“What do you mean she left?” Adwait demanded, his voice sharp as he stared at his parents.

“What could we do?” Vidharth replied, running a restless hand through his hair. “She didn’t remember anything—she forgot everything. You, us... everyone. She’s lost her memory.”

“No!” Adwait growled, his grip tightening around the phone in his hand. “That can’t be true! How can she forget me? Our marriage? Everything we had?”

His father stood up from his chair and gently placed a hand on Adwait’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. The doctor said she experienced some kind of shock. Her brain just needs time to process it. She’ll recover.”

“But couldn’t she have stayed here?” Adwait argued, frustration rising in his voice. “She could have recovered here! Was it really necessary for her to leave?”

“We didn’t want her to go either,” his father said firmly. “But we didn’t have a choice.”

That sentence shut down any further protest.

Adwait exhaled harshly, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Fine... but can I at least see her?” he asked, his voice quieter now, filled with pain. “You’ve all been stopping me from meeting my own wife since yesterday.”

“No! It’s not a good idea. You need to understand—we can’t let you meet her right now,” his mother said firmly, pointing her finger at him with authority.

Adwait took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. There was no way around it—he couldn’t meet his wife, not now.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’m going back to my room. Don’t disturb me.” And with that, he turned and left the study, the door closing behind him with a quiet thud.

“What can we even do about this?” Janav asked, more to the room than to anyone in particular.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be alright,” Vidharth said reassuringly, placing a steady hand on Janav’s shoulder. “The doctor said she just needs a few months. We just have to give her space—for now.”

“Yes, Vidharth is right,” Nityam added, nodding. “And Adwait will understand eventually. None of us have control over this situation right now, so let’s just stop pushing.”

“I just hope everything turns out fine soon,” Riddhika said softly, worry lacing her voice.

“Yeah,” Ishwari agreed with a sigh. “All we can do right now... is hope.”

Adwait's room:-

“How could this happen? How?” Adwait muttered, pacing restlessly around his room. “What the hell is going on? I don’t believe a single word they said.”

He paused, his breathing uneven, then clenched his fists. “No. I need to know what really happened. And I don’t buy that the accident was just an accident. There’s something suspicious—something they’re not telling me.”

He snatched his phone from the table and quickly dialed a number.

The call rang for what felt like minutes before someone finally answered.

“Are you okay now?” came Jarek’s voice from the other end.

“Yes. And—” Adwait began, but Jarek cut him off mid-sentence.

“Ava is fine. She’ll be back soon. But for the time being, I can’t say anything for sure. She’s acting... strange. And honestly, I’m more hurt by this side of her than you are, so don’t start lecturing me.”

Adwait could hear the frustration in his voice—every word was laced with irritation and fatigue.

“What’s wrong with her? What exactly did she do?” Adwait asked urgently.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out!” Jarek snapped. “She’s behaving so differently. The more time I spend with her, the more I feel like I don’t know her at all. This isn’t my Ava... not the one I’ve known all these years.”

His last words were barely directed at Adwait—more like an admission to himself. Jarek was grappling with the same confusion, unable to understand how someone so familiar could suddenly feel like a stranger.

Adwait didn’t fully understand what Jarek was hinting at, but one thing was clear—he needed answers.

“I want to meet her,” Adwait stated firmly.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“Are you still there?” he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Are you sure?” Jarek finally responded. “Because I don’t think she’ll even acknowledge you. And that might hurt you more than you think.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Adwait replied without hesitation. “As long as I get to see her.”

“Adwait, try to understand,” Jarek said with clear strain in his voice. “It’s hard enough for me to talk to her. If I bring you in... it could complicate things even more.” He paused, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like she’s not herself.”

“As long as she’s not going to ditch me and marry someone else, I’ll deal with it,” Adwait muttered under his breath, raking his hands through his hair.

“I’ll try,” Jarek sighed. “But I can’t promise anything.”

Adwait let the phone drop onto the bed beside him and collapsed backward with a heavy thud. It had only been two days since he woke from a month-long coma, but it felt like a lifetime had passed.

So much had changed in his absence—not just in his own life, but in the lives of everyone around him. The thought unsettled him. It made him realize just how fast time moves, how it doesn’t stop for anyone. Even when you’re unconscious, the world keeps turning. People move on. Lives shift. And nothing waits—not even for love.

He looked out the window and noticed the delicate drops of rain clinging to the glass door that opened onto the rooftop garden.

A memory drifted into his mind—the day he had found her sleeping on the swing. She had looked like serenity itself, resting amidst the blooming flowers. Some petals were fading, others just beginning their journey, but she—this petite figure wrapped in stillness—was in perfect harmony with it all.

Her eyes, usually turbulent and filled with storm clouds, held a scrutinizing gaze sharp enough to pierce through your soul with a single look. But that day, they were closed. Her guard had fallen, the weight of her problems vanished like mist in the morning sun. The calm around her seemed to absorb her, softening her usual edges—so unlike the woman obsessed with chaos.

Another memory surfaced—her confrontation with that officer. It had taken him by surprise, completely throwing him off. How could the same woman who once slept so peacefully in a bed of flowers be the one whose eyes had turned cold, whose smile carried a whisper of malice?

Then came the memory of the hotel. She had stood there like a lioness, fierce and ready to tear her prey apart. That moment had changed something in him. It was then he realized—she wasn’t just a delicate woman to be admired. She was more. So much more.

She was a vision—like the moon in a quiet sky, ethereal and enchanting. A presence that could light up a room without saying a word. But try to touch her? She’d burn you. Tear you apart with grace.

She was a flower, yes—but not one you could pluck. Try, and she'd swallow you whole.

His body, still weak from the accident, eventually gave in to exhaustion. Without realizing it, he drifted into sleep, the rain still gently tapping against the glass like echoes of a forgotten time.