ADHURI KAHANI: A tale of an amnesic bond

51. THE DREAD

ISHAAN'S POV

She walked away with my heartbeat and returned, filling me with soul and heart once more.

I looked at her through the window, and my heart swelled with relief. She was here again, right in front of me. She's fine, I reminded myself. Yet, after everything that happened, I couldn't think neutrally-I was constantly on edge, watching for any possible threat. I watched as she stood up, closing a file. Since arriving yesterday, she'd been working nonstop through office hours. I should feel relieved, but I could barely relax.

Soon, she'd be moving out of this office and into the marketing department, leaving her role as my secretary behind. A few days was all I had left of her being close enough to see her whenever I turned. And the thought gnawed at me. I didn't see her for an entire month while she was in the hospital-an absence I'd chosen out of shame, the embarrassment of knowing I'd failed to keep her safe.

FLASHBACK

I turn to my right, staring into the darkness, hoping for sleep that never comes. Inaaya's face fills my mind the moment I close my eyes, her smile twisted by my own memories of regret and guilt. Each day, I bury myself in work, taking on anything that might fill the silence, anything that might tire me enough to collapse into sleep without thought. But even exhaustion has stopped helping. I'm tired, yet my eyes refuse to close. It's as if my mind won't let me rest, fearing that if I surrender, something might go wrong with her, as if I'd fail her all over again.

Since that day, I haven't visited Inaaya, haven't brought myself to face the reality of her condition. I'm not strong enough to see her lying there, fragile, a shadow of the person who once filled my world. And knowing that, knowing my own weakness, only makes the weight of guilt heavier. I'm not strong enough to see her like that. Not yet.

I pick up my phone from the nightstand and press the power button, the screen lighting up in the dark room. For a few seconds, I just stare at it blankly before unlocking it. I navigate to the WhatsApp group of our company, opening the media gallery and scrolling back to the day of our company's refreshment event. After a few swipes, I find the photo I've been searching for-the one of Inaaya, her joy captured in a single frame.

The image shows her from the waist up, hands clasped behind her, shoulders lifted, eyes closed in a wide smile that radiates pure happiness. She's glowing, her laughter almost palpable through the screen. I remember the way her laugh had filled the air that day, light and infectious. But, in an instant, that bright memory is replaced with a haunting contrast-her face pale, her body fragile, lying lifeless in a hospital bed.

My chest tightens, the image searing into my mind, too vivid to shake. I close my eyes, hoping to block it out, but the memory only sharpens, settling like a weight in my chest. In frustration, I throw my phone back onto the bed, not caring where it lands, my breathing heavy and uneven as I fight the helplessness clawing at me.

My heart dropped at the sound of my phone ringing. I glanced at the screen, seeing Tanvi's name flash across it, and I took a deep breath, my heart racing in my chest. With trembling fingers, I picked up the call, bracing myself for the worst. What could she possibly have to say that would prepare me for the storm of emotions swirling inside me?

"Hello?" I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"She woke up. She is safe," Tanvi's voice echoed in the room, breaking through the thick fog of dread that had enveloped me for days.

PRESENT

As expected, she was here in the cafeteria again. Did I follow her? Yes, I did. I can't seem to help myself-I'm afraid that if she's out of sight, even for a second, she might disappear, or worse, that all of this might just be a dream. I keep telling myself she's real, she's here, but the fear lingers, gnawing at me. The thought of waking up and finding her gone haunts my nights, and every time I close my eyes, the image of her fading away seeps into my mind.