Chapter 12 : Sameer-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 profound, chilling shock took hold of him. He stared intensely at the images, flipping through them one by one, desperately trying to find a flaw, a difference, anything to prove what he was seeing wasn't true. But the resemblance was flawless.

"How is this possible?" Sahil whispered, completely breathless as he stared at his own double. "My face... it’s unbelievable."

Shristi watched him, tears cascading down her cheeks as Sahil remained completely transfixed by the photographs.

"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 pulled his eyes away from the prints, looking at her with a mixture of awe and deep empathy.

"I was so elated, Sahil! I thought a miracle had happened," Shristi sobbed, backing away from him. The raw grief was suffocating, 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!"

Seeing her pain, Sahil’s instincts kicked in. "Shristi..." he murmured, taking a step toward her to comfort her.

But as he moved forward, still clutching the photographs, he stumbled slightly. He caught his balance just in front of the large dresser mirror. He stopped dead in his tracks.

He looked down at the photo of Sameer in his hand, and then looked straight up into the mirror at his own reflection. Standing there, caught between the frozen image of the past and the living reality of the present, the sheer surrealism of the moment paralyzed him. He stood trapped in his own reflection, unable to look away.

*

The dim warmth of a single bedside lamp cast long, heavy shadows across the room. Sahil's father stood under the soft light, holding the stack of photographs, his eyes moving back and forth between the prints and his son.

"It's a carbon copy," his father murmured, a chilling sense of disbelief in his voice. "I had always heard that somewhere in the world, there are lookalikes—two faces that look incredibly similar. But this much resemblance? It’s uncanny. I just hope this isn't some twisted joke."

Sahil let out a hollow, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "It is a joke, Dad. It's a massive, sick joke that life has decided to play on me."

He stood up, pacing agitatedly toward the far corner of the room, his voice thick with unspent emotion. "For the first time in my life, Dad... I fell in love. Truly fell in love. And before I could even try to win her over, I've already lost her."

He walked back and collapsed heavily onto the low, cushioned floor-seating area by the window, burying his face in his hands. "Because every time she looks at me, my face reminds her of her dead lover, Sameer. She doesn't even want to be in the same room as me, Dad! She runs away from me like she’s seen a ghost. In this whole wide world, out of anyone who has ever fallen in love, no one has had to face a problem like this... where their own face is their greatest enemy."

His father watched him, his heart breaking for his son's agony. He walked over quietly and sat down right beside Sahil on the low cushions.

Sahil looked up, his eyes shining with a painful, desperate vulnerability. "You tell me, Dad. What is my fault in this? What did I do wrong to deserve this? Tell me... what should I do? How do I fight a ghost?"

His father stared at him for a long, quiet moment. He reached out, placing a firm, steady hand on Sahil’s shoulder, his voice filled with grounded, parental strength.

"Sahil, from what I know about you, you have never once given up on life," his father said softly but resolutely. "Whatever you have ever truly wanted, you made absolutely sure you worked for it and achieved it. You love this girl, don't you?"

Sahil looked into his father’s eyes, the raw honesty of his feelings laying bare. "Yes, Dad. I do. More than anything."

"Then don't give up now, son," his father urged, his grip tightening reassuringly on his shoulder. "If your face is the barrier, let your heart be the bridge. Go and show her who you are. Go and get her."

A spark of new, driven hope ignited in Sahil's eyes, cutting right through the despair. He let out a breathless laugh, the heavy burden suddenly lifting. "Come on..."

Sahil threw his arms around his father, pulling him into a fierce, grateful hug, ready to fight for his love.

*

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.