"Some promises don't need remembering to be fulfilled - they live in your bones."

---

🕯️ Thirteen Years Ago - Sheesh Mahal, LucknowThe temple courtyard glowed with the soft orange hues of dusk, marigold garlands draping the carved pillars, and incense dancing in the air. Bells chimed gently, mingling with hushed laughter.

Two children stood before the small sanctum - she in a crimson lehenga too large for her tiny frame, he in a cream-colored kurta, nervously gripping a string of mango leaves.

"Don't move so much, Arnav!" whispered Khushi, trying to balance the garland in her hand.

"I'm not moving! You're the one stepping on my foot!" he snapped back, making a face.

From the side, Buaji chuckled. "Hai Re Nandkishore! Look at these two fighting already.

"Bauji" Khushi tugged at the oversized red lehenga, her cheeks puffed in protest.

"oh, my princess," Shashi chuckled, crouching to adjust the dupatta over her little head. "You look like Lakshmi herself. Today is special."

"But Arnav is grumpy," she mumbled, glancing at the quiet boy standing beside her.

"I heard that," Arnav muttered, shifting in his too-stiff kurta. "You kicked me under the mandap, remember?"

"That was because you pulled my braid!"

"Only because you stuck your tongue out!"

"Enough, you two!" Buaji clapped her hands. "Nandkishore! Is this a wedding or a WWF match?"

The priest laughed kindly. "They are young. But their hearts are pure."

He looked at the families. "This child-vivaah is symbolic. A blessing. It holds no legal bind - only the faith of the families."

Arnav's mother, still delicate from recent illness, smiled faintly. "They insisted. Said they wanted to be together forever. We thought - why not bless it under God's eyes?"

Arnav's uncle,a tall, stern, with intense eyes - nodded. "Just make sure your Khushi doesn't turn my nephew into a chatterbox."

Everyone laughed.

Khushi and Arnav looked at each other in mock annoyance - and then, in a heartbeat, something shifted.

The priest began. "Tie the red thread, joining their wrists."

Khushi looked up, suddenly solemn. "Will this hurt?"

"No, my child," the priest smiled. "It protects. It binds souls in remembrance."

Arnav's eyes were locked on the thread as it looped around his wrist, then Khushi's.

"Repeat after me," the priest said gently.

"'Main vaada karta hoon...'"

"Main vaada karta hoon..." Arnav echoed.

"'...ki main tumhara hamesha khayal rakhunga.'"

"...ki main tumhara hamesha khayal rakhunga," Arnav finished, voice low but certain.

Khushi beamed. "I promise I'll always bring you jalebis, even when you're angry."

The crowd laughed. Arnav blinked at her, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

The priest chuckled. "That works too."

Flashbulbs popped. Somewhere, fate sealed a vow neither child understood - but the soul always does.

That was the last moment of peace.

After that , the scandal broke.

Money was stolen from the factory. Accusations flew. The Raizadas lost face. The Guptas lost the job. Arnav's mother collapsed. And Khushi's family left the city.

Days later, Khushi was in a car with her parents - when the accident happened.

She lived. They didn't.

The memory? Gone.

_________

Present Day - Delhi

Gupta House, Morning

"Jiji, are you ready?" Khushi shouted from the kitchen, balancing a tray of jalebis. "We'll be late for the client meeting!"

Payal came out adjusting her dupatta. "You're the one who overslept."

"I had a dream," Khushi said, biting into a jalebi. "We were in a temple, full of lights and garlands. There was a boy..."

"Was he handsome?"

Khushi rolled her eyes. "He had ears like a monkey."

Payal laughed. "Sounds like destiny is sending you childhood husband material."

Khushi blinked. She didn't know why, but her chest ached for a moment - as if something old and real had brushed past her.

- - - -

"Jiji, where is my blue file? The wedding decor sketch one!"

Payal called from the mirror, "Next to your jalebi box."

"Oops." Khushi rushed out, hair half-tied, eyes wide. "Do you think rich clients will like my designs?"

"Khushi, if someone doesn't like your designs, they don't deserve you."

Khushi grinned. "Spoken like a true elder sister slash part-time therapist."

Payal smirked. "Just try not to trip over anything gold today."

---

AR Designs - Conference Room

Aman adjusted his glasses. "Mr. Raizada will join shortly. Please be prepared."

Khushi nudged Payal. "Why does this place feel so cold? Like someone vacuumed the happiness out?"

Payal whispered, "Maybe don't say that in front of your millionaire client."

"I'm thinking it very professionally," Khushi murmured.

The glass doors hissed open. Arnav Singh Raizada walked in, tall, unreadable, ruthless.

Khushi turned-and froze.

He paused mid-step, breath sharp, eyes colliding with hers.

She frowned, confused. Why did he look like he'd seen a ghost?

Arnav quickly looked away. "Let's begin."

Payal rose, nervous. "We've brought design samples for the Raizada-Garg gala, sir. The layout-"

Arnav cut in. "You're the wedding decorators?"

"Yes, Mr. Raizada. We're from Shagun Events. I'm Payal Gupta, and this is my sister, Khushi."

Arnav's grip tightened around the pen in his hand.

Gupta.

Of course.

Khushi stepped forward. "I made the mood board. It has fairy lights, vintage gold, and Rajasthani mirror-work. You seem like someone who doesn't like glitter, but it's subtle, I promise."

Arnav stared.

She had no idea.

Aman , placing files in front of the clients.

Khushi muttered to Payal, "This guy looks like he hasn't smiled in decades."

Before Payal could respond,"Mr. Raizada?" Aman prompted.

"Approved," Arnav said coldly. "Make sure the team delivers. I don't believe in second chances."

Khushi blinked. "Well, good thing I believe in backup plans."

He looked at her sharply, but she smiled, completely unaware.

---

That Night - Gupta House

Khushi sat at her desk, drawing doodles on her notebook.

A garland.

A temple bell.

A boy's face she couldn't draw.

She closed the diary.

"Why do I feel like I've forgotten something important...?"

---

---

Late Night - Raizada Mansion

Arnav stood at the edge of his room, the photograph in hand once again.

Two children.

A girl in marigold. A boy with a mango thread on his wrist.

He closed his eyes.

"She forgot me," he whispered. "And I promised I would forget her."

But he hadn't. Not really.

And now she was back.

---

"Some bonds are made with threads... others with destiny.

No matter how far you run, some promises find their way back."

“The heart remembers what the mind forgets — especially when the past knocks twice.”

---

Raizada Mansion, (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, 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 in morning, 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.

---

Khushi pov

AR Designs

> “Some memories hide in the skin. Others… in the way two people collide.”

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.

----

Arnav had always been a master of control-of emotions, of memories, of pain.

But nothing in his iron-clad discipline prepared him for Khushi Kumari Gupta's laughter echoing across the AR Designs atrium that afternoon.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't even meant for him. But it sliced through the silence of his heart like a blade.

He was in the middle of a call, discussing international designs for the spring campaign, but his voice trailed off. His fingers froze over the mouse.

Her laughter clashed with the sterile steel and glass of his world-sweet, bright, unbearably familiar.

It wasn't just a sound. It was a memory. A sensation. A scar reopened.

Aman's voice on the other end snapped him back.

"Sir? Shall I confirm the Milan shipment?"

Arnav cleared his throat, masking the moment. "Yes. Do it."

But his eyes didn't leave the corridor where she had disappeared, her braid swinging, her notebook pressed to her chest.

It had become a habit-watching her from a distance.

Her movements. Her voice.

The way she tilted her head when confused, biting her lip slightly.

The childlike glee when she solved a design dilemma.

And sometimes... the quiet moments.

When she thought no one was watching, and her smile faltered-like it was holding back grief that had no name.

There was something there.

Something he should've forgotten.

But couldn't.

---

Khushi, meanwhile, was fighting her own storm.

Ever since she starts workin AR , her nights had grown restless. Fleeting images haunted her sleep-fragments of a life she didn't remember living.

A courtyard bathed in golden sunlight.

A soft breeze tickling wind chimes.

The weight of crimson bangles on her tiny wrists.

And most vividly-a boy.

He was always there, just at the edge of the dream.

Standing near a large banyan tree.

His hair wind-swept.

His eyes... intense. Brown like burnt cinnamon.

There was pain in those eyes, but also a promise-something he said to her in that dream, something she could never fully hear.

She would wake up gasping, her heart pounding.

"Amma...?" she had whispered into the darkness once.

But there was no one. Just the ceiling fan whirring and the echo of memories that didn't belong.

One evening, over dinner, she couldn't hold back anymore.

"Buaji... Did I ever live in Lucknow when I was small?" she asked softly, her eyes trained on the dal in her plate.

Buaji froze for a second, the ladle halfway to her mouth. "Why do you ask that, bitiya?"

"I keep dreaming of... things. A courtyard. A tree. A boy. I think I even smelled marigolds last night in my dream. And my wrists... they had red thread tied to them."

Buaji set her bowl down with a soft thud. "Hawa mein mat ud Khushi. Sapne toh sab dekhte hain. Kabhi kabhi dimag humein bewakoof banata hai."

"But it felt real, Buaji. Like I've been there before."

Buaji stood up abruptly. "Bas. Don't think too much. Dreams are dreams. Now eat before the food gets cold.

But Khushi saw the flicker of something-fear-in Buaji's eyes.

And for the first time, a chill ran down her spine.

---

The dreams didn't stop.

In fact, they became more vivid.

Khushi began sketching again-not because she wanted to, but because her hands itched to draw the faces she saw behind her eyelids. She would wake up, rush to her old sketchbook, and draw until the images stopped tormenting her.

And one morning, she stared at the page in stunned silence.

There it was-a courtyard, an old banyan tree, vermillion flowers strewn on the ground.

And beside the tree... a boy. Half-turned, his eyes downcast. She had drawn his expression too perfectly for it to be imagination.

He looked familiar. Too familiar.

But why?

---

Later that week, while helping Buaji clean the attic, Khushi stumbled upon an old carved trunk, its hinges rusted and wood faded with time.

"Leave that, Khushi," Buaji said quickly. "It's just old rubbish."

But Khushi had already opened it. Dust swirled in the sunlight filtering through the window.

Inside were bits and pieces of another life: faded letters, broken bangles, a child's frock, a cracked diya.

And then, at the very bottom, wrapped in a silk cloth-a photograph.

Khushi's fingers trembled as she unfolded the fabric.

The photo was faded, but clear enough. Two children. Dressed in traditional wedding clothes. Sitting before a havan kund. A priest in the background. Red thread tied loosely around their tiny wrists.

Her breath caught.

The girl was unmistakably her.

And the boy-

She stared, her heart hammering.

"No..."

But there was no doubt.

Those eyes. That mouth. That tilt of the head.

It was Arnav Singh Raizada.

---

Meanwhile, Arnav couldn't stay away.

He told himself it was coincidence. That bumping into her in the hallway, near the design boards, was just timing.

But then he began anticipating those moments.

"Sir, should I schedule your meeting with the investors?" Aman asked.

Arnav shook his head. "No. Push it to next week. I want to review the sample designs personally."

"You haven't done that in two years."

Arnav didn't answer. His gaze had already drifted to the mezzanine floor-where Khushi stood, absorbed in her sketchpad.

Aman followed his gaze. His brows furrowed. Something about this didn't feel professional anymore.

---

That evening, after another dream left her gasping and restless, Khushi walked into the guest room where Buaji was folding saris.

"Tell me the truth," Khushi said, holding out the photo. "Who is this?"

Buaji froze. Her eyes widened. She sat down heavily on the bed.

"Khushi..." she whispered.

"Why do I remember him?" Khushi demanded. "Why do I dream of a banyan tree and bangles and promises I never remember making?"

Buaji's hands gripped the edge of the bed.

"You were both just children," she said, her voice trembling. "We never thought it meant anything. It was a silly ceremony... symbolic. Just to please your Nani. After the accident, everything changed."

"What accident?"

Buaji looked away. "It's better you don't remember."

"I do remember!" Khushi cried. "Pieces of it. Bits that don't make sense."

Buaji stood up suddenly. "Let sleeping memories lie, Khushi. They can only hurt now."

---

Flashback - Sheesh Mahal, many years ago.

Arnav stood in the Sheesh Mahal courtyard, barely twelve, his fists clenched at his sides. The late afternoon sun cast golden shards through the jharokhas, painting fractured light across the marble floor.

He had just overheard the hushed conversation between his Mama and his mother in the next room.

"They've decided. We're leaving Lucknow. Sheesh Mahal will be sold."

His stomach dropped. "But what about Khushi?" he asked his mother as soon as she emerged.

She knelt beside him, brushing his hair back gently. "She's just a little girl, Chhotey. You'll forget."

He shook his head. "I don't want to forget."

She looked at him for a moment, then stood and walked away. But he stood there for a long time, fists clenched, throat tight.

That night, when the stars were bright and trunks half-packed, he sneaked out of his room. The haveli's halls echoed beneath his bare feet as he made his way to the small temple in the courtyard-the place he and Khushi had once called their secret world.

He climbed onto the platform and tied a folded note to the iron bell that had always made Khushi giggle when he rang it. The words were scrawled in his childlike hand:

"I promise I'll come back."

He rang the bell once. A soft chime. A quiet vow.

And then he left. And never returned.

Present - Lucknow

Now, years later, Arnav stood at the temple once more. It looked older, smaller somehow. Vines crept up the crumbling stone walls, moss lining the crevices like wrinkles of time. The bell still hung, rusted but resolute.

The banyan tree stood firm-its roots tangled and deep, like memories buried beneath a polished surface.

Arnav stepped forward, removing his shoes, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. The air was thick-not with dust, but with unshed words and lost years.

He walked to the tree, reached out, and placed his hand gently on the bark. His fingers trembled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The wind rustled the leaves. The bell above him swayed slightly, releasing a hollow chime that echoed like an old heartbeat.

A child's laughter. A girl's anklet. A red thread.

And for the first time in years... Arnav let his tears fall.

He sank to his knees before the old temple bell and closed his eyes.

"I never forgot, Khushi," he murmured to the wind. "Even when I tried."

The temple remained silent. But in that silence, something shifted.

Something forgave.

---

Back in Delhi - Evening

A car halted in front of the Gupta residence. Arnav sat still for a moment, the worn edges of his soul frayed from the visit to Sheesh Mahal. He hadn't expected it to shake him this much.

He hadn't expected the ghosts to be so alive.

Buaji opened the door herself. Her eyes narrowed in surprise. "Tum?"

Arnav stepped inside silently. "I... I needed to talk."

She watched him closely-his silence, his drawn expression. She didn't say a word, just stepped aside to let him in.

Inside, the house was quiet. Khushi was out, thankfully.

Buaji placed a cup of chai before him and sat opposite, her hands folded.

"Lucknow kaise laga?" she asked softly.

He exhaled, broken. "It hasn't changed. But I have."

Buaji nodded. "Wahan jaake purani yaadein jal jaati hain. Ya kabhi kabhi... aur zyada zinda ho jaati hain."

He met her gaze. "I didn't remember it all. Not clearly. But standing there... the tree, the bell, her laughter in that courtyard... it all came back. And I realized how badly I failed."

Buaji's face softened. "Tum dono bacche the, Arnav bitwa. Bacchon ki shaadiyon ka matlab duniya nahi maanta."

"I made a promise." His voice cracked. "I promised her I'd come back. And I never did."

She leaned forward, placing a gentle hand over his. "Par tum wapas aaye. Shayad der hui, par tum aaye. Aur uss waade ka asar... ab bhi Khushi ke sapno mein dikh raha hai."

He blinked. "She dreams of it?"

Buaji nodded. "Usse yaad nahi hai. Par uska dil sab yaad rakhta hai. Tumhare bina uska chain nahi hai, aur tumhare saath uska bharosa tut gaya toh... woh kabhi wapas nahi banegi."

Arnav bowed his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I don't want to hurt her."

"Tab toh sirf ek rasta hai," Buaji whispered. "to bhul jao Usse .Warna ya toh uska dil tootega... ya tumhara."

Silence hung heavy between them, but something shifted. A shared grief. A broken past. And the beginning of a long-overdue reckoning.

---

AR Designs - Late Evening

The office was bathed in the soft amber glow of the setting sun, shadows stretching long across the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Arnav sat at his desk, eyes unfocused, fingers lightly brushing over a document he wasn't reading.

A soft ding from the elevator echoed through the near-empty office floor.

Lavanya walked out, her stilettos clicking with purpose, a printed photo clutched in her hand. Her expression was unreadable-equal parts disbelief, confusion, and something dangerously close to heartbreak.

Without knocking, she pushed the glass door open.

"Care to explain what this is, ASR?"

Arnav's eyes rose slowly. He recognized the image instantly.

Two children. A sacred fire. Marigold garlands. A red thread of fate tied around their small wrists.

His breath caught-but only for a moment.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, voice cool but laced with warning.

"In the design room printer," Lavanya replied sharply. "Looks like Khushi scanned it earlier today and forgot to pick it up."

She stepped forward, slapping the photo down on his desk. "And imagine my surprise when I recognized that little groom as you."

Arnav didn't respond immediately. He stood, walking to the window, staring out at the Delhi skyline like it could offer him an escape.

"I don't want you involved in this, Lavanya," he said finally, his voice low, gravelly.

Lavanya's laughter was bitter. "Too late for that, don't you think?"

She circled the desk toward him, her heels echoing like accusations. "I've known you for what-six years? I've seen you bulldoze deals, break hearts, and rule this office like a fortress. And suddenly... you hesitate."

She tapped the photo with her nail. "This girl... Khushi... has you unraveling. You think I haven't noticed?"

"Lavanya-" he started, but she cut him off.

"Don't 'Lavanya' me," she snapped. "What is this? Some... symbolic child marriage? Are you two acting out some twisted past-life drama or is this real?"

Arnav turned, his eyes hard. "This is not a joke."

Her shoulders dropped. The fight in her drained for a second as she looked at him-truly looked. "I know that now," she said softly.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I saw the way you looked at her yesterday, Arnav. Like she was the only thing keeping you breathing. And I saw her flinch when you walked past-like her heart recognized you before her mind did."

She paused. "Whatever this is... it's changing you. And it's making her vulnerable."

He looked away. The silence between them was thick.

Lavanya's voice trembled slightly, but she steadied it. "She doesn't remember, does she?"ll2

M1

"No," he said. Just one word. But it carried the weight of years, of guilt, of buried promises.

"And you do," she whispered.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

Lavanya took a step back, her arms crossing-this time not in defiance, but to hold herself steady. "You need to be careful, ASR. You're not just reopening old wounds. You're slicing open hers too."

Arnav sat down again, rubbing his temples. "I didn't ask for this, Lavanya."

"I know," she said quietly. "But maybe... she did."

She left the photo on his desk and turned away, her reflection catching in the glass.

"I don't know what happened between you two back then, Arnav... but if you break her this time-"

He looked up sharply. "I won't."

Lavanya didn't smile. She just nodded once and walked out, her voice echoing in the silence she left behind.

"Then you better remember the promises you made back then... because she still might."

----

The glass door slammed shut, reverberating through the silence Arnav had left in her wake. But he didn't flinch. He stood still-back to the room, eyes fixed on the skyline. The photo Lavanya had thrown on his desk remained like an unspoken confession, curling slightly at the edges.

He picked it up slowly. His thumb brushed over the image-two children, bound by a thread of vermillion and fate.

Khushi's eyes in the picture held a kind of innocence the world had long since burned out of him.

A voice interrupted his storming thoughts.

"I saw her leave."

Aman stepped in quietly, closing the door behind him.

Arnav didn't turn around. "Let it go, Aman."

"You went to Lucknow, didn't you?"

This time, Arnav turned.

Aman continued, "I called your driver. He said you left the airport without him."

Arnav exhaled, dropping into his chair. The silence between them stretched before he finally said, "I stood under that tree again."

Aman frowned.

"The one near the temple. The one where it happened."

There was weight in those words-years of silence, memories buried under rage and boardrooms.

"I thought I could forget, Aman. But when I saw that picture... everything came back. The promise. The fire. Her hand in mine."

Aman stepped closer, his voice lower. "Do you believe it was real? That... that it meant something?"

Arnav met his gaze. "It wasn't just a game. We were children, yes. But she remembered enough to keep that photo. That has to mean something."

Aman hesitated. "And what if it breaks her to remember more?"

Arnav's jaw clenched. "Then I'll carry it for both of us."

---

Gupta House, Delhi - That Night

Khushi sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook open on her lap. The pencil danced between her fingers. She didn't know why she kept drawing the same image: a tree, a boy, a flicker of flames. It came in pieces, like a forgotten lullaby.

Payal walked in and paused.

"Another tree?" she asked gently.

Khushi gave a small smile. "This one feels... important. Familiar."

Payal sat beside her. "You've been quiet since that day at Buaji's storeroom. Did you find something?"

Khushi's fingers froze. "A photo. Two children. A wedding."

Payal stilled. "You think it's you?"

Khushi nodded. "And him."

"Him who?"

Her silence was answer enough.

---

Outside the Gupta House - Later That Night

Buaji was standing under the porch light, arms crossed.

She didn't flinch when a car pulled up quietly.

Arnav stepped out, slow and measured.

"Tum phir aa gaye," Buaji said coldly.

"I needed to see her."

"She doesn't remember, bitwa."

"But I do," he said, stepping closer. "And you do too."

Buaji's jaw set. "What's the point of stirring ashes? The child she was... she died with her parents in that accident. And what rose after-Khushi-she's fragile. Happy, finally."

"I'm not here to destroy her peace," Arnav said, voice rough. "But if she remembers, and I'm not there to help her through it-wouldn't that be worse?"

Buaji studied him for a long moment. "Are you willing to hurt yourself for her?"

"I already did," he said simply.

----