ADHURI KAHANI: A tale of an amnesic bond

23. GOODBYE

INAAYA'S POV

For two days, I didn't go to the office. That night, my fever soared to 39.0°C. Ishani was scared and kept placing a wet towel on my forehead, trying to bring the temperature down. The medicine Idhant Bhaiya gave me had to be taken with food, so Ishani, despite not being the best cook, made something for me. I felt guilty for worrying her, especially since she had to take a day off work just to care for me. That night, I couldn't bring myself to say anything, and thankfully, Ishani didn't press the issue.

The next morning, once the medicine had taken effect and I was feeling slightly better, I asked Ishani to deliver the application to Ishaan. Sensing that something was off, she seized the opportunity to ask what had happened the day before. She knew something was wrong-I'm an open book to her.

So, I told her everything. I shared how Ishaan had disappeared, only to reappear after seven years as my CEO, the accident, and how he was on the verge of confessing to me before it happened. Ishani was shocked, to say the least. She had seen Ishaan maybe once or twice and had assumed our friendship had naturally faded over time, like so many high school connections do.

I tried to hold back my tears, but I couldn't. I finally broke down in front of her. She did her best to comfort me, and for the first time in months, it felt good to unload everything instead of keeping it all bottled up. As I cried, I could see the hurt in her eyes, and she scolded me for not telling her sooner.

When she returned after delivering the application, she didn't say anything about Ishaan. She knew how sensitive I was about the whole situation and avoided the topic altogether. But I could still see the shock in her eyes. He didn't recognize her. Of course, he couldn't recognize his friend; it was impossible for him to remember her.

The next day, I spent the entire time lying in bed, barely moving except to use the bathroom. I didn't even bother to shower. Ishani left for work after making sure I had breakfast, reassuring me that she had already prepared lunch and would come back to cook dinner. With nothing else to occupy my mind, I decided to watch Sanam Teri Kasam and let the tears flow again. It's my favorite movie-I've lost count of how many times I've rewatched it.

Earlier today, when I woke up to get ready for work, Ishani asked me if I really wanted to go back. She even suggested that if I didn't want to continue working at Epoch Insights, I didn't have to. I smiled at her and assured her that I wouldn't resign. She gave me a questioning look, as if to ask if I was truly sure, and I just nodded. I've finally got a job, and I'm not about to give it up. I don't want to be more of a burden to my parents than I already am.

Before heading to the company, I decided to visit the park one last time today. As I approached the entrance, I took a long, deep breath, repeating to myself that this would be the final visit. The last time I'd step into the place that had been both a refuge and a reminder of the memories tied to someone important to me.

Navigating through the park, I made my way to the secluded corner I always retreated to when life became too overwhelming, the place where I found solace from the relentless weight of my thoughts. This spot had been my sanctuary for years, a space where I could escape the darkness that constantly threatened to swallow me whole. But now, standing here, I couldn't shake the feeling that this very place, which once offered me comfort, had transformed into the black hole I had been desperately running from all along.

What happens when the sanctuary you sought refuge in becomes the very thing you're trying to escape?

I stood before the tree, hesitating to sit on the bench that had always been my refuge. The tree looked exactly as it always had, standing tall and proud, its thick branches stretching out like a protective blanket over the bench. A few scattered leaves lay at its base, remnants of the recent rain. The leaves and trunk were still damp, glistening slightly in the soft light of the morning.