Chapter 12 : Sameer as Sahil-Shristi Version

Shristi led him silently into her room, the air heavy with tension. She walked over to her desk, picked up a stack of physical photographs, and turned to him.

"See this? This... and this," she said, her voice trembling as she thrust the images into his hands.

Sahil took them, his eyes scanning the first print. He froze. A cold shock rushed through his veins. The man in the photograph—laughing on a beach, standing by the rocks—had his exact jawline, his exact smile, his exact eyes.

Suddenly, a violent spike of pain shot behind his eyes. Sahil gasped, dropping his head as a wave of disjointed, blurry images flashed rapidly across his mind—the roar of crashing waves, a desperate gasp for air, a suffocating darkness.

"Ahhh..." Sahil pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, groaning in agony. "I don't know why... looking at these images, my mind is hurting so badly. Some blurry vision is hitting me..."

"How is this possible?" Sahil muttered, flipping to the next photo, his heart hammering against his ribs. "My face... it’s unbelievable."

Shristi watched him, tears cascading down her cheeks. "Even I thought the same," she cried out, her voice breaking. "How could it be possible? When I saw you for the first time, I genuinely thought to myself that my Sameer had come back to me. I thought... maybe he survived. Maybe he was saved from drowning!"

Sahil looked up at her through a haze of pain, his breathing ragged.

"I was so elated, Sahil! I thought a miracle had happened," Shristi sobbed, backing away from him. The weight of the heartbreak was too much to bear in his presence, and she ran toward the edge of the room by the door, clutching the frame. She buried her face in her hands, her voice reduced to a broken wail. "But when I realized that you aren't my Sameer... then... I died again, Sahil. I died all over again!"

As her cries filled the room, Sahil looked down at the final photograph in his hands. The intense emotional distress combined with the violent, suppressed memories fighting to break through became too much for his nervous system. The room spun violently, the pain in his head fractured into complete darkness, and his eyes rolled back.

With a heavy thud, Sahil collapsed onto the floor, fainting under the unbearable agony of his awakening past.

*

The room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the soft, silver glow of the moonlight filtering through the window pane. Sahil slowly opened his eyes, the blinding headache from before now reduced to a dull, throbbing ache. He was lying in his own bed. Beside him sat his father under the dim warmth of a single bedside lamp, watching over him with a look of profound, paternal anxiety.

Clutched tightly in Sahil’s left hand, the edges slightly crinkled, were the photographs of Sameer.

His father noticed him stirring in the shadows and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Sahil... how are you feeling now, son?"

"Better..." Sahil croaked, his voice raspy. He raised the photographs, staring at them through tired eyes. "Dad... these photos. The moment I look at them, I don’t know why, but I see flashes of memories. It feels like a life I’ve already lived, but it’s all so blurry. Why is this happening to me?"

His father let out a long, heavy sigh, the burden of a year-old secret finally breaking his composure. "Son... it’s happening because those photos are your past. The moment you saw them, your dormant memories were triggered."

Sahil shook his head, thoroughly confused. "Dad, I don't understand. These are Sameer's pictures. He is Shristi’s lost love. How can this be my past?"

His father looked deeply into his eyes, his voice trembling but clear. "Because you are Sameer, son."

The words struck like a physical blow.

"Ahhh... my mind!" Sahil suddenly gasped, gripping his temples as a violent surge of pain shot through his brain. The sudden shock of his true identity clashed violently with the reality he had known for the past year. "Dad... my head is hurting so badly!"

"Don't force yourself, son! Don't try to force the pieces together," his father urged frantically, stabilizing him. "Let the memories come naturally to you. Your mind needs time."

"But why, Dad?" Sahil panted, tears of pain and confusion stinging his eyes. "Why did you and Mom hide my true identity from me all this time?"

"For this very reason," his father explained, his voice thick with emotion. "To protect you. If you forcefully trigger a severely traumatized brain, it can cause catastrophic damage—it could accelerate your amnesia into permanent cognitive dementia. We could have lost you forever.

This identity—Sahil—was the identity of our late son. He looked exactly like you. A year ago, he went on a solo trip to Mumbai and was killed in a tragic car accident. His aunt and uncle gave us the devastating news. We took the very next flight to India and cremated his body.

The next day, as your mother and I were scattering his ashes into the Arabian Sea... we spotted your unconscious body tangled in the rocks near the shore. In that dark, grief-stricken moment, looking at your face, all we could think was that God had sent a blessing to replace the son we just lost."

Sahil listened, paralyzed, as the photos trembled in his hand.

"As a doctor, I used my resources," his father continued, wiping a stray tear. "I quietly found out your real identity was Sameer. The local police had already closed your missing person report and declared you dead after you drowned. So, I made a choice. I treated you in my family’s private clinic in Mumbai. Luckily, our late son’s New Zealand residency and visa paperwork were still valid. While you were still comatose and on a ventilator, we flew you back here to New Zealand as Sahil Chopra. You woke up, you recovered... and the rest was history."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Sahil looked down at the face of Sameer in the photograph—a man he now knew was himself, yet still felt like a stranger.

"Dad," Sahil whispered, a wave of helplessness washing over him. "Even knowing that I am Sameer... how can I ever approach Shristi? I don't have a single clear memory of our past. I don't even know how I landed in that sea, so close to death. What do I tell her?"

His father smiled gently, placing a strong, reassuring hand on Sahil’s shoulder. "Son... you love her, don't you? Even without your memories, your heart recognized her the moment you saw her."

Sahil looked up, a raw, undeniable truth settling in his chest. "Yes, Dad. I do."

"Then don't give up on her, son," his father urged, his eyes shining with pride and encouragement. "Go and get her. Reclaim your life."

A new, driven hope ignited in Sahil's eyes. The confusion faded, replaced by a fierce determination. He bolted upright and threw his arms around his father, squeezing him tight.

"Thank you, Dad," Sahil whispered fiercely.

*

The next morning, the sun had barely cleared the horizon when Sahil’s car roared down the quiet streets toward Anita’s neighborhood. His hands gripped the steering wheel with an intense, restless energy, the determination from the night before burning bright in his eyes.

He slammed on the brakes, pulling up directly outside the gates of the bungalow. Without even cutting the engine, he leaned on the horn, the sharp blares echoing through the quiet morning air.

"Anita!" Sahil called out over the engine's purr, looking anxiously up at the windows. "Anita!"

"Yes, Sahil?"

Instead of Anita, it was her mother, Pam Aunty, who stepped out onto the wide hall balcony, holding a morning cup of tea and looking down at him in mild amusement.

Sahil quickly turned off the ignition, leaning out of the open car window. "Good morning, Pam Aunty! Aunty, is Anita at home? "

"Anita is not home, son," Pam Aunty replied, shaking her head gently. "She left early this morning to drop Shristi to the airport."

The words hit Sahil like a physical blow. The world seemed to stop for a fraction of a second.

"The airport...?" Sahil muttered, his voice barely audible.

As Pam Aunty disappeared back into the living room, the crushing weight of panic set in. Sahil slumped back against his seat, his heart hammering violently against his ribs as he stared blankly at the steering wheel.

"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath.

Without wasting another second, he slammed the car into gear, threw it into a sharp U-turn, and hit the accelerator, the tires screeching as he raced against the clock to reach the airport.

*

The majestic, snow-capped peaks of the Southern Alps glistened under the bright morning sun as a commercial airliner sliced through the clear blue sky.

Inside the quiet, luxurious cabin of business class, Shristi sat resting her head against the window frame. She stared blankly at the endless expanse of clouds below, her heart heavy with the familiar weight of her past.

A shadow fell across her aisle, and a man quietly took the empty seat directly beside her. He immediately raised a glossy lifestyle magazine, completely concealing his face behind it. Shristi didn't even turn her head, completely detached from her surroundings.

A flight attendant glided down the aisle with a refreshments trolley, stopping by their row with a warm, professional smile. "Any drinks for you, ma'am?"

Shristi pulled her gaze away from the window, offering a faint smile. "A Coke, please."

"Of course." The attendant handed her the glass, then turned her attention to the man buried behind the magazine. "And what about you, sir?"

From behind the pages, a deep, unmistakably familiar voice chimed in. "A Coke for me as well. Thank you."

Shristi froze. The voice sent an instant shockwave through her. She whirled her head around, her eyes widening as she reached over and decisively pulled the top of the magazine down.

Sitting there, grinning from ear to ear, was Sahil. But pinned precariously right above his upper lip was a thick, ridiculously bushy fake mustache.

"You?!" Shristi gasped, her voice a mix of utter disbelief and mounting frustration.

Sahil gave a cheerful little wiggle of his eyebrows. "Hello."

"You... you followed me all the way here too?" Shristi questioned, her eyes darting between his face and the absurd prop. "And what on earth is all of this?"

"Well, you see," Sahil began, adjusting his posture with mock seriousness, "some people have a habit of running away the very second they catch a glimpse of my face. So, I had no choice but to take the ishaara of this mustache."

Shristi stared at him, her brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Ishaara? What?"

"I mean sahara! Sahara... support, help," Sahil corrected himself with a sheepish chuckle. "And hey, if you think this isn't enough to hide my dangerous face, look here—I even brought a matching fake beard in my pocket!"

Shristi closed her eyes, rubbing her temples as the sheer absurdity of the situation overwhelmed her. "Stop all this nonsense, Sahil. Just... take it off."

"Okay, okay! If it makes you feel bad, I’ll take it off," Sahil said, his playful tone softening. He gently peeled the fake mustache away from his lip. "I was honestly just trying to make you smile, Shristi."

"Sahil, I don't appreciate these jokes," Shristi said, her voice dropping into a cold, exhausted whisper as she turned back to the window. "Please, just leave me alone."

Sahil’s smile slowly faded. He looked at the fake mustache in his hand, then looked back at her downcast profile. The playfulness vanished from his eyes, replaced by a profound, protective sincerity.

"Shristi, I know you’ve been through a lot," he said softly, his voice laced with genuine empathy. "What you have suffered... I can't even begin to imagine the weight of it. But there is one thing you are completely forgetting. You are forgetting that life is still on your side. You are alive. And there is a reason for that—a purpose. There is something, or someone, meant to bring that beautiful smile back to your face. I only came along to help you find that purpose again. But... the choice is entirely yours."

He gave her a gentle, respectful nod, unbuckled his seatbelt, and prepared to move back to his actual assigned seat further down the cabin.

As Sahil stood up, he didn't notice the mustache slip from his fingers, landing softly onto the carpeted aisle floor. Right across from them, a little Sikh boy had been watching the entire exchange with wide, mischievous eyes while his grandparents snored softly beside him. The boy slithered out of his seat, picked up the sticky fake mustache, and looked at his sleeping grandfather. He glanced over at Sahil, silently asking for permission with a wicked grin.

Sahil caught the boy's eye. A slow, amused smirk spread across his face. He gave the kid a subtle thumbs-up and a "go ahead" gesture, leaning against the seat partition to watch the show.

The boy giggled, carefully pressing the thick mustache right onto his sleeping grandmother’s upper lip instead. The sheer perfection of the prank made the little boy burst into a muffled fit of giggles, which instantly caught the attention of the passengers sitting in the opposite row. A few rows down, people started noticing and muffled their laughter behind their hands.

The commotion finally woke the grandmother up. Confused by the giggling and the odd stares, she decided to head to the lavatory to freshen up. As she stood up and walked down the aisle, completely oblivious to the massive mustache on her face, a wave of suppressed chuckles and snickers rippled through the entire business class cabin.

The grandmother stopped, looking around with a deeply curious and bewildered expression, which only made the passengers laugh harder. A moment later, a sharp, horrified scream echoed from inside the lavatory module.

The cabin erupted into a chorus of genuine, hearty laughter.

The little Sikh boy, absolutely thrilled with his success, scrambled onto his seat, kneeling to face backward over the headrest. He proudly extended his hand toward Sahil, looking for a celebration. Sahil chuckled, leaning forward to give the kid a solid, enthusiastic high-five.

As Sahil pulled his hand back, his eyes naturally drifted back toward Shristi.

She had turned around to see what the commotion was, but her face remained entirely stoic, untouched by the joy in the room. Her eyes met Sahil’s, filled with a quiet, unyielding sorrow.

The smile instantly vanished from Sahil’s face. Caught in her heavy gaze, an awkward wave of self-consciousness washed over him. He quickly cleared his throat, looking away as he nervously fidgeted with the frame of his glasses, realizing that despite the laughter filling the aircraft, the only heart he wanted to heal was still locked away in the dark.

*

The bustling atmosphere of the Mumbai arrivals terminal swirled around them as Shristi and Sahil pushed their luggage trolleys through the sliding glass doors and out into the humid air.

Suddenly, Shristi stopped her trolley. She turned to face Sahil, her expression a mix of hesitation and resolve. "Sahil... listen. I need to say something to you."

Before she could delve into another heavy apology or explanation, Sahil raised a hand, stopping her gently. A calm, resigned smile touched his lips. "It's okay, Shristi. I already have my answer. Our journey together was only meant to go this far." He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag. "I’ll check into a hotel near the airport for the night and catch the first flight back to New Zealand tomorrow."

He extended his right hand toward her, his posture relaxed and respectful. "Anyway... it was really nice meeting you."

Shristi blinked, caught completely off guard by his sudden elegance in letting go. The tight knot of anxiety in her chest loosened slightly. A small, genuine smile finally broke through her stoic expression as she reached out and slipped her hand into his.

"Take care," Sahil said softly, releasing her hand.

Shristi nodded, turning toward the busy airport driveway. She raised her hand toward an approaching yellow-and-black cab. "Taxi!"

As she began pushing her trolley toward the curbside where the cab was pulling up, Sahil watched her back for a final moment. A sudden thought struck him.

"Shristi?" he called out.

She paused and turned around to face him. Sahil walked over to her, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a thick, unmarked brown envelope and held it out to her.

"These are the photographs I took of you at the waterfront," Sahil said, his voice dropping into a quiet, tender cadence. "They aren't mine to keep anymore."

Curious, Shristi unsealed the flap and slid the prints halfway out. They were beautiful, candid captures of her—looking at the sea, her hair caught in the wind, looking vulnerable yet breathtaking. They were shot through the lens of someone who truly saw her.

"You keep the photos," Sahil murmured, looking deeply into her eyes one last time. "And I'll take the memories with me."

Before she could process the weight of his words, Sahil turned on his heel, walking a few paces down the terminal curb to hail his own ride. "Taxi!" he shouted, raising his arm.

BANG!

A sharp, deafening crack shattered the airport noise, echoing violently off the concrete pillars.

Sahil gasped as a high-velocity bullet ripped through the fabric of his jacket, tearing deep into his arm. The sheer force of the impact spun him around, his blood instantly splattering across the grey pavement. He clutched his fracturing arm, groaning in agonizing shock as he stumbled backward toward the concrete barrier.