eyes.

Those eyes.

The same eyes I had seen a thousand times before—filled with laughter, mischief, warmth. The eyes that had held my secrets, my tears, my happiness.

I knew those eyes.

I knew her.

"Ma'am, please give your order... the line is getting big," she said again, her voice calm, polite.

Like I was just another customer.

Like she didn't know me.

Like she wasn't my Anjali.

I felt my breath hitch, my body going cold. My mind screamed at me to say something, to do something—but I couldn't move.

I just stared at her, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.

Because she wasn't reacting.

She wasn't recognizing me.

Because she didn't remember.

My throat tightened, and before I could stop myself, a tear slipped down my cheek. My lips trembled as I took a shaky step forward, my entire body trembling with disbelief.

"Anjali," I whispered.

The moment her name left my lips, my voice cracked, barely above a breath.She blinked at me, confused.

I waited.

Waited for something to shift in her eyes, for recognition, for anything that would tell me she remembered. That she knew me.

But she just stared.

Blank.

Unfamiliar.

As if I were a stranger.

I wanted to scream. To grab her, shake her, tell her, "It's me! Arushi! Your best friend! "

But she just looked at me with that polite, uncertain smile, completely unaware of the storm raging inside me.

And at that moment, the reality hit me like a slap to the face.

Anjali wasn't gone.

She was right here.

Breathing. Living. Existing.

End of POV:

Jhanvi's POV

"Anjali."

The moment the woman said that name, a shiver ran down my spine.

Anjali.

I had heard that name before.

The man from before—the one who had followed me in Rishikesh. The one who had called me Anjali first and then Bhabhi. The desperation in his voice, the confusion in his eyes—everything about that moment had unsettled me.

And then, the little girl.

The one who had run into me, looked up with those innocent, heart-wrenching eyes, and called me—

Mumma.

My breath caught in my throat.

What was happening?

Why did it feel like the entire world was shifting around me, like something I had buried deep inside was knocking on the door of my consciousness, demanding to be let out?

I felt my heartbeat pounding in my ears as all those fragmented moments—the man, the child, and now this woman—rushed through my mind like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

No.

This was a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence.

I clenched my fists and forced myself to stay calm.

Swallowing, I looked at the woman—whoever she was—trying to make sense of the raw pain flashing in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, ma'am... did you mistake me for someone else?" I said, keeping my voice steady despite the unease gnawing at me.

Her face crumbled.

And something inside me—something I didn't even know existed—ached at the sight.

"N-nahi... tu..." she whispered, but the words died in her throat.

I shifted uncomfortably. "Ma'am, do you want to sit down? You don't look well—should I get you some water?"

She sucked in a sharp breath, shaking her head as if trying to clear her thoughts.

Behind me, I felt Reva pause in feeding Falak, her gaze now fixed on the interaction. Jay straightened from his position at the counter, sensing the tension thick in the air.

"You really don't remember me, do you?" The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of her words felt like a boulder crushing my chest.

I swallowed hard.

Remember?

What was I supposed to remember?

I didn't know her.

Did I?

For a brief moment—just a second—something flickered in my mind.

A feeling. A whisper. A warmth that I couldn't quite grasp.