Chapter 10

The heavy door of the apartment slammed shut as Shristi sprinted past a confused Anita and locked herself in her room. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely work the latches on her suitcase. She threw aside piles of clothes until her fingers brushed the cold glass of a small, silver frame.

She pulled it out, her breath hitching. Sameer smiled back at her from the photo—the same eyes, the same tilt of the head. It was impossible.

*

The next morning, the New Zealand sun felt too bright, too clinical. Shristi stood across the street from a sprawling, modern bungalow, her body partially concealed by the shadow of a thick oak tree.

Inside the house, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to her turmoil. Sahil bounded into the living room, still damp from his morning shower.

"Sahil! Did you have your breakfast?" his mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen, accompanied by the sizzle of a pan.

"Yes, Mom! Done and dusted!" he called back, heading into his room.

He stood before the mirror, dragging a comb through his messy hair. As he looked at his reflection, the image shifted. For a split second, he didn't see himself—he saw the girl from the club, her eyes wide and brimming with a pain he couldn't understand. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear the fog.

"Get a grip, Chopra," he muttered.

He walked toward his bag, which was tossed near the open window. As he reached for it, his movement froze. Down by the garden gate, near the old tree, he saw her. Shristi was standing there, staring up at his window.

Their eyes almost locked, but the moment she saw him, she spun around and dove behind the trunk of the tree.

Sahil dropped his bag and lunged toward the windowsill, leaning out as far as he could. He squinted, searching the foliage and the shadows. Nothing. The street was quiet; the tree stood still.

He pulled back inside, letting out a frustrated breath. He was convinced his imagination was playing tricks on him. With a self-deprecating smirk, he formed a "gun" with his thumb and forefinger, pressed it to his temple, and made a soft “Dishoom!” sound.

"You’ve officially lost it," he whispered to the empty room.

A few minutes later, Sahil swung his car keys and stepped out of the bungalow. Shristi, peeping from behind the bark of the tree, watched as he climbed into his car and backed down the driveway.

Just as the car reached the halfway point to the gate, Sahil suddenly slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched softly. He rolled down the window, sticking his head out to scan the garden and the perimeter of the fence. He sat there for a long beat, his eyes narrowing as they swept past the very tree where Shristi was pressed flat, her heart hammering against her ribs, her eyes squeezed shut.

Seeing only the swaying branches, Sahil sighed, rolled the window back up, and accelerated onto the main road. Shristi finally exhaled, leaning her forehead against the rough bark, watching the dust from his car settle in the morning light.

*

Inside the quiet bungalow, the only sound was the rhythmic click-clink of knitting needles. Sahil’s mother sat in her favorite armchair, focused on the wool, when the house cook entered the room.

"Roger, who is at the door?" she asked without looking up.

"Ma'am, a young lady has come to meet Sahil," Roger replied.

Shristi stepped tentatively into the living room, her voice soft and respectful. "Namaste, Aunty-ji."

The woman finally looked up, a warm smile spreading across her face as she set her knitting in her lap. "Namaste."

"I am Anita's cousin, Shristi... from India," she explained, her fingers twisting together nervously. "I wanted to meet Sahil."

"Oh, you just missed him, dear! He’s just left for skiing. But come in, why are you standing there? Please, sit," Sahil’s mother insisted, gesturing toward the sofa.

"Thank you, Aunty," Shristi whispered.

As she sat, her eyes immediately began to wander across the room, landing on a cluster of framed photographs on the side table. There were shots of Sahil with his parents as a toddler, solo portraits of him in graduation robes, and candid photos of him laughing. She picked up a silver frame, her thumb tracing the glass over Sahil's face.

"Aunty, how long have you lived here?" Shristi asked, her voice tight with an emotion she tried to hide.

"It’s been almost twenty-six years since we left India," his mother replied, a nostalgic glint in her eyes. "We moved right after I married Sahil’s father. We’ve been residents here ever since."

Shristi’s heart skipped. "And you never went back? Not even for a visit?"

"We never really had the chance," the woman sighed, the needles starting to click again. "A year after the wedding, Sahil arrived. Between raising him, his school, his college, and then his father’s responsibilities—he is a doctor, you know, and running the hospital takes up all his time.Just like that, the years passed us by".

Shristi looked down at the photo in her hand. The man in the picture looked so much like the man she loved that it felt like a physical ache in her chest. "And Sahil? Has he ever been to India?"

Sahil’s mother chuckled softly. "No, Sahil has never been. Even if he wanted to go, whose house would he stay at? We don’t have anyone left there anymore."

The hope that had been keeping Shristi upright finally shattered. If he had never been to India, then he couldn't be Sameer. There was no secret past, no amnesia—just a cruel trick of nature.

A single, silent tear escaped and tracked down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and carefully placed the photo frame back on the table, the glass clicking against the wood with a final, echoing sound.

*

The snowy slopes of the New Zealand mountains glittered under the crisp sun. Sahil was a blur of motion, carving through the fresh powder with expert precision. He leaned into a sharp turn, flying right past Anita, who was waving her poles frantically and shouting his name.

He didn't hear her at first over the rush of the wind, but he caught a glimpse of her bright jacket in his periphery.

He skidded to a graceful halt, kicking up a spray of white mist, and turned back.

"Hey, Anita!" he called out, grinning.

"Hi, Sahil! How are—" Anita started to trudge toward him, but her skis crossed awkwardly. With a startled yelp, she lost her balance and landed face-first in a soft bank of snow.

"Oh, here I go again!" she groaned, muffled by the powder.

"Gosh... you okay?" Sahil laughed, quickly skiing over and reaching down to haul her back to her feet.

Anita brushed the snow off her jacket with a dramatic sigh. "It’s nothing, as usual. When I was born, the priest probably told my parents, 'Wherever there is a wound or a trip-wire, Anita will be there.'"

Sahil chuckled, but his expression soon turned thoughtful as he glanced behind her at the empty slope. "With you being here... why is that other person's presence missing?"

Anita blinked, looking around. "Who?" Then, a mischievous glint entered her eyes. "Ohhh, Shristi. She’s been lost in her own world since this morning, that’s why I’m a bit sad. But wait... why are you asking about her?" she added, her voice dropping into a teasing lilt.

Sahil let out a heavy sigh, leaning on his ski poles. "Because of your cousin, Anita. That's why."

"Why? What has she done?"

"I don't know," Sahil admitted, looking out at the horizon. "But everywhere I look, it’s just her face."

"That’s funny," Anita giggled. "You only met her yesterday!"

"I know! That’s what I’m telling you—I don’t even understand it myself. Her one look has just... taken over me." He walked a few steps away, his boots crunching in the snow. "I can't put it into words, Anita. The way she was looking at me... I can’t forget her eyes. They were filled with so many questions. Her face is so simple, so innocent, and the way she just ran away... it left me with a thousand unanswered thoughts. You know?"

"Too much! Wow, Sahil," Anita teased, clapping her hands. "That is so romantic. If you said all that in front of Shristi, she would have fallen flat right here in the snow."

Sahil didn't laugh this time; he looked at Anita with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Anita, you have to help me. I need to meet her. I want to get to know her... I have things I need to say to her."

Anita softened, seeing the genuine look in his eyes. "Alright, alright. If that’s the case, I guess I have to play Cupid. Today evening—at the waterfront."

"Alright, then. It’s a deal." Sahil reached out, shaking Anita’s hand firmly, a determined smile finally breaking through his face.

*

By the lawn of the Chopra estate as Sahil’s parents sat. The clinking of tea cups felt heavier than usual as a secret, held tight for over a year, hung between them.

"What are you saying?" Sahil’s father leaned forward, his voice a low, urgent whisper. "A girl from India came here specifically to find Sahil?"

"Yes," his mother replied, her eyes troubled. "She was asking such pointed questions about his life, his past... about whether he had ever been back home."

"You didn't tell her, did you? You didn't tell her that he isn't our biological son? Or that he actually came from India?"

"Of course not," she whispered, glancing toward the empty driveway. "I remember what you said. Forcing him to remember his past—triggering those memories before he’s ready—could be devastating for his health. I kept our story straight."

The doctor sighed, his gaze distant. "If this girl is connected to who he was... if she is the love he left behind... then his memories might return on their own someday. But for now, we let their paths align naturally. We cannot risk his mind breaking under the weight of a life he’s forgotten."

He caught the flash of headlights on the gate. "Look, his car. Act normal. We’ll casually mention she was here and see how he reacts."

As Sahil pulled into the driveway and hopped out of the car, his father waved him over. "Come, come sit, son!"

"Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom," Sahil called out, his face still glowing from the mountain air.

"So, son," his father started with a playful glint in his eye. "What are you hiding from us? Who is this girl?"

Sahil stopped in his tracks, looking genuinely confused. "Which girl?"

"Don't play innocent with me!" his mother teased. "A girl named Shristi came here to meet you."

The name hit him like a lightning bolt. "Shristi?"

"Yes," his mother nodded.

"You mean... Anita’s cousin? Shristi?" Sahil looked at his father, his voice rising in disbelief. "The one who just arrived from India?"

"The very one," his father confirmed.

Sahil let out a long, shaky breath, fumbling for his words. "She... she actually came here? To the house?"

"Seems like the fire is burning on both sides, eh?" his father joked, nudging him.

"Dad! Relax, okay? There’s no fire... or wire... or whatever you’re thinking," Sahil stammered, though his face was turning a deep shade of red. He turned to his mother. "But seriously, Mom... what did you think? Why was she asking about me?"

"I think," his mother said, exchanging a knowing look with her husband, "that she was very, very interested in you."

Sahil suddenly dropped to a kneel beside his father’s chair, his bravado vanishing. "Dad, tell me honestly. Based on her conversation ... what do you feel? What has she hinted?"

His father laughed, patting Sahil’s shoulder firmly. "See? I caught you! You’re hooked, aren't you?"

"Dad, stop teasing!" Sahil nudged him, his voice dropped to a whisper. "What do you think? Is what I’m feeling... is she feeling it too?"

His father’s expression softened, becoming uncharacteristically gentle. He placed a steady hand on Sahil’s shoulder. "Yes, son. This... this is what they call love."

"This is called love?" Sahil repeated the words as if they were a foreign language he was finally beginning to understand.

His father nodded slowly. "Yes."

Sahil stood up abruptly, a dazed, brilliant smile spreading across his face. He looked at his mother. "Mom... is he right? Is this really love?"

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed, her eyes misting over with a mixture of joy and hidden sorrow.

"Really, Dad?" Sahil ran a hand through his hair, his energy suddenly skyrocketing. "Finally! Okay—bye!"

He spun around and started running back toward his car.

"Hey! Where are you going now?" his father called out after him, laughing.

Sahil didn't even look back. He just waved a hand in the air. "Don’t ask me, Dad! I’m in love!"