For a few seconds, neither of us moved.
The city continued around us normally—cars passing through wet streets, people talking nearby, the distant sound of traffic lights changing—but everything around me felt muted now.
Because Meera had finally confirmed it.
She had been there that night.
At the station.
And somehow, that truth scared me more than the memories themselves.
I looked at her carefully.
"You knew me before the accident."
It wasn't a question anymore.
Meera wiped quickly beneath her eyes before nodding once.
"Yes."
"How long?"
A faint, almost broken smile appeared on her face.
"Long enough for you to memorize my coffee order."
Something tightened painfully inside my chest.
Small details.
Tiny pieces of intimacy.
The kind people only notice when someone matters deeply to them.
Rainwater dripped slowly from the edge of the bookstore roof above us. Somewhere nearby, the old piano song was still playing faintly from the roadside shop.
I swallowed hard.
"Then why didn't you tell me immediately?"
Meera looked away toward the road.
"Because the last time you remembered me…" Her voice became quieter. "You stopped sleeping for almost two weeks."
The answer hit harder than expected.
"What happened after the accident?"
For the first time since meeting her, real fear crossed her face.
Not hesitation.
Fear.
"Meera."
She closed her eyes briefly, as if deciding something internally.
Then she spoke carefully.
"You disappeared."
I frowned.
"What?"
"After the accident, nobody could contact you for days." Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "I went to the hospital three times, but your father wouldn't let me meet you."
My heartbeat slowed strangely.
"My father?"
She nodded.
"He told me you needed rest." A bitter sadness appeared in her voice now. "Later, he said you didn't remember me anymore."
The world around me suddenly felt unsteady again.
I barely spoke to my father these days. Ever since my mother passed away, our relationship had become distant and awkward.
But this—
This sounded intentional.
"Why would he do that?"
"I don't know."
But the way she answered made it obvious she had theories she wasn't saying aloud.
I ran a hand through my hair, overwhelmed.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Fragments of memory.
The station.
The yellow scarf.
My father keeping Meera away.
And worst of all—
The feeling that everyone around me knew pieces of my own life that I didn't.
"You really forgot everything?" Meera asked quietly.
I looked at her.
The vulnerability in her voice caught me off guard.
Not accusation.
Pain.
"I remember feelings," I admitted slowly. "Not complete memories."
She stayed silent.
"So when I'm with you…" I struggled to explain it properly. "It feels less like meeting someone new and more like trying to remember something important."
Her eyes softened instantly.
For a moment, neither of us spoke again.
Then unexpectedly, Meera laughed weakly.
"You used to say things like that even before the accident."
I blinked.
"I did?"
"All the time." A faint smile remained on her face now. "You were annoyingly dramatic."
"That sounds fake."
"It's unfortunately true."
Despite the heaviness inside my chest, I laughed quietly.
And strangely—
The sound felt familiar beside her.
As if we had shared moments like this before.
That realization scared me in a completely different way.
Because if these feelings were real…
Then losing those memories meant I had already lost an entire version of my life once.
A cold breeze passed between us.
Meera pulled her sleeves slightly over her hands instinctively.
And suddenly—
Another memory fragment flashed.
Her sitting beside me on a station bench wearing the same oversized sleeves while stealing fries from my plate.
"You're staring again," she said softly.
I looked away immediately.
"Sorry."
"You always did that too."
"That's becoming concerning."
This time her smile looked genuine.
Small.
Warm.
Dangerous.
The kind of smile that quietly makes loneliness feel less permanent.
For the next hour, we walked aimlessly through nearby streets.
No dramatic conversations.
No sudden revelations.
Just small moments.
Meera complaining about how cold the weather had become.
Me teasing her for drinking coffee like it was survival medicine.
A quiet argument over whether old novels were better than modern ones.
Normal things.
Yet every second beside her felt strangely precious.
Like my mind was slowly reconnecting pieces my heart already knew.
At one point, we stopped near a traffic signal while waiting to cross the road.
A motorcycle sped past too closely, splashing rainwater across the pavement.
Instinctively, I grabbed Meera's wrist and pulled her slightly toward me.
The movement happened naturally.
Without thought.
Without hesitation.
But the moment I realized what I had done, my hand loosened immediately.
Meera looked at me silently.
And something changed in her expression.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
"You used to do that every time," she whispered.
The air suddenly felt heavier.
I slowly let go of her wrist.
Neither of us moved for a second after that.
Then the signal changed, and the moment quietly disappeared with the crowd moving around us.
But my heartbeat didn't calm down again.
By evening, the sky had darkened once more.
Clouds gathered heavily above the city, threatening more rain.
We eventually stopped outside a small convenience store near the station.
Meera bought water while I leaned against the railing outside, trying to process everything.
That was when my phone vibrated.
Dad.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Meera noticed immediately.
"You should answer."
I nodded slowly and accepted the call.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?" my father asked.
Same calm voice as always.
Controlled.
Distant.
"Outside."
"With friends?"
The question felt strangely specific.
I glanced briefly toward Meera standing near the store entrance.
"…Yeah."
A pause followed.
Then my father spoke again.
"You've been asking strange questions recently."
My grip on the phone tightened slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"About the accident."
Cold discomfort spread slowly through my stomach.
"How do you know that?"
Another pause.
Too long.
Then—
"Some memories are better left alone, Arjun."
The line disconnected.
I lowered the phone slowly.
My chest felt tight again.
Because for the first time—
I had the terrifying feeling that my forgotten memories weren't lost accidentally.
Someone wanted them buried.