I am Aditi.
Five years ago, I worked in Set City — in this very publishing company. A different version of me lived here, one who smiled more, trusted easily, and believed she had all the time in the world.
But then something happened. Something that swallowed those months like a black hole.
Something that still clings to my ribs when I try to sleep.
I moved cities. Changed numbers. Changed myself.
But… the past?
It followed me.
Today, I returned. Not to stay. Just to submit this — my final piece. My last story for the place I once called home.
A story I’ve never told. Not even to myself.
It started like any ordinary day.
I had just finished a big assignment earlier than the deadline. I remember feeling proud — free.
I was driving home, talking to my parents on the phone, laughing. It was one of those rare evenings where everything feels right.
And then —
*A sudden impact.*
The sound still haunts me.
I hit someone.
The world slowed down. My hand dropped the phone. My heart stopped.
There was a boy on the road, blood soaking his forehead, motionless.
I froze.
And then I ran.
Hospital. Panic. Breathing heavy. Hands shaking.
The doctors said he’d live… but with temporary memory loss.
Two days passed.
No one came. No call. No face asking for him.
I kept checking with the staff. “Are you sure he has no contacts?”
I couldn’t believe someone like him — well-dressed, graceful — could just vanish from the world.
He looked lost, quiet.
His sadness didn’t scream — it just sat there on his face, cold and unreadable. His eyes didn’t ask for help — they just stared into space, as if waiting for something that never came.
He wore a sleek *Next-brand watch*, had the kind of grace that couldn’t be faked — and a handsomeness that was quiet but undeniable.
The kind of look you don’t forget… even if you try.
He didn’t seem like someone who would be… forgotten.
I couldn’t walk away.
I moved him to an apartment near mine. I brought him food. Made coffee when he wouldn’t eat.
Sat beside him while he stared at nothing.
He never thanked me.
He never asked anything of me.
But still… he stayed.
Sometimes he slept for 24 hours. Other times, he sat still, like time had forgotten him.
And I —
I started caring.
More than caring.
I didn’t even realise when it happened.
But my eyes would search for his in the morning.
My hands would tremble when he looked away.
My guilt turned into worry.
My worry… into something heavier.
One day, I visited the hospital again — to ask how long it might take for memory to return.
The doctor blinked in confusion.
> “Ma’am… he never had injuries severe enough to damage his memory. He should’ve recovered in 2–3 days. Why are you still asking?”
Something shattered in me.
*He was pretending.*
Why?
I rushed to the apartment. My heart was louder than my footsteps.
But he was gone.
No note. No message. Not even a mark that he had lived there.
Just a pillow out of place. A silence I couldn't fill.
And suddenly, everything made sense — and didn’t.
*Why did he stay if he didn’t need me?*
*Why did he leave without a word?*
*Was it all an act?*
Or worse —
*Was he in pain, and I was never enough to matter?*
And then I realised…
I loved him.
Quietly. Without names. Without history. Without reason.
He never gave me anything.
But he had *me* — completely.
I sat alone for hours. My tears didn’t need permission anymore. They just came.
Why did he live beside me for two months?
Why did he never speak about his past?
Why did he look at me sometimes… like he remembered?
I told everything to the director — my manager — a woman I had admired from the first day.
She listened silently. Her face gave nothing away. Until she asked me,
> “Aditi, do you remember the brand of the watch he wore?”
I whispered,
*“Next.”*
She froze. Her eyes dropped.
And then slowly, she asked:
> “What was the date of the accident?”
“20th June. 2017.”
That’s when I saw it.
That flicker of realisation in her eyes.
I remembered her Instagram post years ago — she wore the same watch. And in the caption:
> “Gifted my son a matching set. For every time he forgets I’m with him.”
And I knew.
She knew too. we both realise but both have no guts discuss about it ,
*The boy I hit was her son.*
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. But before I could say anything, she did.
Her voice was soft. Almost kind.
“Your past ends today, Aditi.
The boy you hit lives a luxurious life.
If he cries, he cries in a mansion.
He’s the product of 18-hour days his parents worked, chasing dreams and forgetting love along the way.
You work 9 to 5, and feed yourself. You built your world from nothing.
He — he lives with freedom you never had.
He may have been depressed in those days. But his depression… was expensive.
And let’s be honest —
You didn’t care for him just because of the accident.
If you’d hit someone poor and forgettable… would you have brought him home?
Stayed two months?
Cried for him?
No, Aditi.
You fell in love with the illusion.
With his face, his silence, his sadness — all crafted by the life we gave him.
His pain wore a suit. That’s why it drew you in.”
I sat frozen.
Because maybe she was right.
Or maybe she wasn’t.
But I couldn’t argue. I couldn’t explain what I felt.
Because what I felt wasn’t logical. It wasn’t planned.
*It just happened.*
I stood. My eyes welled up one last time.
I wiped my tears — not out of strength, but survival.
I left Set City again.
With more questions than answers.
More pain than closure.
And a love story that never started.
But still… in some quiet corner of my heart,
it never really ended.
I moved away hoping I could leave it behind — him, the questions, the ache.
But memories don’t respect distance. I changed my city, but not my heart.
And now, even after all this time…
I still feel helpless.
Because nothing I did ever made me forget.
Not really.
But still… in some quiet corner of my heart,
*it never really ended.*
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