The _beep... beep..._ of the heart monitor had become the soundtrack of Isha's life for the last three days. She knew its rhythm better than her own heartbeat. Slow meant he was sleeping. Fast meant he was dreaming. And for three terrifying seconds yesterday, flatline meant the world had ended.
But today, a new sound cut through the room.
*"Discharge papers, Mr. Malhotra."*
The pen scratching against paper was the loudest thing Isha had ever heard. Louder than the ambulance siren that brought him here. Louder than her own screams when the doctor said "we might lose him."
Vikram was sitting up.
Vikram was holding a pen.
Vikram was signing his name.
_Vikram Malhotra._ The letters were steady. Controlled. Nothing like the boy who used to write _I + V_ on the last bench of their school notebook.
Isha's breath hitched. Her hands, which had been holding his for seventy-two hours straight, were now empty and cold in her lap. She had let go when the doctor came in. She didn't want to look desperate.
God, she was desperate.
"Vikram...?" Her voice came out smaller than she intended. Broken. Three days of whispering prayers and begging God had left her throat raw. "You're... you're awake."
He didn't look up. The doctor was pointing at a line on the paper, explaining medication schedules, follow-up appointments, signs of dizziness to watch for. Vikram nodded. Once. Twice. Like a businessman closing a deal.
Like a stranger.
Sunita Bua stood at the foot of the bed, her fingers twisted in the end of her saree. Her eyes were red, but she was trying to smile. "Beta, dekho kaun aaya hai. Isha hai. Dekho toh sahi."
_Look. It's Isha. Please look._
That's when Vikram finally raised his eyes.
And Isha's entire world stopped spinning.
Because there was nothing there.
No recognition. No softness. No flicker of the boy who once fought three seniors because they teased her braid. No trace of the man who held her in the rain and said, "If I die tomorrow, I die loving you."
His eyes were blank. Polite. Empty.
The eyes of a man looking at a nurse he'd never met before.
"Sorry," Vikram said. His voice was hoarse from disuse, but the word was clear. Clinical. *"I think you have the wrong person. My name is Vikram Malhotra. I don't know you."*
_I don't know you._
Four words.
Four bullets.
Each one found its mark and lodged itself directly in Isha's heart.
The room tilted. The _beep... beep..._ of the monitor suddenly sounded like a countdown.
"No," Isha whispered. She stood up so fast the chair screeched against the hospital floor. "No, Vikram, it's me. It's Isha. _Your_ Isha. Remember? School? The peepal tree? You said—"
"Miss," Vikram interrupted, and that word—_Miss_—was a knife, "I just woke up from a three-day coma. The doctor said I have retrograde amnesia. I remember my name, my company, my mother." His eyes flicked to Sunita Bua for half a second. "I don't remember you."
Sunita Bua made a choked sound. "Beta... eh teri... teri Isha hai. Tu is nu pyaar..." She couldn't finish. The words got stuck in her throat like glass.
*"My what?"* Vikram's brow furrowed. Not in pain. In genuine confusion. And then, in irritation. "Doctor, who is she? Why is she here? She's making me... uncomfortable."
_Uncomfortable._
Isha felt her knees give out. She grabbed the side table to stay upright. The water bottle there—_her_ water bottle, the one she'd been refilling every two hours for him—clattered to the floor.
He was uncomfortable.
Because of her.
Because she existed in his room.
The doctor cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. He looked between Isha's shattering face and Vikram's blank one, and chose professionalism. "Mr. Malhotra, this is Isha. She was listed as your emergency contact. She's been here since you were admitted. She... she didn't leave your side."
For a second—just one, fleeting, desperate second—Isha thought she saw something flicker in Vikram's eyes. A question. A doubt.
But then he shook his head, like shaking off a fly. "I don't recall authorizing anyone as an emergency contact. My assistant handles these things. If she was here, I appreciate the... concern. But I'd like to go home now."
_Home._
_Without her._
"Nurse!" Vikram called, his voice stronger now. Commanding. The Vikram Malhotra CEO voice that had been missing for three days. "Can we expedite the discharge? I have work to catch up on."
Work. He was in a coma three days ago and he wanted to work.
The nurse rolled in a wheelchair. Hospital protocol. No patient walks out after a coma, no matter how good they look.
Vikram swung his legs off the bed. His movements were slow, careful, but determined. He didn't wince. He didn't look at Isha. He looked at the door. Like it was the only thing that mattered.
Isha couldn't breathe. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. She had prepared for a lot of things in the last three days. She had prepared for him to die. She had prepared for him to be paralyzed. She had prepared for him to never walk again.
She had not prepared for him to look at her and see no one.
"Vikram, please," she choked out. She hated how small she sounded. How broken. But she was broken. "Just... just look at me. Really look. You have a scar on your left eyebrow. From when you fell off the terrace trying to get my kite. Eighth grade. You remember? You told me 'Isha, if I fall for you, I'll fall hard' and then you literally fell."
She gave a wet, hiccupping laugh, hoping, praying, _begging_ that the memory would spark something.
Vikram touched his left eyebrow, absently. His fingers found the faint, silvery line. He frowned.
"My mother told me I got that in a college football match," he said flatly.
Sunita Bua sobbed. Out loud. "Nahi beta! Jhooth! Mainu yaad aa! Tu chhat ton digga si! Isha layi!"
Vikram's frown deepened. He looked at Sunita Bua, then at the doctor. "Doctor, is this normal? People... claiming things? My mother seems distressed."
_My mother._ He remembered Sunita Bua.
But not her.
Never her.
The doctor put a calming hand on Vikram's shoulder. "Retrograde amnesia is complex, Mr. Malhotra. You may remember some things and not others. Emotional memories are often the first to go. We should get you home to rest. Familiar surroundings help."
Familiar surroundings.
His house.
The house Isha had never been to. The house that didn't have her photos, her memories, her smell.
Vikram nodded and lowered himself into the wheelchair. He didn't ask for help. He didn't stumble. He was Vikram Malhotra. He did not show weakness.
Even if he didn't remember why.
The nurse started pushing him toward the door.
He was leaving.
He was actually leaving.
Without her.
Without a goodbye.
Without _her_.
Isha moved without thinking. She ran around the bed and stood in front of the wheelchair, blocking the door. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.
"Take me with you," she whispered. She hated herself for it. Hated the begging. But she would get on her knees if she had to. "You don't remember me, fine. But take me with you. I'll help you remember. I'll... I'll tell you everything. Every single day. Just don't leave me here, Vikram. Please. _Please._ I can't—"
"Security."
The word was not shouted. It was spoken. Quietly. Finally.
Vikram was looking past her. At the nurse. At the doctor. At anyone but her.
"Can someone please remove this woman? She's causing a scene and I'm not feeling well."
The world went silent.
_Remove this woman._
_This woman._
Not Isha.
Not _his_ Isha.
_This woman._
Sunita Bua rushed forward and grabbed Isha's arm, yanking her sideways before the nurse could call anyone. "Isha! Beti! Bas kar! Ohnu saah len de!"
But Isha wasn't listening. She was staring at Vikram.
And Vikram... finally looked at her.
Really looked.
His eyes scanned her face. Her tear-streaked cheeks. Her chapped lips from not eating. Her hair, which she hadn't combed in three days.
And he felt... nothing.
No pull. No ache. No echo of a thousand kisses.
Just a strange, cold discomfort. Like looking at a painting he was supposed to like but didn't understand.
"I'm sorry," he said again. And this time, it sounded almost real. Almost human. "I don't know you. And right now, I don't want to."
He nodded to the nurse. The wheelchair rolled forward.
Past Isha.
She didn't stop them this time. She couldn't. Her legs had turned to water. Her heart had turned to ash.
She turned, slowly, and watched his back disappear through the hospital room door.
He didn't look back. Not once.
The door swung shut with a soft _click_.
It was the quietest sound in the world.
And the loudest Isha had ever heard.
Sunita Bua's arms came around her. "Beti... beti uth... he'll remember... doctor ne keha hai... time lagta hai..."
But Isha wasn't crying. Not anymore.
The tears had dried up.
Because there was nothing left to cry for.
Three days she had sat there. Three days she had held his hand and whispered "I'm here" into his unresponsive palm. Three days she had believed that love was stronger than death.
Love wasn't stronger than forgetting.
She looked down at her own hands. The hands that had fed him water through a sponge. The hands that had changed his sheets when he sweat. The hands that had written "I love you" on his palm 400 times, hoping muscle memory would beat brain damage.
Useless hands.
Outside, an ambulance siren wailed. Probably taking Vikram Malhotra home.
To a house that didn't have her.
To a bed that didn't smell like her.
To a life that had edited her out.
Isha finally understood.
Vikram didn't die in the accident.
He died today.
At 2:17 PM.
In a hospital room.
Looking right at her.
And she was the only one attending the funeral.
She broke.
Not with a scream.
Not with a sob.
But with a silence so complete, so absolute, that even the heart monitor seemed to _beep_ quieter.
599 pieces.
That's how many pieces her heart broke into.
One for every rupee she had left in her bank account.
And every piece whispered the same thing:
_He chose to forget me._
*[Author Note]*
*Isha is broken. Completely.*
*Vikram is gone. He chose to leave.*
*Did this chapter destroy you? I'm not sorry.*
*If you want Isha to fight for him, she needs your strength.*
*Add "Bought For 500" to your library. Leave a comment. Let her know she's not alone.*
*100 comments unlock Ch-24: "I Went To His House Uninvited"*
*Will you walk with her into hell? Or will you leave her like he did?*
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