For a few seconds, neither of us moved.
The message stayed open on my screen while rain tapped softly against the station roof above us.
Stop looking into the accident.
Meera's face had gone completely pale.
Not confused.
Not shocked.
Afraid.
And that frightened me more than the message itself.
"Who sent this?" I asked quietly.
She stared at the phone without answering immediately.
"I don't know."
"You recognized something."
"No." Her response came too quickly this time.
I looked at her carefully.
"You're lying."
Meera closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them again, the fear was still there.
"I've received messages like that before."
A cold sensation spread slowly through my chest.
"What?"
She looked away toward the tracks before continuing.
"Not recently. Mostly after the accident."
The station suddenly felt colder.
"What kind of messages?"
"Warnings." Her voice dropped lower. "Telling me to stay away from you."
Anger rose inside me instantly.
"And you never told me this?"
"You didn't even remember me, Arjun." She looked back at me tiredly. "What exactly was I supposed to say? 'Hi, your family erased me from your life and now someone anonymous keeps threatening me'?"
I ran a hand through my wet hair in frustration.
The worst part was—
She wasn't wrong.
Another train thundered past the station loudly before disappearing into darkness.
I looked down at the message again.
Something about it felt personal.
Not random.
Not like some internet prank.
Whoever sent it knew exactly what we were investigating.
And that meant someone had been watching.
"Did my father send those messages before?" I asked carefully.
Meera hesitated.
"I don't think so."
"That's not reassuring."
"No, listen." She shifted slightly closer, lowering her voice. "Your father wanted me gone from your life, but this felt… different."
"How?"
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the bench.
"Your father was cold. Controlling." She swallowed slowly. "But these messages felt threatening."
A quiet uneasiness settled between us again.
Rain continued falling outside while the station slowly emptied around us.
For the first time since my memories started returning, I felt something beyond confusion and grief.
Fear.
Real fear.
Because this wasn't only about forgotten memories anymore.
Someone still cared enough to keep the truth buried.
"Show me the old messages," I said.
Meera looked uncertain immediately.
"I deleted most of them."
"Most?"
She slowly reached into her bag and pulled out an old phone.
Not her current one.
An older model with scratches along the edges.
"I kept this because…" She paused weakly. "I don't know. Maybe because it still had pieces of you in it."
Something painful twisted inside my chest again.
She unlocked the phone carefully and opened an old folder.
Dozens of screenshots filled the screen.
Unread messages.
Missed calls.
Conversations that had ended years ago.
My throat tightened immediately.
Most of them were from her to me.
Simple things.
Did you eat?
You forgot your charger again.
Call me when you wake up.
Tiny ordinary messages from a relationship I couldn't remember living.
Then she opened another folder.
And suddenly the atmosphere changed completely.
Unknown numbers.
No names.
No profile pictures.
Leave him alone.
He already forgot you. Let it end.
Some memories should stay buried.
A chill crawled slowly down my spine.
"These started three months after the accident," Meera whispered.
I looked up sharply.
"Three months?"
She nodded.
"At first I thought it was your father." Her voice trembled slightly now. "But then some messages mentioned things he couldn't possibly know."
"What things?"
Her expression darkened slightly.
"The miscarriage."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Even the station announcements seemed distant now.
I stared at her.
"You think someone was watching you?"
"I don't know." She shook her head weakly. "Maybe."
The idea made my stomach turn.
Because if that was true—
Then whoever sent those messages had stayed connected to our lives long after the accident ended.
My mind immediately went back to the hospital memory.
My father's voice.
Forget her.
But another thought suddenly hit me.
"What if the accident wasn't actually an accident?"
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Meera froze completely.
The rain outside suddenly sounded louder.
"No," she whispered immediately.
But she didn't sound certain.
"You said the car lost control during the storm."
"It did."
"How do you know?"
"Because—"
She stopped.
And that hesitation changed everything.
"How do you know?" I repeated more carefully.
Meera looked down at her trembling hands.
"I never actually saw the crash happen."
Cold dread settled heavily inside me.
"What do you mean?"
"I was still inside the station when it happened." Her breathing had become uneven now. "You left angry after our fight. A few minutes later, Kabir called me screaming."
Another fragmented memory flashed suddenly.
Rain-covered windshield.
My phone vibrating repeatedly beside me.
A name glowing on the screen.
Meera.
Then—
Bright headlights.
A violent impact.
Darkness.
I grabbed the edge of the bench sharply as pain exploded through my head again.
"Arjun!"
"I'm okay."
But I clearly wasn't.
Because something felt wrong now.
Very wrong.
"If you weren't there…" I breathed slowly through the pain. "Then how did you know where they took me afterward?"
Meera looked stunned by the question herself.
"Kabir told me."
"But Kabir said he arrived after the ambulance."
Confusion spread across her face.
"No, he—"
She stopped again.
And suddenly both of us realized the same thing at once.
Somewhere in the middle of all these broken memories—
Someone's version of events didn't match.
A strong wind rushed through the station platform, carrying cold rain inside.
Meera instinctively moved closer beside me.
Her voice dropped into almost a whisper.
"Arjun…"
I looked at her.
And for the first time since this started—
She sounded truly terrified.
"What if we don't actually know what happened that night?"