*Special Chapter*
At precisely eleven-thirty, Armaan gently pushed open the door to Abhira's cabin, moving with careful, deliberate silence. After dinner, she had been given a sleeping pill, ensuring she would remain in deep slumber for the next ten hours. As his eyes fell on her resting face, peaceful yet showing traces of exhaustion, Armaan felt his heart soften, melting away any remaining resolve.
He quietly approached her bedside, lowering himself onto the chair beside her. With the utmost tenderness, he began to stroke her hair, his fingers gliding through the strands as if trying to comfort her in her dreams. She looked tired, and who wouldn't after enduring so much? Yet to Armaan, even in this state, she appeared almost ethereal, a beauty that transcended her current fragility.
"Get well soon, meri jaan," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "We have a love story to rewrite, and this time, I won’t let you slip away."
Gently, he took her delicate fingers into his hand, his thumb brushing over them with reverence before he leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on her forehead, then on her hands. She was a vision, even in her sleep, and in this moment, Armaan felt as though the world had stopped. He couldn’t tear himself away from her side.
Still holding her hand, he rested his head next to hers, laying it gently against the pillow. His own weariness, one he had been fighting for days, suddenly began to catch up with him. The weight of the past few days—the sleepless nights, the constant worry—was finally loosening its grip. As he closed his eyes, the world seemed to fade away, the heavy cloud of exhaustion pulling him into a peaceful sleep.
"For the first time in ages," he murmured in the space between waking and dreaming, "I’m finally at peace."
The room remained still, a sanctuary where time seemed to pause, with only the faint hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic rise and fall of Abhira's chest breaking the silence. Armaan slept soundly, his hand still holding hers, his breathing syncing with hers in a quiet harmony.
Hours passed unnoticed, the city outside bustling with life, but here, in this small, dim room, everything was still. As the soft light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room, Abhira stirred ever so slightly. Her hand twitched beneath Armaan's, though she remained in a deep slumber, her body still under the influence of the sedative.
As the night deepened, something remarkable happened. Abhira's fingers instinctively tightened around Armaan's. Though her mind had lost its memories, her heart seemed to recognize him. A faint thread of trust, woven deeply into the fabric of her being, remained unbroken. She couldn’t remember their history or the love they had shared, but in his presence, there was an undeniable sense of safety, an unspoken assurance that she was protected.
The mind may forget, but the heart is never so easily deceived. It holds onto the things that truly matter—the love, the trust, the longing that transcends mere memory. Abhira, even in this state of unconsciousness, could feel the presence of someone who was once her everything. Though she couldn’t name him, her soul recognized the peace that only Armaan could bring.
The night quietly passed like this, with their hands intertwined, a silent bond of affection and devotion between them. In that small gesture—her grip on his fingers, his gentle hold on hers—the essence of their love persisted, undiminished by the cruel loss of her memories. It was as though their hearts were speaking a language only they understood, one that memory could never erase.
Together, they slept, wrapped in an unspoken connection, sharing a peace they had long been denied. And as the hours drifted away, it was clear that the bond they shared, though strained, was far from broken. Their love lived on, quietly waiting to be rediscovered.
