"Please, leave me alone."
Her words echoed in his ears as she walked away; he just stood there. He didn't raise his head to see her—he didn't have to. The noise in his head said it all: what had happened, what was happening now, and what could follow.
He started walking, slowly, as he counted his steps. He wanted to run, to disappear, but his body refused. He had no choice but to endure the rest of the trek.
"Prateek, be careful," a voice fell into his ears. "The rocks are slippery."
"I am all right," he remarked defensively, wanting nothing but to be left alone.
The impact was sudden.
When the others turned, he was already on the ground, motionless against the rock, blood spreading beneath his head. He saw everyone gathered around him. He heard their voices without understanding the words. His vision was blurred; even then, he knew she was not there.
He opened his eyes to a blurry scene and heard a faint, distorted voice screaming, "He is back. He is opening his eyes."
What happened later was too much for his aching head, but he remembered seeing a doctor and a couple of nurses. He found one of them very pleasing to look at. When they were all done, he saw a few strangers entering his ward and standing beside his bed. They were all young, like him, and they were all whispering among themselves.
"How are you feeling, man?" one of the guys inquired.
"Is your head hurting a lot?" a girl questioned.
Prateek frowned. "Who the hell are you people?" He paused. "What am I doing here?"
The pretty nurse looked at him with a startled face. She quickly sprang out and screamed, "Call the doctor! The patient has amnesia."
"Everything is normal; there is nothing to panic about. It just seems like he has temporary amnesia," the doctor explained to Prateek's friends. "I feel his memories will return eventually, but until then, I would advise him to ease into it. Nothing too sudden, nothing too traumatic."
A few minutes later, Prateek's friends were surrounding him again—at least half of the original number. Some were trying to re-introduce themselves to him, others were cautiously preventing it, and one just stayed silent. And yet, he couldn't retain any of their names.
"Nice to meet you all. You all seem lovely," he commented, "but I just hope none of you are trying to scam me out of my fortune."
They all laughed, except a few who were busy being surprised, but eventually, everyone started leaving.
"Call me if you want something," one of the last three reassured him.
"I would, if I knew your names..." Prateek replied, "and if I knew how to open this damn phone. The fingerprint sensor suddenly stopped working, and I don't know the password."
"Give it to me," a girl remarked. She hadn't spoken a word to him prior.
Prateek paused, looking at her carefully as she grabbed his phone.
"Here, take it," she said, giving the phone back, now unlocked.
"Huh..." he let out a breath. "Thank you."
She didn't say anything and walked out while the other two followed.
"I am Sumeet, by the way!" the guy yelled back while leaving.
"Thank God you are here!" Prateek exclaimed at the pretty nurse. "I was terribly bored."
"Good, then," she chuckled. "Getting an injection will help you pass the time." She started filling the syringe while Prateek stared at it. She noticed and smirked. "What happened? Scared of injections?"
"I wish," Prateek answered. "I am more scared of how to act tough when you are touching me."
"God, you are brave," the nurse said as she injected him with the medicinal cocktail.
"I don't know about that, ma'am. I am surprising myself."
"You are surprising me too." It was Sumeet; he was standing near the ward door, and there were two girls with him.
"You look gorgeous," Prateek remarked to the girl beside Sumeet. "The outfit suits you."
"Easy there, Romeo. She is my girlfriend," Sumeet interjected.
"I thought as much," Prateek replied. "You both are too comfortable with each other's touch."
Sumeet had brought him some fruits, which he did not like, and a random assortment of books. Sumeet and his girlfriend spoke to him for a while before the girlfriend remarked, "We have to go. We did not expect to spend this much time here."
"Okay," Prateek replied with an obvious look of dejection.
As the three prepared to leave, Prateek gazed at the girl who had barely spoken to him. He thought for a second before announcing, "You—the girl with the bangs. Could you please stay?"
She paused, not uttering a word. She just stared at Prateek and then, turning towards Sumeet's girlfriend, she nodded.
"Okay," she said, almost in a whisper. The other two nodded at her and left the room.
"What is your name?" Prateek realized how much he wanted to know.
"Anjali," she answered as she walked towards him, sitting on the chair beside the bed. "You look well," she said.
"You think so?" he answered. "My head still hurts, though."
"You are chattier. Unusually so," she replied. "Usually, you just think a lot and say a little."
"I have noticed. The words just... come out."
Anjali didn't say anything, letting her eyes wander as she tried her best not to look at him.
"Did I censor myself too much?"
She almost laughed. Almost. "You edited," she answered. "Prateek, why am I here?"
"I have been seeing you since yesterday," Prateek answered, surprising Anjali. "You barely spoke to me, but you unlocked my phone. We clearly knew each other well, right? And yesterday, with everyone... they were so loud. It all seemed fake, like a performance of concern. But you... you really seemed to care."
"You see too much," Anjali remarked.
"I don't know..." he replied. "I don't remember who you are. But you seem familiar. Like there's this warmth I feel whenever I look at you. I feel like I trusted you—a lot."
She didn't reply; she just stared at him.
"Did we ever... you know?" Prateek started making unintelligible gestures with his hand. "I feel I have a thing for bangs. They look so good on you."
"No," she answered without a second's thought. "We were just friends."
"Oh." Prateek paused. "Okay. Friends is good. I like you as a friend."
"Hmm," she affirmed.
"Would you come and see me again?" Prateek gently placed his hand on hers. "I want to know more about myself. Would you help me?"
Anjali noticed that she hadn't yet pulled her hand away. She looked down at where his fingers rested: light, unassuming, and without urgency. She gently held his fingers as she stood from her seat.
"The doctor told us not to overwhelm you with details," she said, removing her hand from his grasp, "but I will come and meet you tomorrow."
She started exiting the hospital room, but then she was stopped by Prateek. "Well, the doctor did not say anything about me seeking the truth, has he, ma'am?" He turned toward the pretty nurse.
The nurse looked at him, slightly amused and a little confused. "Okay. Well, I suppose you are right."
Anjali turned her head toward him, and for a split second, Prateek felt her eyes were glistening with moisture, but he wasn't sure.
"Okay, see you tomorrow," she said as she walked away from his room.
He couldn't sleep that night. He was engrossed in his phone, scrolling through piles and piles of pictures and messages. He laughed at some of his old photos and studied the new ones—or rather, the lack of them, which intrigued him.
"I was missing you," Prateek told Anjali as soon as she entered his room the next morning.
"It's only been a day," she rebuffed.
"Well, I am rotting away in this bed," he remarked. "The nurse keeps me company, but she is not the company I want."
Anjali sighed, pulled the chair closer, and sat down. "You shouldn't say things like that," she said. "People will get the wrong idea."
He smiled. "Is that what usually happens? I say something and you think too much about how others feel? Sounds a bit exhausting."
"You don't say enough," her voice lowered. "At least, not anymore."
He studied her, and for a moment their eyes met, but she withdrew.
"You care too much about how others feel, too," she continued. "Especially me. A little too much."
"Hmm." He withdrew his eyes from her. "I saw our photos—"
"—and messages, too."
"Oh... okay," she affirmed.
"We have a lot of pictures together, more than with others," he said, "and we look happy in them. But not many recently. And the messages... they are very fragmented, as if most of them were deleted."
"Well, it is your phone," she protested. "I don't know why you deleted them."
"But those are your messages."
"Why are you focused on this part of your life?" she questioned. "You have had a whole life, and all you want to know about is us?"
"Nothing else feels worth exploring," he sniggered.
"What do you mean?" she rebuffed.
He did not answer immediately. It wasn't hesitation, but rather some prolonged thought. He looked down at his hands, at a faint tremor he hadn't noticed earlier.
"I don't know who I am," he said finally. "I met the people who are supposed to be my friends. Everyone tells me things: where I was born, what I studied, who I liked, where I worked. Heck, I even got a call from someone telling me that I can be on leave as long as needed and my work will wait for me." He let out a faint chuckle. "But none of it feels real, you know?"
He looked back at her. "Except when I look at you. I feel like I remember how it felt to be someone. Someone who is still there, not just the echoes of someone who once existed."
"Prateek," she said, finally meeting his eyes, "You are saying things, you don't understand yet."
"That is possible," he affirms.
He looks down at what could be her hands, and then snaps out of it to look at her eyes.
"But I am not lying," he added.
"I know," she exhales, her eyes exhausted, "That is what makes it hard."
Anjali looked away, Prateek did not. He saw her eyes blinking and a tear drop falling off of it.
"You know, sometimes..", Anjali rubs off the tears from her eyes, "Sometimes it is so difficult with yo-"
Anjali was cut short when she heard a booming noise coming from the door.
"Breakfast is here," pretty nurse announced with an innate enthusiasm.
"Oh," she laid her eyes on Anjali, "Oh, I see you have a visitor."
She places the breakfast tray in the table next to Prateek, and walks aside to fill a syringe with another dose of cocktail.
Prateek looks at Anjali who was staring at the nurse while rubbing her eyes. Prateek thought for a second and called out to nurse.
"Could you please give us sometime alone?" Prateek asked.
"But I need to give you these-"
"Please," Prateek asserted.
The nurse looked at him and another at Anjali.
"Okay," she said as she stared walking out, "I hope your finish breakfast though, do not leave it untouched like yesterday. You need your strength"
"Okay," Prateek agreed and when the nurse exited, "Thank you."
Anjali exhales. She looks at the sheets for a while and then at the breakfast tray.
"Why are you not eating anything?" she questions, "The fruits are untouched too."
"I don't like fruits," Prateek quipped, half-expecting Anjali to laugh.
She didn't.
He glanced at the tray again, then away.
"I will," he said, "Later."
"That is not an answer."
He exhaled through his nose, almost amused, "God! you are persistent."
She did not flinch.
"My shoulder hurts," he calmly answers, "Especially when I try to move it."
"Okay," she utters.
She extends her hand to the table and picks up the tray. Taking a chunk of off dosa, she dips it into the sambhar, and the brings it to his mouth.
"Anjali, you don't hav-"
"Eat," she orders, and he obliges.
"Idiot," she remarks, as he chews.
"Yummy," he replies.
"Cute," he murmurs.
She heard it, or she didn't. He couldn't say, but she wasn't looking at him anymore.
She fed him a few more bites, and then puts the tray back down. She adjusts his bedsheets, and starts walking towards the door.
"Finish it," she says before she walks out of the ward.
"Hey dude, sorry I can't come," Prateek saw Sumeet’s message pop up in his notifications. "I have an important meeting."
"Okay," Prateek replied. "What about Anjali? Do you know if she is planning to come?"
"I don't think so," Sumeet texted back. "Her cousin is getting married."
"Oh," Prateek replied.
"You can ask her," Sumeet said. "Or I can ask her for you, if you want?"
"Never mind, it’s okay," Prateek replied.
He dropped his phone onto the bed and stared at the blank wall. There was a hollowness he felt in his chest that he couldn't explain. The day stretched ahead of him. Empty.
The nurse came and went. He barely noticed. A few times, he picked up his phone to text Anjali, but then he decided against it.
She has a wedding. Family, he thought.
The nurse entered again. This time, she did not come with any quips, since they had been falling on deaf ears lately. She injected him with another cocktail he didn't understand. He simply closed his eyes when the syringe pierced his skin.
"Looks like you have a visitor," he heard the nurse exclaim. "A very pretty one at that."
He opened his eyes and locked his gaze on the doorway, not letting even a blink hinder his vision. For a moment, the rest of the ward seemed to fall away: the hum of machines, the pale walls, the empty chair beside his bed. There was only her.
It was Anjali.
She was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath, still in her wedding attire—a white kurta with delicate floral embroidery that caught the afternoon light. Her dupatta was slipping off one shoulder. Her hands had fresh mehndi on them, the patterns still dark and intricate.
Something in his chest loosened. He smiled.
She walked toward him, pulled a chair close to his bed, and sat down. They did not utter a single word, but their eyes met.
"I’ll let you guys have the room," the nurse's words broke their gaze. "I must say, you look gorgeous."
"Thank you," Anjali replied to the nurse as she left the ward.
"You came," Prateek told Anjali, looking into her eyes. "I didn't expect you to come."
"I just wanted to check on you," she replied. "I can't stay for long, though. It’s my—"
"I know," Prateek interjected. "I understand."
Neither looked away.
"Are you eating now?" she questioned.
"Yeah, the nurse helped me with the food," he replied. "She mentioned you had requested her to do that yesterday before you left."
"Thank you," he added.
She nodded.
"How are you feeling now?" she asked. "You look paler than yesterday."
"No, I was just bored," he said. "I’m really happy that you came."
She smiled—a very soft, almost invisible smile, but he saw it.
"You know, I was going through some old photos," he picked up his phone. "I found some very hilarious ones. I want you to help me with the context."
"Which one is it?" she asked.
"Oh, this one!" she let out a small chuckle. "This is when you were forced to wear a dhoti."
"Sumeet and you had a bet," she added. "If he ever asked Shree out, you had to wear a dhoti."
"Who is Shree?" Prateek asked.
Anjali merely tilted her head and widened her eyes with a knowing smile.
"Oh," Prateek realized. "The girlfriend."
"Yes, the girlfriend," she agreed.
"But this isn't a dhoti," he remarked. "It looks like someone's ugly dupatta."
"Ouch," she said.
"Oh, it was yours," he realized. "I’m sorry."
"It’s okay," she said. "It was really ugly, but you were the only one who thought otherwise."
"At least, you said otherwise," she corrected herself.
"God, I looked so ugly," he said. "Of course, your dupatta looked pretty in comparison."
She laughed. She stared at him for a while, pausing to think.
"Do you want to see some more photos?" she asked. "I have some interesting ones."
There was a wide smile on his face. "I would like that very much, indeed."
She picked up her phone and opened her gallery, scrolling down rapidly to a location that seemed very familiar to her. Her phone vibrated; she was getting a call, but she hung up. It happened again.
"Should you pick that up?" he asked. "Should you go?"
"No, I can stay," she answered.
"See this," she showed him a series of pictures. "These are my personal favorites."
"Why am I covered in paint?" Prateek questioned.
"It was Holi, and you hated it," she said. "We all had to pretend that an old crush of yours was calling you to help her with something just to drag you out of the house."
Anjali handed her phone to him, and he started scrolling.
"You seem to have enjoyed yourself a lot that day," he said, pointing at a picture of her pouring a bucket of paint on him.
"Immensely," she replied, laughing.
"And what about this?" he asked.
One photo after another, they laughed and discussed. Anjali also showed him some videos—his terrible singing, and a surprisingly entertaining dance.
"Beautiful lake!" he exclaimed, looking at a video of a lake where he and Anjali were talking.
"No, not that," she snatched her phone from him before he could be sure if they were holding hands while walking. It very much seemed that way to him.
"Why not?"
"Because I said so," she affirmed.
"But—" he cut off his own protest. "Okay. That’s fine."
He didn't speak after that, drowning himself in thoughts that screamed in silence. Anjali laid her eyes on him; she relaxed her shoulders and leaned forward. She calmly placed her hand over his, snapping Prateek out of his trance. He held her hand firmly out of instinct, and Anjali let it stay there.
"You will get your memories back, Prateek," she pressed his hand. "I’m sure of it."
"Thank you," he said. "But I don't know if I want them back."
Before Anjali could question his reason, he answered.
"I can see what is going on, Anjali," he continued. "You are tiptoeing; you are dancing around some tragedy that I have forgotten. I’m happy now. I want to remain happy."
"Prateek, that—" the words betrayed her. "Okay."
"I am sor—" her phone vibrated again.
She stared at Prateek for a moment longer than necessary and loosened her grip on his hand. Her fingers rose to her shoulder, adjusting the edge of her dupatta that had slipped earlier. The fabric trembled slightly before settling.
"I should go now."
"I understand," he replied.
"It is la-late."
"Will you come tomorrow?" he asked her as she headed out.
"No," she answered. "Perhaps not."
Anjali left her cousin’s house early the next day. Everyone insisted she stay, but there was too much noise. Too many people.
On her way home, she stopped beside Prateek's hospital. For a moment, she considered going in. He had dropped her a couple of messages the previous night, asking how she was. She chose to ignore them. She started her scooty and drove away. At the turn, she went toward the lake.
The scorching sun had baked the green water of the lake. Anjali walked to the bench beneath a tree and sat there, staring at what felt like the lake’s endless edges. She felt it first as a tightness behind her eyes. She wiped away the first tear, but the next ones wouldn't stop. She didn't wipe them away this time.
"I don't know what to do," she cried.
"Be honest," a deep voice behind her spoke.
She turned around, immensely startled and, heaven forbid, a little mad. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
It was Prateek. He was standing there, holding onto a crutch and limping.
"You are supposed to be at the hospital," she yelled. "How did you even get out?"
"I walked," he replied.
"Limped, you mean!" she interjected. "Are you mad? You can't remember shit. You can't be doing this. What if you—"
"—Fall? Already done that," he answered nonchalantly. "Hopefully, that will bring my memory back."
"Stop joking!"
"Okay, I’m sorry," he confessed. "The nurse helped me out."
He pointed to the nurse standing near the lake’s gate. She was wearing a helmet but offered a warm smile to Anjali.
"She gave me a few minutes," he continued.
Anjali stared at him, her breath heavy and her eyes red from crying. She rubbed her palms over her eyes to wipe off the fresh tears and looked aside.
"Shit," she whispered out of the frustration of not being able to contain the tears.
"It’s okay," Prateek affirmed. "Everything is okay."
"Oh, shut up," she replied. "Stop talking."
"I’ll go if you really want me to," he calmly answered, "but I know you wanted to meet me today."
Anjali’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but Prateek didn't let her speak.
"I know you were there, Anjali—at the hospital. The nurse saw you."
Anjali didn't say anything. She turned her back toward Prateek and walked up to the lake’s railing. She just stood there.
"Anjali, stop," Prateek called for her, but she didn't turn back. She stood facing the lake, but not looking at it. She tried to wipe her tears but gave up a moment later.
She heard Prateek calling out for her and the sound his crutches made as he limped. She heard everything. But then, it stopped. It stopped after a thud.
Anjali turned around and looked at Prateek. He was lying on the ground with his crutches out of reach.
"Prateek!" she cried out and sprang toward him.
"I’m all right," he remarked. "No head injuries. No returned memories, I’m afraid."
"Idiot," she murmured as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
She helped him up and then gathered his crutches. Prateek tried to grab them from her.
"It’s okay," he said.
"No," she replied.
She held his wrist to slip his arm over her neck. His warmth landed on her collarbone, and she swallowed hard. She trembled for a second under his weight, but she didn't let go. She escorted him to the bench. She steadied him until he was seated, then lowered herself beside him.
"You are moving nowhere," she said. "Just sit."
Anjali sat beside him, elbows on her knees and palms covering her face. Her breaths were sharp and unsteady, carrying more weight than the earth below her.
"You can’t just do things like this," she finally muttered through her fingers. "You can’t just… walk out of the hospital, limp across half the town, show up here and... and make everything ten times more complicated."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she kept going.
"I mean, what were you thinking? You can't remember anything. Heck, you don't even remember my name or my face. You don't know what to say, what you are supposed to stay away from. You don't even know what happened. You just show up here like..." Her voice cracked, and she clicked her tongue hard. "Like none of it matters. Like nothing ever happened."
Prateek blinked slowly. "Anjali—"
"No, do not talk," she commanded.
"Anjali, it does not matter," he continued regardless. "Whatever it is, nothing matters."
"You do not know, Prateek." She looked at the lake as if it offended her, only to look back at him. "What if that day, you slipped because of me? Because of what had happened?"
"Still, it doesn't matter," he replied without skipping a beat.
"You say things like this, but it will matter to you," she stated. "Once your memories are back, it will matter to you. I know it."
"No," Prateek asserted, getting louder. "It won't matter. I may not be sure of anything, but this is what I am sure of."
He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at her with eyes that refused to falter.
"I do not remember your name," he said quietly.
Anjali stiffened.
"I don't remember your voice," he continued. "I do not remember your face."
He pressed a hand to his chest, looking almost confused.
"But my heart," he continued, "it wouldn't simply ache like this."
Her lips parted, her breath catching. She looked away.
"God, whatever this is I feel when I look at you..."
His voice shook, now unsteady.
"...I know I have felt it before."
Anjali inhaled sharply, the sound small but unmistakable. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her jeans near her knees, curling tightly until her knuckles whitened.
Prateek didn’t stop.
"I know I loved you," he breathed.
Her shoulders rose as though she’d been struck. For a moment, she froze. A tear escaped her eye before she could blink it away.
He swallowed. His voice fell to a whisper, fragile but unwavering.
"And I know..." His chest rose and fell once. A soft, trembling breath. "...I know I love you."
The silence followed.
Anjali didn't move. Not a muscle, not a breath—not even the tears dared to fall too loudly.
But then—
She grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward her.
Her lips crashed into his.
And she let them stay there; with no hurry or urgency, they just stayed. His fingers brushed her cheek, feather-light, barely there. Anjali's breath hitched against his mouth.
Only then did she pull back. Not far, just enough for her forehead to rest against his. Their breaths mingled, uneven and warm. Prateek opened his eyes to witness glistening teardrops falling off her cheeks.
He raised his head slightly and kissed her forehead.
"It's okay," he assured her.
She pulled back and looked at him. She saw herself in his eyes and she knew he saw himself in hers. Ever so slightly, she chuckled, but then she looked aside.
She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and picked up her phone.
"I am sorry, Prateek," she stated. "But I can't have you without you knowing the truth."
"Here, take it," she continued as she offered it to him after opening their mutual chat. "You should know."
Prateek took the phone slowly, almost afraid of it. The screen glowed against his fingers as he scrolled.
His eyes moved. Line by line. Message by message.
At first, he blinked in confusion. His breathing grew uneven. His throat tightened. His lips parted as if a word wanted to escape but couldn’t.
And then...
A tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it. He didn’t move. He just kept reading.
The second tear fell faster. Then a third. Then he sucked in a shaky breath that broke midway.
“Anjali…” was all he managed, a soft, strangled whisper. "I did this."
Anjali’s heart clenched.
His grip on the phone loosened. It slipped from his trembling hand onto the bench beside him. His shoulders rose in one harsh inhale and collapsed.
He cried. Not loudly, not violently, but helplessly.
Before she could think, she leaned forward. She gently held his face and pulled it toward her, allowing it to rest on her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair as the fabric of her clothes soaked up his tears.
"It is okay," she comforted him, gently kissing the top of his head. "It is all okay."
- The End.