Neirohi's Family OS

without you 🥺

Part 2 Hope

It had been five long, excruciating years since Aarohi was declared dead. Her absence had left an irreplaceable void in Neil’s heart, one that no amount of time, tears, or prayers had been able to fill. Akshara, too, had felt the sharp sting of her sister’s loss, but for Neil, the pain was deeper, more personal. He had lost not just his wife but the mother of their child. Yet, despite the official declarations, there was a small, flickering hope that had never quite gone out—their search for Aarohi’s body had come up empty. She had vanished without a trace, and that uncertainty kept Neil alive, though it haunted him every single day.

Aarohi had been pregnant when they separated. It was a memory Neil could never escape. The fight—the words they exchanged—had scarred him deeply. Their separation was not one of quiet departures but of heated arguments, fueled by Neil’s resentment and misunderstandings. In his hurt, he had accused Aarohi of being selfish, of thinking only of her career, of not being there for him . He had blamed her for leaving when, in truth, she had no choice. He had even said things he wished he could take back, but the damage had been done. Aarohi had left, and soon after, she disappeared from his life completely.

Neil often regretted those words. Now, all he had were memories of what could have been. He had lost both his wife and the chance to meet the child they were meant to have together.

One quiet evening, as Neil sat on the couch, flipping through the news channels, the familiar voices of anchors droning on in the background, his mind wandered. He wasn’t paying attention—he was thinking about Aarohi again, as he often did. Her laughter, the way she smiled when she talked about the future, the quiet determination she had about her career. He wished he could go back and change everything, make it right. But it was too late. She was gone.

“…And in today’s headlines, a groundbreaking medical project will soon take place in India, led by renowned surgeon Dr. Aarohi Shekhawat. Dr. Shekhawat, known internationally for her innovative work in cardiothoracic surgery, will be arriving in Mumbai next week to…”

The remote fell from Neil’s hand. His heart stopped, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The name echoed in his mind like a thunderclap.

“Aarohi Shekhawat.”

Akshara, who had been playing with Abhir nearby, froze as well. She turned to face Neil, her eyes wide with disbelief. They both stared at the television screen in silence, the image of the woman they once knew so well flashing before them.

Akshara whispered, her voice shaking, “Neil... Aarohi? Could it be...?”

Neil’s pulse quickened as he stood up, his eyes glued to the screen. His hands trembled as memories flooded back—the way they had parted, the regrets, the endless nights wondering what had happened to her. And now, this woman, with the same name and the same striking features, was returning to India.

“It’s her. It has to be her.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Akshu, it’s Aarohi. She’s alive.”

Akshara’s heart raced as she looked at the screen, then back at Neil. “Neil, we don’t know for sure. It could be someone else. But… the name, the look—everything matches. Even Sirat Mumma’s name was Sirat Marikom Shekhawat. What if it’s really her?”

Before Neil could respond, Abhimanyu entered the room, catching the tail end of their conversation. His brows furrowed as he looked at the television and then at the both of them. He crossed his arms, trying to approach the situation with logic. “Neil, Akshu, listen to me. It’s been five years. Aarohi was declared dead. How can you think this woman is her? There’s no way.”