Chapter 15 A : Sameer as Sahil -Shristi version

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, Sameer, 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, Sameer 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 Sameer 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."

*

Outside on the deck, Sameer sits quietly with an acoustic guitar, his fingers awkwardly tracing the strings, trying to piece together a melody from an old songbook.

Inside, Shristi finishes explaining the impossible truth to Kabir.

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

Kabir shakes his head, completely stunned, looking out the window at the man on the deck. "I can't believe it, Shristi. This is truly a miracle from God..."

From the deck, the gentle, melancholic sound of a guitar string plucks through the air.

Kabir sighs, a wave of profound relief washing over his face. "I am just glad our Sameer was saved from that accident. It's all God's mercy upon us. Don't worry, Shristi... he will recollect his memories soon. But hearing about this Sahil guy... a total, identical look-alike? It's crazy. The more I try to wrap my head around it, the crazier I feel. Look, my head is spinning. I’m going to go grab us something to eat."

As Kabir walks away into the kitchen, the guitar notes outside suddenly shift. The tentative plucking transforms into a beautiful, hauntingly familiar progression.

Shristi freezes. Her breath hitches as the melody strikes a deep chord in her heart. "This tune..."

She rushes out onto the deck, her eyes wide with disbelief. "This tune is..."

Sameer looks up from the guitar, a faint, vulnerable smile playing on his lips. "It's mine, right?"

Shristi steps closer, her voice barely a whisper. "How... how do you know it?"

"I found these song notes written in this notebook," Sameer says, tapping the worn pages open on his lap. He looks back down at the strings. "And... I can vaguely remember this melody. It just feels right in my fingers."

Tears well up in Shristi’s eyes, brimming over the lashes. "That’s a beautiful start, Sameer. You’re starting to reconnect with your music... This was the exact song you were supposed to sing on stage before everything happened."

Sameer looks up at her, a spark of hope in his eyes. "Do you remember the lyrics to it?"

Shristi swallows the lump in her throat, smiling through her tears. "Some of it... yes. I remember some of it."

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

Shristi closes her eyes, letting the music guide her, and softly begins to sing:"Dil ne... dil ko pukara..." She hums the connecting bridge, her voice sweet and fragile. Intuitively, Sameer joins in, 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 stops, taking a breath, trying to recollect the lyrics. Then, it clicks. "Manzil... pyaar tumhara..."

She fades into a soft, emotional hum as Sameer keeps playing, the music weaving a bridge between his lost past and their 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? "

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 in your country they break an egg?" (Aap ke desh mein anda iss anjam (result) se todte hai?"

Then Shristi looks at him being confused and says "What anjaam?"

"I mean andaaz (style) ...andaaz.This style they break it" Sameer corrects himself

Shristi looks at her messy hands, pouting. "Why? then how is it done in your country... 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," (Banda, aapke kismat (destiny) mein hazir hai...) Sameer says warmly, leaning down slightly to meet her eyes then he realizes maybe he said it wrong "Didnt I say it right...oh shit..shit yes "Khidmat" (At your service) At your service" and then he continues to say "What kind of omelet would you prefer? Spanish, Japanese...cheese, bacon, ham" he the 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.