Reclaimed Legacy

(27) - Lost In Her Reflection

Armaan sat at his desk, staring at his phone, the weight of the message he'd received a few days ago hanging heavily on his mind. It had been days since the mysterious five lakh rupees appeared in his account from someone named Rose D'Souza. In those first four hours, he'd gone mad trying to figure out who she was. He had searched through the firm's clients, scoured databases, even contacted the bank, only to learn the money came from London. But Rose D'Souza? That name meant nothing to him. He wracked his brain, recalling friends from his college years who had settled in London, yet none bore the surname D'Souza. His frustration was mounting, swirling into madness.

Then came the text—an anonymous number. The message claimed that the money was simply repayment for what he had spent on her. No name, no closure, and the number was untraceable. But it wasn't rocket science. Armaan knew who it was. He calmed down, realizing it had to be Abhira.

A whirlwind of emotions overtook him then: confusion, anger, longing, and a deep, painful ache. Why had she sent the money? He had never asked for it. Everything he did for her had been out of duty that time, out of a desire to see her happy, not for some eventual repayment. The idea of her sending money—detaching herself from the memories they had shared, reducing it all to a transaction—stung in a way he couldn't put into words. And why under someone else's name? London? The thought gnawed at him—was Abhira in London? Did her father's family take her there? The questions kept piling up, and though he had tried to give up searching for her, this felt like a lifeline, a chance to know where she was. He couldn't let it slip.

The moment he had received the message, he had called his friends in London, sending them a picture of Abhira, asking them to keep an eye out for her. He told them not to approach her, just to let him know if they saw her. He'd said it casually, but inside, he was desperate. It had been days now, and none of his friends had reported back. No sightings. No whispers. And with each passing day, his hope dwindled further. His heart wavered between frustration and hope, and that's when his thoughts returned to Rose D'Souza.

Who was she? What connection did she have with Abhira? His heart raced as he sat in the small cabin at the firm, surrounded by case files that now felt irrelevant. Finding Rose D'Souza became his obsession. He knew there had to be a clue in this somewhere, a lead that would bring him closer to Abhira. His hands hovered over the keyboard, fingers trembling with anticipation. He typed "Rose D'Souza, London," and the search results narrowed, but nothing concrete emerged.

Then, by accident, his fingers clicked on the "Images" tab. His breath caught in his throat.

There, staring back at him, was Abhira.

She was standing next to a girl with rectangle spectacles, both dressed in elegant black spaghetti strap dresses. Abhira was smiling—a wide, unguarded smile that reached her eyes, a smile that seemed to light up the entire screen. His gaze lingered on her, tracing every detail of her face, her posture, the way her arm rested casually around the other girl's shoulders. There was something different about her, though. He couldn't quite place it. She looked the same—her face was exactly as he remembered it—but there was something in her eyes. They shone in a way which he hadn't seen, and it threw him off balance. Her hair was parted down the middle, left loose in a natural wave. 

The image captivated him. He noticed the choker around her neck—a diamond necklace, simple but undeniably expensive. His heart sank. Abhira never liked wearing such things. She wasn't into luxury, at least not the girl he knew. But this necklace, it was real. He could tell. He wasn't an expert, but he knew enough. Why was she wearing it? And why with this girl?

He clicked on the photo, hoping to get more information. The link led to an article, but it was locked behind a paywall on a website called "Noble Insight." The title read, "Young and Smart: The Rise of Rose D'Souza." The picture showed Rose with Abhira, but the rest of the article was inaccessible unless he registered. His eyes scanned the page, and his heart nearly stopped. The article was dated four years ago. Four years ago, Abhira would've been 19. How could she look exactly the same now?

Armaan's mind raced as he clicked on the register button, desperate to know more. But the questions they asked were odd—his whereabouts, his interests, his parents' names, even his school. He was baffled until he saw the subscription fee: ten crore rupees, per month. His stomach turned. Who in their right mind would pay such an amount? It was more than the firm's annual revenue, and though he had money, he didn't have that much. There was no way he could justify this, not even to himself.

Frustrated, he searched again, this time for information about "Noble Insight." The results revealed it was an elite publication, accessible only to those who had attended a handful of prestigious private schools around the world. Outsiders like him could join, but only if they could afford the exorbitant fee. It became clear—this Rose D'Souza was part of that world. The elite. Abhira's association with her was even more puzzling. Was Abhira's family that rich? Or Abhira knew of this Rose somehow and had paid him back on Abhira's behalf?

As he pondered, his phone buzzed with a message. It was from one of his friends in London. Armaan opened the message, and his breath hitched. Another picture of Abhira, this time captured in the bustling streets of London. She stood beside Rose D'Souza, smiling at something the girl had said. A large man stood on her right, tall and intimidating, with eyes scanning their surroundings in a calculated way. Another man, less imposing, stood by Rose, holding shopping bags and laughing.

But it was Abhira who stole his attention. She looked... different. She was wearing a fitted white cashmere turtleneck tucked into a black wool skirt, paired with knee-high leather riding boots. A sleek, well-fitted black trench coat hugged her frame, and a simple cashmere shawl was tied around her neck. She carried a small leather handbag, her gloved hands gripping a black umbrella with a wooden handle.

Her hair was pulled into a polished low bun, and her ears were adorned with simple pearl studs. There was no makeup on her face, but she radiated beauty, more stunning than he had ever seen her. She looked... immaculate. Polished. Almost regal. Like old money. The kind of elegance that didn't shout but whispered wealth. His heart sank. This wasn't the Abhira he knew. The Abhira he loved never cared for such things.

The Abhira he knew had never cared for expensive things. She had always been simple, practical. But this... everything she wore screamed wealth, screamed sophistication. It was like she had transformed into someone else, someone far removed from the girl he had loved. And yet, she was still Abhira. He could see it in her eyes, in the curve of her smile, in the way she stood, radiating quiet confidence.

He stared at the picture, his heart torn between relief and heartbreak. She looked happy, well-fed, and healthy—better than ever, really. But this wasn't his Abhira. She had moved on, entered a world far beyond his reach. He read his friend's message—he'd seen her by chance, just like Armaan had asked, and didn't approach her. But the man beside her had noticed him taking the picture, and his friend ran, afraid of the man's intimidating presence.

Armaan texted back, thanking him. The picture was enough. It would have to be enough. His heart ached as he sat there, staring at her image. She looked so happy, so radiant in her new life, surrounded by people he didn't know, in a world he didn't belong to. He could never bring her back to his life. His family would never allow her to keep that smile, and he had no right to destroy the happiness she had found.

The urge to find her, to pull her back into his arms, surged through him again, but he fought it. She deserved better. Maybe she had found her true place in the world. Her light had shone so brightly once, illuminating the darkness in his life. But now she had taken that light with her, leaving him in the shadows where he belonged. She was free, and he could never burden her again.

With a deep breath, he closed his laptop. He had to let her go. He had no right to disturb her happiness, to bring her back into the darkness that was his life. Maybe, just maybe, she had found the light she was always meant to have.