"You asked them to erase me."
For a moment, I thought I had heard her wrong.
The sounds of the station faded into the background. The arriving train, the announcements, the crowd moving around us—everything became distant.
Only Meera's words remained.
"You asked them to erase me."
I stared at her.
"No."
The answer came automatically.
Instinctively.
Because it was impossible.
Why would I do that?
Why would I choose to forget someone who felt more important than anyone else in my life?
Meera looked away.
A train rushed past the platform, sending a cold gust of wind through the station.
"I wish I was wrong," she whispered.
"But I'm not."
My chest tightened.
"Tell me everything."
For the first time since we'd met, Meera hesitated longer than usual.
Not because she wanted to hide the truth.
Because she was afraid of reliving it.
They left the station and found a quiet bench in a small park nearby.
The rain had finally stopped.
The city lights reflected off the wet pavement, painting everything in soft shades of gold and silver.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
Then Meera finally broke the silence.
"Three years ago, we weren't just friends."
I let out a quiet laugh.
"That part I figured out."
A faint smile appeared on her face.
For a second, the tension eased.
Then it disappeared again.
"We'd been together for almost two years."
Something twisted inside me.
Two years.
An entire relationship.
An entire life.
Gone.
"We met during college," she continued. "You worked part-time at a bookstore."
I blinked.
"Seriously?"
"You've apparently always been obsessed with books."
That sounded like me.
And somehow that tiny detail made everything feel more real.
Not like a mystery.
Like a stolen memory.
"You were annoying."
"Thank you."
"You corrected people's grammar."
"I definitely don't do that now."
"You absolutely still do."
For the first time that evening, they both laughed.
It lasted only a few seconds.
But it mattered.
Because the story Meera was telling wasn't just tragedy.
It was a life.
A real one.
"You used to leave handwritten notes inside my books," she said.
"What kind of notes?"
Meera smiled sadly.
"The embarrassing kind."
"Examples?"
She opened her bag.
For a second, I thought she was joking.
Then she carefully pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Old.
Worn at the edges.
Protected for years.
My pulse quickened.
"What's that?"
She looked down at it.
"I carried this everywhere."
Slowly, she handed it to me.
My hands trembled slightly as I unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was mine.
I recognized it instantly.
If you ever get lost, I'll find you.
If you ever forget who you are, I'll remind you.
And if the whole world asks me to leave...
I'll still choose you.
-Arjun
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
Because those weren't just words.
They felt familiar.
Like a promise I'd genuinely meant.
A promise I'd believed in.
A promise I'd broken.
I looked up.
Meera was watching me quietly.
Waiting.
Not expecting an answer.
Because there wasn't one.
"Why?" I asked eventually.
Her eyes softened.
"Why what?"
"Why would I forget someone after writing something like this?"
The question hung between them.
Heavy.
Painful.
Necessary.
Meera looked toward the city lights before answering.
"Because something happened."
A cold feeling settled in my stomach.
"What?"
She swallowed hard.
Then said the words she'd clearly been avoiding.
"The accident wasn't supposed to happen."
I froze.
"What does that mean?"
"You weren't alone that night."
My heartbeat quickened immediately.
A memory flashed.
Rain.
Headlights.
Someone screaming.
Glass shattering.
Then darkness.
I gripped the edge of the bench.
"You were there."
Meera nodded.
"Yes."
The world seemed to tilt slightly.
For months I'd assumed the accident was something that happened to me.
But now—
"You were in the car."
"Yes."
I stared at her.
Horrified.
"Meera..."
My voice cracked.
"Were you hurt?"
For a moment, she didn't answer.
Then she looked away.
And that silence was enough.
The realization hit harder than any memory flash.
Because suddenly, I understood something.
The scars on her wrist.
The hesitation whenever hospitals were mentioned.
The sadness she carried everywhere.
She hadn't just lost me.
She had survived that night too.
"I spent six months recovering," she said quietly.
The words shattered something inside me.
Six months.
While I'd forgotten everything...
She'd been rebuilding her life.
Alone.
"You never came."
Her voice remained calm.
But the pain underneath it was impossible to miss.
"You never called."
Every sentence felt like another weight on my chest.
"You never asked for me."
I closed my eyes.
Because technically...
I hadn't.
Not after the memory treatment.
Not after Dr. Malhotra.
Not after whatever happened.
And yet somehow, my heart had still searched for her in dreams.
"Meera..."
She looked at me.
"I don't know how to apologize for something I don't even remember doing."
A sad smile appeared on her face.
"I know."
"And I know saying sorry isn't enough."
"No."
The honesty hurt.
But she wasn't cruel.
Just truthful.
"You don't owe me forgiveness," I continued.
"Arjun—"
"No."
I shook my head.
"You waited three years."
My voice grew quieter.
"And I don't even remember our last conversation."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then unexpectedly—
Meera reached for my hand.
The same way she used to in my memories.
The same way that always seemed natural.
"You remembered me anyway."
I looked at her.
Confused.
"What?"
Her fingers tightened slightly around mine.
"You dreamed about me."
The words were simple.
But they carried enormous weight.
"Even after everything they did."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Some part of you still found me."
For the first time that night, neither of them looked away.
Because both of them understood the truth.
The memories had disappeared.
The feelings hadn't.
Much later, after Meera had gone home, I returned to my apartment.
The city was quiet.
Almost peaceful.
But my mind wasn't.
I placed the old note on my desk and stared at it.
I'll still choose you.
The words felt like evidence.
Proof that the person I'd been three years ago existed.
And proof that he loved Meera enough to write them.
So why had he chosen to forget?
The question haunted me.
Hours passed.
Midnight came and went.
Then, while searching through another old box, I found something unexpected.
A USB drive.
Small.
Black.
Unmarked.
Except for one thing.
A label written in my own handwriting.
OPEN ONLY IF YOU REMEMBER HER.
My entire body went still.
The room suddenly felt colder.
Because for the first time...
It felt like the old version of me had been planning for this day.
And whatever was inside that drive—
Might finally explain everything.