Veiled Hearts✔️

Familiar Strangers

Rukmini sat down, her pulse quickening as the man before her, who had been facing away, slowly turned around. The moment their eyes met, the air in the room seemed to still, as if time itself had paused to acknowledge the weight of this moment.

Her breath hitched. Her heart clenched.

It was him. Or at least… it looked like him.

Raman.

The name rang in her mind like an old melody, one she hadn’t dared hum in years. Memories surged through her like waves crashing against the fragile walls she had so carefully built around her heart. His laughter under the golden sunlight, the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers, the whispered promises exchanged in moments stolen from the world. And then—the loss. The unbearable silence where his voice used to be.

She gripped the edge of her chair, fighting the urge to reach out. Every fiber of her being ached to touch him, to confirm that he was real. But she hesitated.

Did he know? Did he remember?

Or was she the only one drowning in the echoes of a past life?

Before she could gather her thoughts, the man spoke.

"Miss, how may I help you?"

Rukmini flinched at the sound of his voice. It was unmistakable deep yet gentle, familiar yet distant. The same voice that had once murmured her name like a sacred prayer. But there was no recognition in his eyes, no flicker of the past she so desperately sought.

Her lips parted, but no words came. She was trapped between the shock of seeing him again and the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

Then, as if sensing her turmoil, Shruti arrived. She took one look at Rukmini's face, then at the man, and instantly understood.

She stepped in without hesitation.

"Ah! Actually, I'm her best friend," Shruti said, her tone effortlessly light, though her eyes shone with quiet understanding. "We were curious about how you came up with the ideas for those paintings?"

The man smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Sure, I'd be happy to share that with you. Please, take a seat first."

Shruti sat down beside Rukmini, subtly pressing their shoulders together in silent reassurance.

His voice grew softer, introspective. "I get these… illusions in my dreams. The images are so vivid, so detailed, as if they're memories rather than dreams. These paintings, they feel incredibly close to me, like they’re part of my own life story. Yet, I don’t understand the purpose behind them. Do you happen to know anything about this? If so, could you please elaborate?"

Rukmini’s breath hitched again.

Memories. He called them illusions, but she knew better. They weren’t just fragments of imagination. They were remnants of another time, another life. Their life.

Her fingers trembled in her lap as she studied him. The resemblance was uncanny—not just in his features, but in the way he carried himself. The slight tilt of his head when he was curious, the way his brows knit together when he spoke of something that deeply mattered to him. It was as if Raman’s soul had woven itself into Kaishik, carrying with it the same tenderness, the same quiet intensity that had once drawn her in.

The words rose in her throat before she could stop them.

"What is your name?" Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost fragile.

He turned to her, his dark eyes meeting hers without hesitation.

"Kaishik Sanyal," he said.

And just like that, something within her shattered and reassembled all at once.

She had already known. But hearing it—feeling it—made it real.

It was him. It had to be.

Yet, an invisible wall stood between them, built from time, fate, and the uncertainty of whether he could ever remember what she so vividly did.

She wanted to tell him everything. To break the silence, to bridge the gap, to make him see what her heart already knew. But fear anchored her in place. What if he wasn’t ready? What if she told him, and it meant nothing?

So, she remained still, her heart screaming what her lips could not.

And in that quiet, fragile moment, she prayed.

That fate would lead them back to where they belonged. That somehow, across lifetimes and forgotten promises, he would find his way back to her.

To be continued.................................