After the call ended, I stayed where I was for several seconds, staring down at my phone.
Kabir's question still echoed in my head.
Do you still love her?
The terrifying part was how naturally the answer had come.
Not forced.
Not confused.
As if some part of me had already accepted it long before my memories started returning.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and looked toward Meera again.
She was still sitting quietly on the bench beneath the station lights, absentmindedly tracing patterns against the paper cup in her hands.
For a moment, she looked peaceful.
Then she noticed my expression.
"What?"
I walked back toward her slowly.
"Kabir remembers more than he thought."
A small tension appeared immediately in her face.
"What did he say?"
I sat beside her again before answering.
"He said I kept asking for you in the hospital."
Meera went still.
"He also said my father told everyone not to mention you afterward."
The silence that followed felt heavy.
Not shocking anymore.
Just painful.
Because every new detail only confirmed the same truth repeatedly—
Someone had separated us intentionally.
Meera lowered her eyes slowly.
"I used to wait outside your hospital room sometimes."
I frowned slightly.
"What?"
"They wouldn't let me see you after a while." Her voice remained calm, but her fingers tightened around the cup again. "Your father made it very clear I wasn't welcome."
Anger rose instantly inside me.
"What right did he have to decide that?"
Meera gave a tired smile.
"He thought I was ruining your future."
"That's ridiculous."
"Maybe not completely."
I looked at her sharply.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
For a moment, she seemed unsure whether to answer honestly.
Then quietly—
"You were brilliant before the accident, Arjun."
I blinked.
"What?"
"You had plans. Ambitions. You wanted to leave the country, build a career, travel." Her expression softened sadly. "Then I happened."
The way she said it hurt unexpectedly.
"Don't say it like that."
"But it's true." She laughed faintly without humor. "You stayed because of me."
Another fragment surfaced suddenly.
A tiny apartment kitchen.
Meera standing barefoot near the stove while I wrapped my arms around her from behind.
Her laughing softly.
"Your father is going to kill you for staying here."
The memory faded gently.
I closed my eyes briefly.
"What kind of apartment did we have?"
Meera looked surprised by the question.
"Small."
"That doesn't answer anything."
A real smile appeared on her face for the first time that night.
"It was terrible."
I laughed quietly.
"There was barely enough room for both of us," she continued softly. "The heater stopped working every few days. And the upstairs neighbors fought constantly."
As she spoke, more fragments slowly returned.
Books scattered across a couch.
Rain hitting windows at night.
Meera asleep beside me while an old movie played quietly in the background.
Ordinary memories.
Not dramatic.
Not tragic.
And somehow those hurt the most.
Because they felt real.
A life.
A home.
A future we had actually started building together.
"You lived with me," I whispered.
Meera looked down again.
"For eight months."
The number hit me harder than expected.
Eight months.
An entire piece of my life gone.
"How did we meet?"
Her expression softened instantly at the question.
"At a bookstore."
I stared at her.
"You're kidding."
"You were working there part-time during college." She smiled faintly. "I came in looking for a novel I couldn't remember the name of."
Another flash.
Meera standing between shelves looking annoyed.
Me laughing while teasing her terrible memory.
Her saying—
"You're surprisingly annoying for someone recommending books."
A soft ache spread through my chest.
"I remember your scarf," I said suddenly.
Meera blinked.
"What?"
"Yellow scarf." I frowned slightly while trying to focus. "You wore it constantly."
Her eyes widened slowly.
"That was your favorite one."
The memory became clearer.
Rainy evenings.
Her scarf wrapped around both of us because she always forgot jackets.
Me stealing it jokingly just to annoy her.
I smiled before realizing it.
And the moment Meera noticed—
Something inside her expression cracked softly.
Hope.
Careful.
Fragile hope.
"You're remembering happy things now," she whispered.
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then quietly—
"I think those are the hardest ones."
Because tragedy was easier to process somehow.
But happiness?
Realizing I once had a life where she existed in every ordinary moment—
That destroyed me slowly.
A cold wind moved through the station platform.
Meera rubbed her hands together lightly.
Without thinking much, I removed my jacket and held it toward her.
She looked surprised.
"You'll freeze."
"I'm fine."
"You were literally sick last week."
I frowned immediately.
"How do you know that?"
The moment the words left my mouth, both of us froze slightly.
Because she answered too naturally.
Like someone used to knowing those things.
Meera looked away awkwardly.
"I still follow Kabir's social media sometimes," she admitted quietly. "He posted a picture from the bookstore."
I stared at her.
"You kept checking on me?"
Her silence answered enough.
A strange emotion tightened painfully inside my chest again.
Not guilt this time.
Something deeper.
"You really never moved on, did you?"
Meera laughed softly beneath her breath.
"It sounds pathetic when you say it out loud."
"No," I said quietly. "It sounds lonely."
The honesty in my voice made her eyes lower again.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then suddenly—
My phone buzzed again.
A message.
Unknown number.
I frowned slightly before opening it.
And immediately, my blood turned cold.
Stop looking into the accident.
That was all the message said.
No name.
No explanation.
Just those five words.
Meera noticed my expression instantly.
"What happened?"
I slowly turned the phone screen toward her.
The moment she read the message—
The color drained from her face completely.
And for the first time since meeting her—
I saw genuine fear.