ADHURI KAHANI: A tale of an amnesic bond

4. DID NOT RECOGNISE?

INAAYA'S POV

That's how we were...

That's how our friendship was...

That's how he used to recognize me... just by my shadow.

How come he did not recognize me when I am standing in front of his face?

Is he actually unable to recognize me, or is he refusing to recognize me?

Why is he not asking me how I am doing?

He should have jumped onto me... that is how he is, right...

Is? Or was?

"Miss Inaaya, please take a seat," he said.

His face held a neutral expression... a pure professional one.

He grasped the headset of the landline phone on the table and, with the same hand, clicked a number on the dial pad. After a few rings, the phone got picked up. The voice from the other side spoke something that I couldn't really comprehend because of how fixated my thoughts were on him... on us...

"Send Mr. Raichand in my cabin as soon as possible"

He cut the call...

Seven years of absence, and when I finally stood before him, he looked through me as if I were a stranger. The warmth that used to reside in our friendship had turned cold, and the familiarity we once shared seemed to have vanished into thin air.

While my face was full of emotions overwhelming my heart, his remained stoic, eyes glazed over with unfamiliar indifference... like he is meeting any other employee.

Soon, the reason for my angst shifted from his unapprised disappearance to him not recognizing me. I was hurt. The questions regarding his absence settled down in the back of my head, replaced by doubts about the legitimacy of our friendship.

The hurt crept into my chest like a silent dagger, twisting with each passing second. It was as if the person I once considered my confidant had been replaced by a phantom of the past.

The hurt on my face went unnoticed, or perhaps ignored, as he remained unresponsive to the years we had spent apart.

The echoes of our shared laughter were now replaced by an awkward silence.

"...so, you went to JMD college?" he asked.

Trying to make small talk and not let the atmosphere turn awkward, he maintained his professional posture and tone.

"Yes... sir."

I cleared my throat, gulping the lump forming in my throat that restrained my voice from coming out since the moment I saw him. I tried my best not to show the inner turmoil I am going through in my voice.

But my heart sank, the pain carving deeper, longing for a flicker of acknowledgment, a trace of the bond we once had. Instead, he remained a stranger, indifferent to the emotional storm raging within me.

A knock on the door interrupted both of us, discontinuing my train of thought.

"Come in."

I looked back and saw a young man, probably in his mid to late 20s, standing there, wearing a white shirt and jeans. The company ID card hung around his neck. Half of his face, including his eyes, was concealed by black thick-rimmed glasses, and the lower half was covered with subtle stubble. His hair was messy, not the kind that transitioned from a set style to messy, but the type where he hadn't even bothered to comb it.

"Good morning sir"

Good morning," Ishaan greeted back.

"This is Miss Inaaya, my new secretary. Explain her work to her and how to set my schedule."