"The heart remembers what the mind forgets — especially when the past knocks twice."
---
Raizada Mansion, Study (Arnav's POV)
The storm outside mirrored the one within Arnav.
He sat in the dark, the fireplace burning low. A single photo lay on the table — two children beneath a temple bell, hands bound by a red thread. Innocent eyes. Quiet promises.
"Khushi…"
He hadn't said her name aloud in years. Now it haunted his every breath.
A knock broke his silence. Aman entered, cautious. "Sir, you called?"
Arnav didn't look up. "Find out everything about Shagun Events. And… Khushi Gupta."
Aman paused. "You think there's something off?"
Arnav's voice was low. "She's from Lucknow.
Arnav turned, voice curt. "I want a full report on Khushi Gupta and her sister. Where they've been since they left Lucknow. Family, history, everything."
Aman hesitated. "Do you believe… it's really her?"
"I don't need belief, Aman," Arnav said tightly. "I remember her eyes. I remember everything."
"But she doesn't?"
Arnav's jaw clenched. "She forgot me. Or she chose to."
Arnav said stiffly. "Every detail. I want to know what happened after they left Lucknow."
Aman nodded. "I'll dig through the archives."
Arnav whispered to himself, "She doesn't know who I am… but I know exactly who she is."
Aman nodded, stepping back. "Understood."
Alone again, Arnav leaned back and closed his eyes.
> "Main vaada karta hoon… ki main tumhara hamesha khayal rakhunga."
And yet, he had failed her. Maybe more than once.
----
Gupta House, Evening (Khushi's POV)
"Jiji?" Khushi said softly, sitting on the swing with Payal under the terrace fairy lights.
"Yes?"
"Have you ever felt like… like you know someone long before you met them?"
Payal glanced at her. "What's this about?"
Khushi hesitated. "That Mr. Raizada. When I looked into his eyes, something strange happened. Like my chest remembered him but my brain didn't."
"Don't be silly," Payal said gently. "You probably saw him on TV or in a business magazine."
Khushi frowned. "No. It was more… old. Like I knew him before I even knew how to read."
---
Gupta House, Late Evening (Khushi's POV)
"Jiji?" Khushi peeked into Payal's room.
"Hmm?"
"Do you think déjà vu can be real? Like… what if we've forgotten parts of our life?"
Payal looked up from her laptop. "You're still thinking about Mr. Raizada?"
Khushi walked in slowly, hugging a pillow. "There's something strange about him. When he looks at me, it's like he's searching for something he lost."
"Or maybe you're just overthinking after too many wedding mood boards," Payal teased lightly. "Go to sleep, drama queen."
Khushi smiled, but her heart remained heavy.
From the shadows, Buaji stepped out, her face pale Her expression froze, as if seeing a ghost from her past."
"You girls talking about that Raizada boy?"
Khushi looked up. "Yes. Why?"
Buaji swallowed. "Nothing. Just… stay away from that family, Khushi. Nothing good ever comes from them."
"Titaliya," Buaji said, tone sharper than usual. "You're not… involved with that Raizada boy, are you?"
"What?" Khushi blinked. "No, of course not! He's a client. Why would you even say that?"
Buaji's eyes darted away. "Just stay away from them. Especially him."
"Buaji… do you know them?"
Buaji forced a smile. "Too many stories in my old head, titaliya. Forget it."
But Khushi couldn't.
And neither could Buaji.
---
Flashback .
13 years ago – Sheesh Mahal
Angry voices echoed through Sheesh Mahal.
"You think we stole from the factory?" Shashi's voice cracked in disbelief.
"There was no one else who had access!" Arnav's uncle snapped.
Khushi hid behind a pillar, clutching a doll, as Arnav was dragged upstairs by his mother.
"I don't believe it," Arnav whispered. "Khushi's bauji would never—"
"You don't know what people are like, Arnav," his mother said softly. "Sometimes even friends betray us."
(Buaji's POV)
"Shashi babua is not a thief!" Buaji had shouted as Shashi stood accused before a furious family.
Arnav's uncle slammed papers on the table. "Then who leaked the accounts? Who sabotaged the deals?"
Garima had wept silently, clutching Khushi to her chest.
Then, as they were pushed out the mansion gates.
Khushi sat in a car with her parents.
It never reached its destination.
----
AR Designs, Next Morning (Khushi & Payal's POV)
The warm morning sunlight filtered through the glass panels of AR Designs, casting a golden glow on the sleek marble floors. Khushi stood near the entrance of the reception lobby, juggling fabric swatches against her chest — chiffon, silk, brocade — her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Gold or ivory… or both?" she muttered, holding the swatches up against the muted wallpaper. "Too loud? Too dull? Ugh, Raizada ji is going to yell if this doesn't scream 'elegance'."
"Someone's working hard already," came a smooth voice from behind.
Khushi turned, startled.
Lavanya Kashyap — head of PR, heels clicking, confidence radiating — approached with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Her lipstick was the perfect shade of 'warning'.
"You're Khushi, right?"
Khushi blinked. "Yes, I am. From Shagun Events."
"Of course. The creative head," Lavanya emphasized, tossing her hair lightly over her shoulder. "I've heard some very… interesting things about your work. Arnav seems unusually invested."
Khushi's eyes widened a little. "That's surprising. He barely said three words to me yesterday."
Lavanya chuckled. "Arnav Singh Raizada doesn't usually pay attention to vendors. Must be your... ..... charm."
Khushi frowned. "I'm sure he was just… being professional. Maybe I imagined it."
Lavanya took a slow sip of her coffee. "Maybe."
She let the silence stretch before casually asking, "You're from Lucknow, aren't you?"
"Yes," Khushi replied, a bit wary now. "Why?"
Lavanya's gaze flickered, a little too calculating. "No reason. Just curious. You and your sister both? Must be quite the cultural shift — from Lucknow to Delhi."
Before Khushi could answer, Payal appeared from the hallway, carrying a neat stack of files and a guarded expression.
"Khushi," she said, her tone even. "They're asking for you at the boardroom. Mr. Raizada wants an update on the mandap design."
"Oh!" Khushi stepped back instinctively. "Thanks, Jiji. I'll go."
As Khushi rushed off, Lavanya turned her focus to Payal.
"You're her sister, right? Payal?"
"Yes," Payal answered curtly.
"Interesting," Lavanya said with a syrupy smile. "You two seem very different. She's… lively."
Payal raised an eyebrow. "We were raised the same way."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," Lavanya said lightly. "Lucknow girls have charm in their bones. A bit old-fashioned, but sweet."
Payal didn't smile. "We came to Delhi for better opportunities, not gossip."
Lavanya's grin faltered for a heartbeat. "Of course. It's just… Arnav rarely reacts to people. But with Khushi…"
She let the sentence hang deliberately.
Payal's tone sharpened. "What are you implying?"
"Nothing." Lavanya waved it off with feigned innocence. "Just curious "
And with that, Lavanya clicked away, her heels echoing ominously in the corridor.
Payal watched her go, unease blooming in her chest.
> Why would Lavanya care that we're from Lucknow?
---
Raizada Mansion, (Anjali's POV)
> "The house may stay silent, but hearts never do."
The morning sun filtered lazily through the delicate lace curtains of Raizada Mansion's kitchen, dust motes dancing in the golden light. The scent of freshly ground cardamom mixed with tulsi leaves hung in the air — comfort, warmth, familiarity.
Anjali Jha, dressed in a soft peach saree with a tray of marigold flowers in hand, entered with quiet grace.
"HP," she called gently, placing the tray down, "Did Chhote eat anything today?"
The house help, Hari Prakash, looked up from where he was placing silver bowls on the counter. He hesitated. "Barely a few bites, Didi. Just some toast and black coffee. Didn't even look at the fruit."
Anjali frowned, brushing an imaginary wrinkle from her dupatta. "That's the third day in a row. He's shutting down again."
She turned toward the corner where Nani sat on a low wooden stool, separating tulsi leaves for the morning prayer. The elderly woman looked regal even in her simplicity, wrapped in her white cotton saree, the red dot on her forehead stark against her wrinkled skin.
"Nani," Anjali said softly, walking over and kneeling beside her, "I think we should do something. A small dinner tonight… maybe a puja. It's not just work anymore. Something's bothering Chhote. Deeply."
Nani didn't look up immediately. She finished plucking the last leaf and placed it carefully on the copper thali before speaking.
> "Jab dil ki chot geheri ho, toh bhookh bhi mooh mod leti hai."
Anjali sighed. "It's like he's here but not really here. He spoke to me at breakfast, but only in half-sentences. His eyes were somewhere else entirely."
"His eyes," Nani murmured, finally meeting Anjali's gaze, "looked like Devyani's did the year your Dadaji passed away. Distant. Lost. Guarded."
Anjali's hand stilled over the tray. "Do you think… it's the past?"
Nani nodded, placing a reassuring hand on her granddaughter's. "The past has many forms, bitiya. Sometimes it returns through a scent, a song… sometimes as a person you thought you'd buried deep in memory."
A sudden gust of wind rustled the curtains, making the flame of the diya flicker violently.
Anjali looked toward the hallway instinctively — toward Arnav's study. The door was shut tight, as it had been most mornings.
Nani's voice broke the silence.
> "Some wounds never heal, Anjali. They just… learn to wear a suit and carry on."
Anjali gave a small, sad smile. "Chhote thinks no one notices. But we do."
She rose and began arranging the marigolds in the puja thali with extra care. "Let's keep it simple. Just family. Maybe lighting a few diyas will bring peace to his heart."
"And maybe," Nani added quietly, "he will open the door before it's too late."
---
Nightfall: Khushi's Dream
> "Some memories don't fade. They wait."
The moon hung heavy over Delhi, casting silver patterns across the windows of Khushi's apartment. The city outside hummed with life, but inside, all was still — save for the restless turning of a girl tangled in her bedsheet, murmuring in her sleep.
In her dream, Sheesh Mahal stretched endlessly.
Corridors twisted like vines. The marble floors shimmered, fractured, as if memory itself was splintering beneath her feet. The walls breathed — flickering between decayed grandeur and golden splendor.
She was barefoot, her anklets silent.
Laughter echoed — high, bright, familiar. A child's laugh.
"Wait!" she called out, chasing the sound. Her voice bounced back to her, strange and distant, as if she were calling through water.
She turned a corner, breathless — and stopped.
There, beneath the soft light of an ornate chandelier, stood a little girl and a boy. Maybe six, maybe seven. Holding hands. Dressed like they were attending a wedding.
The girl was her.
The boy had soft eyes and a solemn expression. He held a thin red thread between his fingers — tied at one end to his wrist, the other knotted gently around hers.
Khushi stepped closer, trembling. "I remember you…"
The younger version of herself turned slowly, eyes wide and sad.
The child turned, eyes glimmering with betrayal. "Why did you forget me?"
Khushi tried to speak, but her throat closed.
The boy stepped forward. "You promised," he said, voice quiet and steady. "You said we'd always be together. You said you'd never leave."
"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "I didn't choose to forget…"
Tears filled her eyes as she reached toward the red thread. It glowed faintly — then burned out in a puff of smoke, vanishing into the shadows.
"I don't remember the promise," Khushi cried. "I don't even remember you…"
"But I remember everything," the boy said.
He lifted his palm — and there, pressed against his skin, was a flickering image of a temple, a marriage fire, and a bindi of vermilion smeared across a child's forehead.
Khushi stumbled backward, shaken.
The mirror beside them shimmered. Her reflection fractured — one moment she saw herself, and the next, a bride in a red lehenga, childlike and innocent, smiling through tears.
Suddenly, the boy's voice dropped into a whisper, almost carried by the wind:
> "Come find me… before you forget again."
Khushi gasped awake, heart racing.
The room was dark. Still. Her pillow was damp with sweat, her hand clutching at her wrist.
She looked down instinctively.
No red thread.
No boy.
No temple.
Just… emptiness.
And yet—
> A faint mark circled her wrist. Faint, almost like a faded burn.
She didn't know how it got there.
Khushi curled into herself, whispering to the silence:
> "Why does this feel real?"
From the window, the wind rustled the curtains… as if the past had stirred and wasn't ready to sleep again.
---
AR Designs
> "Some memories hide in the skin. Others… in the way two people collide."
Khushi's POV:
The day had been chaos.
Swatches of ivory silk, golden brocade, and embroidered net spilled from her overstuffed folder as she hurried down the corridor of AR Designs. She was late for the mock setup, her phone buzzed nonstop, and Lavanya had sent a message saying "he's in a mood."
Typical.
"Ugh, I swear, one more step and I'll—"
She turned the corner sharply toward the elevator—and slammed into someone. Hard.
The folder slipped. Swatches flew like startled birds.
Her ankle twisted awkwardly—but a strong hand caught her just in time, fingers curling tightly around her wrist, steadying her.
She looked up. Breath caught.
Him.
Arnav Singh Raizada.
Close. Too close.
His fingers still holding her wrist. His face unreadable. Eyes… stormy.
"Again?" she muttered, rubbing her arm when he finally let go.
"Maybe you should look where you're going," he said, but his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
Khushi frowned slightly. "You're everywhere I go these days."
"And yet," he said softly, "you keep forgetting."
She blinked.
> "We've met before… haven't we?"
There was a strange flutter in her chest — like déjà vu, but deeper. Familiarity woven with ache.
Arnav's jaw clenched. His eyes searched hers, as if digging for something buried.
"Yes," he said, voice low. "But you don't remember."
Arnav's POV:
She collided into him like a storm from the past — unexpected, untamed, unforgettable.
He hadn't seen her coming. But his body reacted before his brain did.
He caught her by the wrist, the jolt of contact rippling through his veins like a shock.
Her eyes. Wide. Startled. So much like the child he remembered, yet so grown, so unaware.
Her scent — jasmine and rain.
The same as that day under the temple canopy. The same girl.
But not.
"Have we… met before?" she asked, confusion and something else — hope? — trembling in her voice.
> "Yes," he said. "Somewhere you forgot. Somewhere I never could."
The elevator dinged behind them.
Neither moved.
Not yet.
Fabric swatches lay scattered at their feet, forgotten. Like pieces of a puzzle she no longer knew she'd once held.
Khushi swallowed. "You're… talking in riddles."
Arnav stepped back, allowing space, letting her wrist go like it burned.
His voice dropped an octave. "Some truths sound like riddles when memory betrays you."
The doors slid open. Silence filled the space between them, thick with unsaid things.
Khushi hesitated, then stepped into the elevator.
She turned, her eyes lingering on his face.
> "Do I owe you something?" she asked, softly.
Arnav stared at her. And for a heartbeat — just one — the pain flickered through his usually composed mask.
> "A promise," he said.
And like every broken promise, it still lingered — not forgotten, just unanswered.
The doors slid shut between them.
----