I stared at Meera's message for a long time after that.
"I think… I'm someone you promised not to forget."
The words stayed on the screen, glowing faintly in the darkness of my apartment. Outside, the rain still hadn't stopped. Water slid down the windows while distant thunder rolled somewhere far across the city.
I typed several replies.
Deleted all of them.
Finally, I locked my phone and leaned back against the couch, exhausted.
My head hurt.
Not the normal kind of headache caused by lack of sleep.
This felt deeper.
As if my mind was resisting something.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
And suddenly—
A blurry memory flashed again.
A railway platform.
Cold wind.
Someone standing in front of me, crying while gripping my jacket tightly.
"Promise me," a trembling voice whispered.
Then static.
Darkness.
The memory disappeared before I could see the face clearly.
I opened my eyes sharply and inhaled deeply.
My heartbeat had become uneven again.
Without thinking, I reached for the small voice recorder lying near the lamp table.
A habit.
Another strange thing I had started doing after the accident.
Whenever something felt important, I recorded it. Maybe because some part of me was terrified of forgetting again.
I pressed the button.
"Voice note. 2:14 AM," I said quietly. "Memory flash related to train station. Female voice. Emotional distress. Possible connection to Meera."
I stopped recording and stared at the device in silence.
When had my life become this strange?
The next morning, I woke up later than usual.
Sunlight pushed weakly through the curtains, replacing last night's rain with pale gray clouds. My body felt heavy from barely sleeping.
My phone showed three unread messages.
Two from Kabir.
One from Meera.
Kabir's messages came first.
Kabir:
Alive?
Kabir:
If you died dramatically in the night, I'm not attending your funeral.
Despite everything, I laughed softly.
Then I opened Meera's message.
Meera:
There's a café near your bookstore. The one with terrible jazz music.
Meet me there at 11?
I frowned slightly.
How did she know I hated the music there?
I had mentioned it once to Kabir months ago.
That realization unsettled me more than it should have.
Still—
By 10:45, I was standing outside the café.
The small bell above the entrance rang softly as I walked inside. Warm air carrying the smell of coffee and baked bread wrapped around me instantly.
The café wasn't crowded.
A few students sat near the windows with laptops while an elderly man quietly read a newspaper in the corner.
And near the back—
Meera looked up from her coffee and smiled when she saw me.
Something about that smile relaxed me immediately.
"You actually came," she said.
"You sound surprised."
"A little."
I sat across from her.
Today she wore a cream-colored sweater with her hair tied loosely back. There were faint dark circles beneath her eyes, like she hadn't slept properly either.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Not awkward silence.
Just quiet observation.
Then Meera pushed a coffee cup toward me.
"No sugar," she said casually.
I froze slightly.
"That's how you drink it, right?"
I looked at her carefully.
"How do you know that?"
For the first time since meeting her, Meera hesitated.
A very small hesitation.
But enough for me to notice.
"I guessed," she said softly.
"You keep making lucky guesses."
Her fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
The jazz music playing overhead filled the silence briefly.
Then she looked at me again.
"You didn't sleep much."
"That obvious?"
"You rub your thumb against your hand when you're anxious."
My breath caught.
That habit.
Nobody noticed that habit.
Not even Kabir.
A strange tension settled between us.
Not fear.
Something heavier.
Familiar.
"You keep saying things you shouldn't know," I said quietly.
Meera lowered her gaze for a moment.
"I know."
"Then tell me the truth."
Her expression shifted slightly at those words. Sadness flickered across her face before disappearing again.
"I want to," she admitted softly. "But I don't think you're ready yet."
The answer frustrated me more than it should have.
"You don't get to decide that."
"I know." She looked genuinely guilty now. "But if I tell you everything too early… you'll hate yourself."
The sentence hit unexpectedly hard.
Before I could respond, the waiter arrived with our order.
The interruption broke the tension slightly.
Meera thanked him quietly before tearing a small piece from her pastry absentmindedly.
For a moment, she looked almost normal.
Just a tired girl having coffee.
Not someone connected to the missing pieces of my life.
"You look disappointed," she said suddenly.
"What?"
"You expected me to be less human?"
I blinked.
Then unexpectedly, I smiled.
"That thought did cross my mind."
She laughed softly.
And once again, hearing it felt strangely dangerous.
Because every time she laughed, my chest tightened with a feeling I couldn't explain.
Like homesickness for a place I couldn't remember.
An hour later, we left the café together.
The streets still looked damp from last night's rain. Cars moved slowly through traffic while cold wind carried the smell of wet pavement through the air.
For the first time since meeting her, walking beside Meera felt… easy.
Natural.
Neither of us spoke constantly.
Sometimes silence existed between us comfortably.
At one point, she stopped outside a small roadside bookstore and stared at the display window quietly.
"You like old novels?" I asked.
"I like stories where people find each other again."
The answer felt heavier than it should have.
Before I could respond, her attention shifted toward a song playing faintly from a nearby shop.
An old song.
Soft piano.
The moment I heard it, pain shot through my head sharply.
I stumbled slightly.
"Arjun?"
Suddenly—
Another flash.
Rain pouring heavily over a railway platform.
Meera standing in front of me.
Crying.
A yellow scarf wrapped around her neck.
And my own voice saying—
"I'll come back for you."
The memory hit so hard my breathing became uneven.
I grabbed the nearby railing for support.
"Arjun!" Meera stepped toward me immediately.
The moment her hand touched my arm—
Everything stopped.
Another image appeared.
Hospital lights.
Blood on my sleeve.
Someone screaming my name desperately.
Then darkness.
I pulled away instinctively, breathing hard.
People walking past us stared briefly before continuing on.
Meera looked terrified now.
Not of me.
For me.
"You remembered something," she whispered.
I looked at her slowly.
The wind moved strands of hair across her face while fear and hope mixed together in her eyes.
"You were there," I said quietly.
Meera's expression broke slightly.
"At the station."
She closed her eyes briefly.
And for the first time since meeting her—
I saw tears gathering there.
"Yes," she whispered. "I was."