The cafeteria buzzed with muted chatter as Priya and Aryan shared their lunch. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of meals, but Priya's mind was elsewhere, her words flowing as she recounted the scare with Peehu the day before.

"She was terrified, Aryan," Priya said, her voice heavy with lingering worry. "For a moment, I thought I'd lost her."

Aryan leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "I should've come with you, Priya. I'm sorry I canceled last minute."

Priya waved him off, offering a faint smile. "It's fine. But you'll have to make it up to Peehu. She's really angry with you."

Aryan chuckled, a lightness returning to his tone. "Don't worry, I'll work my charm. She can't stay mad at me for long."

"That's your department," Priya replied, pointing her fork at him with a teasing smirk. "I won't interfere." She glanced at her watch, her tone shifting. "Anyway, I should get going. There's a new patient I'm supposed to see today."

Aryan raised an eyebrow. "New patient?"

"Yeah," Priya said, standing up and gathering her things. "Mrs. Vyas personally asked me to take his case. I don't know much yet—I haven't even looked at his file."

Aryan shrugged, finishing the last bite of his sandwich. "Well, good luck. Let's hope they're not a tough one."

Priya laughed lightly. "Let's hope."

As they walked together toward the hallway, Priya was lost in thought, mentally preparing herself for the hours ahead. She didn't notice the man until he collided with her, making her stumble slightly.

"Hey, watch it!" Aryan called out, glaring at the retreating figure. The man didn't stop, his steps brisk, his head low. A woman hurried after him, her face apologetic as she called back, "Sorry, he didn't mean to! It was a mistake."

"It's fine," Priya assured her, brushing herself off. But her attention lingered on the man's retreating back. Something about him tugged at her—a strange, almost electric feeling that tightened her chest.

She stood still for a moment, watching him disappear down the hallway. Aryan's voice broke through her trance. "Priya, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she said softly, her gaze still fixed on where the man had gone. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't sure if she believed her own words. That feeling—like a long-forgotten melody brushing against her memory—left her unsettled. She shook it off, forcing a smile.

"It's nothing," she said, more to herself than to Aryan. But as she walked away, the lingering unease followed her, as if the past had just brushed against her shoulder, and she couldn't quite turn to face it.

The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet room as Priya sat at her desk, meticulously flipping through old patient files. The monotony of paperwork was a welcome distraction, a steady rhythm that kept her mind occupied. She was so engrossed that the knock on her door startled her.

"Come in," she called, straightening the papers in front of her.

Mrs. Vyas entered, her demeanor brisk as always. Priya stood up out of habit, gesturing to the chair opposite her. "Please, have a seat."

But Mrs. Vyas waved her hand dismissively. "No time for that. I just wanted to drop this off." She placed a thin file on the desk, her tone turning firm yet encouraging. "Remember the patient I told you about? He's here. Look through his file quickly, and I'll send him in."

Priya hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. "Do you really think I'm the right person for this, ma'am? What if—"

"Priya," Mrs. Vyas interrupted gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't believe you could handle this. Trust yourself."

With that, she was gone, leaving Priya alone with the file.

Priya stared at it for a moment, her hands hovering over the folder as if it were something fragile, something that might shatter upon touch. Taking a deep breath, she reached for it, her fingers trembling slightly as she flipped it open.

The name on the first page hit her like a tidal wave. Her heart stopped, then raced uncontrollably as she read it again, just to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her.

Ram Kapoor.

The letters stared back at her, unmistakable and unrelenting. It was a name she hadn't spoken, written, or even thought of in years—not because she had forgotten, but because it was too painful to remember. And now, here it was, printed in bold, as if the universe itself had conspired to throw her off balance.

Her hands began to shake, the file quivering in her grip. A storm of emotions surged through her—shock, disbelief, anger, and a faint, unwelcome undercurrent of something softer, something she didn't want to name.

Before she could fully process, the door opened again.

Priya looked up, startled, as a woman stepped in. The same woman who had apologized earlier in the hallway. Recognition flared in both their eyes.

"Dr. Priya," she began, her voice low and deliberate, "before I bring him in, there are some things you need to know."

Priya nodded, still clutching the open file in her lap. Her heart was pounding, but she masked it with a professional demeanor, though a tempest swirled beneath her calm surface.

"Ram might react strangely," Mrs. Mehra said, her words measured. "Sometimes, meeting new people unsettles him. Other times, he's just... detached. He doesn't remember who he is. He doesn't remember anyone."

The room seemed to close in on Priya, but she kept listening, her gaze fixed on the woman. "How did this happen to him?" she finally asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Mrs. Mehra's shoulders sank slightly, and she hesitated before continuing. "Two years ago, there was a terrible accident. His entire family... they didn't make it. Ram was the only survivor." Her voice wavered, and she looked away for a moment before regaining her composure.

"He suffered severe head trauma," she went on. "At first, it seemed he might recover, but over time, it became clear that his memory was failing him. Now, he's slipping further—into dementia."

Priya stared at her, the words hitting her like sharp, unrelenting blows. Family. Accident. Dementia. None of it made sense. She struggled to reconcile the image of Ram she once knew—brilliant, ambitious, larger-than-life—with the man being described to her now.

"And you?" Priya asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Who are you to him?"

"I'm his caregiver," Mrs. Mehra replied. "The hospital assigned me to him after he was discharged. I've been with him ever since. I've seen his pain every day for two years, and..." She paused, her voice thick with emotion. "He needs help. Real help. You're our last hope, Dr. Priya. We've tried everything else."

Priya's breath hitched, her chest tightening as the weight of those words sank in. She felt the room tilt slightly, her grip on reality fraying. Her mind was a whirlpool of questions she couldn't voice.

Ram. Her Ram. The man who had once been her world, the man she had left behind, now fragmented and broken. The idea of him living in such darkness, of losing himself so completely—it was too much to process.

"I've seen him in so much pain," Mrs. Mehra said, her voice breaking the silence. "But he doesn't even understand it. It's like he's trapped in a shadow of his own life. Please, Dr. Priya. He needs you."

Priya swallowed hard, her throat dry, her mind a chaotic mess. "I... I'll do my best," she managed to say, though her voice lacked conviction.

Priya sat frozen in her chair, her hands gripping the edges of the desk as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Her pulse thundered in her ears, each beat a painful reminder of the moment she couldn't escape.

The door creaked open, and Mrs. Mehra entered first, her expression soft but determined. Priya wanted to stop her, to call this off, to run. But her legs felt rooted, and her voice refused to rise above a whisper trapped in her throat.

Then he appeared.

Ram stepped inside the room with hesitant, faltering steps, as though he were wandering into a world unfamiliar and foreign. The man before her bore little resemblance to the one etched in her memory. His frame, once strong and commanding, now seemed frail, barely held together. His hollow eyes were sunken beneath a furrowed brow, and his hands trembled as they fidgeted with a small cube in his grip, turning it over and over as if it held answers to questions he no longer remembered.

Priya's breath hitched, and her chest tightened painfully. She stared at him, trying to reconcile this fragile shadow with the man she had once loved—the man who had laughed with her, fought with her, dreamed with her. How could this be him?

Mrs. Mehra placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. "Ram, look. We're here to meet someone today. Say hello, won't you?"

He barely responded, his movements mechanical, almost indifferent. But then, slowly, he glanced up.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Priya felt her heart pounding so hard it hurt, the sound of it deafening in her ears. His gaze was distant, devoid of recognition, like a stranger's, but there was something else—a flicker, faint and fleeting, like a candle struggling against the wind.

Ram tilted his head slightly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. He simply stared, and Priya felt her hands grow cold. Her fingers twitched, aching to reach out, but she stayed frozen, afraid to shatter the fragile silence.

Her mind screamed at her to look away, to distance herself from the unfamiliar man before her. Yet her heart ached to find the smallest trace of the Ram she once knew.

"Dr. Priya," Mrs. Mehra said softly, breaking the spell. "This is Ram."

The name echoed in the room, sharp and cutting, and Priya felt tears welling up in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, forcing them back, masking her emotions behind a carefully constructed wall of professionalism.

"Hello, Ram," she finally said, her voice steady despite the storm within.

Ram didn't respond. His gaze had already drifted back to the cube in his hands, turning it mindlessly, as if her presence hadn't registered.

Priya sat there, her world spinning, her memories clashing with the reality before her. This wasn't the reunion she had imagined. This wasn't the man she had once shared her life with.

But he was here. And so was she.