Chapter 15 B : Sameer -Shristi version (Sahil cameo)

Rohan sits by the window, staring blankly out into the distance. His eyes are hollow, completely detached from his surroundings. He is as still as a statue.

Harry kneels beside him, holding a small toy airplane. He tries desperately to catch the boy's vacant gaze.

"Hey, my little one... Rohan, look at this," Harry says, his voice thick with forced cheer. "Look what I got for you. An airplane! Remember what you used to tell your brother? 'How can you become a pilot without a plane?' Look at it, Rohan. Look how it flies! Vrooooom!"

Harry mimics the roaring sound of an engine, swooping the toy through the air in front of Rohan's face.

Christine steps into the room carrying a tray of food. She stops, her heart breaking as she watches Harry pour his entire soul into getting a single reaction—a smile, a laugh, anything. But Rohan remains frozen, completely unresponsive to the words or the toy.

"Rohan, look, the airplane is landing," Harry mutters, his enthusiasm cracking as the crushing weight of his failed effort sets in.

Christine walks over softly, setting the tray down. "Rohan, look what I made for you. Stuffed squids. Your absolute favorite, right?"

Rohan doesn't even blink.

Suddenly, the sharp, aggressive ring of the doorbell shatters the silence. Harry and Christine exchange a startled, anxious look. Who could be calling at this hour?

Harry walks over and pulls the door open. His breath catches.

Standing on the threshold is Tawde, flanked by a squad of armed police constables.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Harry asks, trying to mask his nervousness.

Tawde slowly removes his aviator sunglasses, his eyes cold and calculating. "Inspector Tawde. We are tracking a notorious criminal believed to be hiding out in this exact sector." He turns to his men and barks, "Go! Scour the property. Don't miss a corner."

"But, Sir," Harry interjects, stepping forward to block the doorway. "There’s no one here but us."

Tawde brushes past him into the house without a shred of hesitation. "That is our look out."

*

Down the road, Sahil, Shristi, and Kabir are walking quickly toward the property. The moment Sahil spots the flashing lights and the sea of khaki uniforms surrounding the house, he grabs the others and pulls them behind a massive boulder.

Peering over the edge of the rock, Sahil turns to Kabir. "Is... is this Sameer's house?"

Kabir lets out a stressed, bewildered chuckle. "What yaar, Sameer? You’re asking me? You don't even recognize your own house anymore?"

*

Inside, Tawde walks heavily toward the living room window to scan the perimeter.

Hearing the heavy boots, Christine calls out from the bedroom doorway, still holding a spoonful of food for Rohan. "Harry? Who is it?"

She stops dead in her tracks as her eyes lock onto Tawde.

Tawde ignores her completely, his eyes wandering across the room. They land squarely on a framed photograph sitting on the side table. It’s a picture of Sameer. Tawde’s eyes narrow instantly as he studies the face in the frame.

*

Tawde goes downstairs and then, a constable rushes inside from the other door and salutes. "Sir! We have thoroughly searched the entire property. There is no sign of any intruder here."

*

Behind the boulder, Kabir watches the constables moving around the porch. He glances at Sahil and Shristi, his confusion turning into genuine worry. "Wait a minute... what on earth are the police doing at your place, Sameer?"

Shristi looks at the heavy police presence, her mind racing as she realizes the net is closing in on them. She grabs Sahil’s arm.

"We need to get out of here right now," Shristi whispers urgently to Kabir. "Come with us. I will explain everything on the way."

*

On the Boathouse deck, Sahil sits beside Sameer. Sahil is gently guiding Sameer’s hands across an acoustic guitar, trying to help him piece together a melody.

Inside, Shristi finishes explaining the staggering truth to Kabir.

"Yes, Kabir. It's the absolute truth," Shristi says, her voice trembling.

Kabir stares out the window at the two identical men, completely stunned. "I can't believe it, Shristi. This is truly a miracle from God..."

From the deck, a gentle, familiar chord plucks through the air as Sahil helps Sameer string the notes.

Kabir turns back to Shristi, his voice dropping to a serious whisper. "He looks exactly like Sameer. You have no idea what we went through, Shristi. The day after the accident, Rishabh and I were completely restless. We knew Sameer was still out there somewhere. Even though neither of us are great swimmers, we took a boat out and searched the sea ourselves, hoping we could at least find his body. That’s when we saw a stray dog on the seashore, sniffing and licking someone's feet. We rushed over and found him. We got him straight to a hospital, and that’s when the doctors told us he had severe amnesia."

Kabir takes a heavy breath, the guilt weighing on him. "Every time he tried to force himself to remember, he’d get these violent headaches and pass out cold. That’s why we hid the truth from everyone. For a whole year, we kept him away from Rohan, Christine Aunty, Harry Uncle... and you. We didn't know when, or if, he’d ever get his memories back. We just wanted you to be able to move on and live your life."

"Live my life?!" Shristi interrupts, tears flashing in her eyes as anger flares through her grief. "How could you think I could just live my life away from my Sameer? Even if he doesn't remember me, the fact that he is alive is all that matters to me! Kabir, I have been living like a widow, drowning in his memories. You have no idea the agony his absence has caused me. Not even a single phone call, Kabir? Just to tell me he was okay?"

"But Shristi, we didn't know what had happened to him or who caused the accident!" Kabir defends himself urgently. "We couldn't risk his life. Just look at Sahil! He isn't even Sameer, he's never even been to India before, and yet he's being hunted by goons and the police right now! His life is in constant danger just because of his face. Rishabh had even suspected that Sameer’s boss, Mehta, is behind all of this, but he never had concrete proof."

Shristi blinks, stunned. "Mehta Uncle? But... Daddy and Mehta Uncle are incredibly close."

"Exactly," Kabir says grimly. "That’s the main reason I kept Sameer isolated from you and his own family. Ever since you and Rishabh called off your engagement, Rishabh hasn't been part of the social circles connecting your dad and Mehta. That information was the last solid lead he could track. Look... I need to step out, get some fresh air, and grab us some food. This is a lot to process. Seeing two identical people out there... it's messing with my head."

As Kabir walks out toward the kitchen, the erratic guitar plucking outside suddenly shifts. The tentative notes transform into a beautiful, hauntingly familiar progression.

Shristi freezes. The melody strikes a deep, painful chord in her heart. "This tune..."

She sprints out onto the deck. Sameer and Sahil both look up as she approaches, breathless. She points at the guitar, her voice trembling. "This tune is..."

Sameer looks down at the strings, a faint, vulnerable smile playing on his lips. "It's mine, right?"

"How do you... how do you know it?" Shristi whispers.

"I found these song notes written in this notebook," Sameer says, gesturing to the worn pages on his lap. "I can vaguely feel the melody in my fingers."

Sahil looks up at Shristi, giving her an encouraging nod. "It’s a start for sure."

Tears brim over Shristi’s lashes, rolling down her cheeks. She kneels beside Sameer. "Sameer... even if you can’t recall who I am yet, I am just so glad you are connecting with your music again. This was the exact song you were supposed to perform on stage."

Sameer looks into her eyes, a spark of hope igniting in his expression. "Do you remember the lyrics?"

"Some of it," Shristi says, swallowing the lump in her throat and smiling through her tears. "I remember some of it."

Sameer smiles and strikes the opening chords, setting a gentle, rhythmic pace.

Shristi closes her eyes, letting the music carry her, and softly begins to sing:"Dil ne... dil ko pukara..." She hums the connecting bridge, her voice sweet and fragile. Intuitively, Sameer closes his eyes too, his deeper voice humming the harmony perfectly in sync with hers.

Shristi opens her eyes, locking her gaze onto his. She hesitates for a second, searching her mind for the next line. "Manzil..." She pauses, taking a breath, trying to recollect the lyrics. Then, it clicks, and she sings out softly, "Manzil... pyaar tumhara..."

She fades into a soft, emotional hum as Sameer keeps playing, the music weaving a silent bridge between his lost past and their fragile present.

*

The morning sun rises softly over the water. Shristi and Sameer are fast asleep side-by-side on a rustic khatiya (jute bed) on the deck. As the golden sun rays shift and hit Shristi’s face, her eyes flutter open.

She sits up, blinking against the light, and notices a beam of harsh sunlight falling directly onto Sameer’s face. He stirs uncomfortably, his brow furrowing in his sleep. A wave of nostalgia hits Shristi; she suddenly remembers a beautiful, identical morning from their past. Smiling softly, she gets up and quietly slides a few clothes hanging on a nearby clothesline, positioning them perfectly to block the sun and cast a gentle shade over him.

Walking toward the center of the boathouse, she looks around and calls out, "Kabir? Sahil?"

Her voice echoes through the quiet morning, causing Sameer to wake up. He blinks, groggily pushing himself up on his elbows.

Shristi sighs, rubbing her stomach. "Uff... what am I supposed to eat?"

Sameer watches her, completely clueless, as she frantically opens empty cabinets. "There is literally nothing to eat here..." Shristi mutters to herself. Suddenly, her eyes light up as she spots a lone carton of eggs. "An egg! Perfect. Now... how exactly do people make this?"

Amused, Sameer walks over to the small kitchen counter to watch the spectacle. Shristi grabs a heavy wooden rolling pin, holding it over a single egg like a weapon. She takes a deep breath, raising the pin.

"One... two... three!"

Smash. She brings the rolling pin down with way too much force. The egg violently explodes, splashing yolk and white all over her hands and the counter.

Sameer bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling. "Is that how rich girls break an egg?"

Shristi looks at her messy hands, pouting. "What? Is this not the right way? Then how on earth do middle-class people break an egg, mister?"

Sameer steps in closer, a playful smirk on his face. He gives her a theatrical bow. "Allow me. Let me do the honors."

He elegantly picks up a fresh egg from the tray, tosses it high into the air, catches it flawlessly, and before Shristi can react, he gently taps it right against her forehead.

"Ouch!" Shristi winces playfully, touching her forehead as a clean crack forms in the shell.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Sameer cracks the egg wide open, letting the contents slip perfectly into a bowl without a single piece of shell.

Shristi wipes her hands, impressed but trying not to show it. "Okay, smart guy. And how do you whisk it?"

Sameer grabs a fork and begins whisking the egg with an effortless, rhythmic speed. Shristi pulls up a nearby wooden chair, resting her chin on her hands as she watches him. He moves to the chopping board, dicing an onion with absolute precision.

"Add a little green chili into it, too," Shristi instructs softly.

Sameer stops, planting his hands on his waist, throwing an annoyed but playful glare at her. "Wait a minute. Am I going to do all the work here, or are you actually going to help chop something?"

Shristi smiles dreamily, her heart taking over her head. "I will help. I'll help eat it straight from your hands."

The words slip out before she can stop them. A sudden, heavy silence falls between them. Shristi’s smile fades as reality crashes back in—she remembers that he doesn't know who she is. To him, she is just a girl he met yesterday, not his Shristi. Her face falls, and her eyes grow heavy with unspoken grief.

Noticing the sudden shift in her mood but misinterpreting it, Sameer steps around the counter, bringing himself right in front of her. He snaps a kitchen towel over his arm, playing the part of a gourmet waiter to cheer her up.

"Your personal chef is at your service, ma'am," Sameer says warmly, leaning down slightly to meet her eyes. "What kind of omelet would you prefer? A gooey cheese omelet, a spicy masala omelet, or a timeless classic omelet?" he clicks his tongue.

He waits for an answer, his eyes bright and full of life. But Shristi can only stare back at his face, her heart aching, completely lost in a deep, agonizing yearning for the love he no longer remembers.