Sorry for the late update but I forgot that I am no longer a reader but an author also so I have to give updates too 🤧😭 ______________________________________

The apartment was dimly lit, the glow from Mayank’s multiple screens casting eerie shadows on the walls. Ishan sat on the couch, still dazed from everything, while Abhishek paced restlessly behind him. The air smelled of coffee and burning electronics, a scent that always clung to Mayank’s space.

Mayank, hunched over his laptop, typed with an unsettling intensity. His hoodie was pulled over his head, strands of messy hair sticking out as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

“I pulled up your records again,” Mayank muttered without looking up. “And something is definitely off.”

Ishan tensed. “What do you mean?”

Mayank finally turned to face him. His eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto Ishan’s.

“Your marriage certificate? It’s real. The digital records match the physical ones, and your signature is on it.” He tapped the screen, where a scanned copy of the document glowed ominously.

Ishan’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the familiar curves of his own handwriting. His own name. His own signature.

“No,” he whispered. “I never signed this.”

Abhishek moved closer, arms crossed. “There has to be a way to tell if this was forged.”

Mayank exhaled. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t forged. If someone tampered with it, they did a damn good job because every trace of this marriage—paper trails, registry entries, even the timestamped digital signature—checks out.”

Ishan’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“How is that possible?” he demanded. “I’ve never been married. I don’t even know him.”

Mayank stared at him for a moment before clicking another file open. “That’s not all.”

He turned the screen toward them, and Ishan felt the blood drain from his face.

It was a series of photographs. Of him.

At a wedding.

Wearing an elegant suit. Smiling. Standing beside Shubman, holding his hand.

A crowd of guests surrounded them, and in every image, Ishan looked genuinely happy.

“No,” Ishan choked out, his body going cold.

Abhishek stiffened. “This is fake. It has to be.”

Mayank’s fingers tapped rapidly. “I ran metadata analysis. There’s no sign of tampering. No digital editing. These aren’t doctored.” He turned to Ishan. “Which means either this really happened…”

Ishan’s chest tightened.

“…or someone erased your past and implanted a new one.”

A heavy silence filled the room.

Ishan’s head swam with questions, fear curling inside him like a vice.

“How could that even be possible?” he whispered.

Mayank leaned back in his chair, watching Ishan carefully. “That’s what we have to find out.”

Abhishek, still stiff with tension, turned to Ishan. “Tell me right now—do you remember anything about this wedding? Even a fragment? A detail?”

Ishan gripped his head. His memory was like a black hole—there was nothing there. No missing pieces, no distant recollections, just a gaping void where his past should be.

“No,” he admitted shakily. “I don’t remember any of it.”

Mayank’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then we need to start digging deeper.”

Because if Ishan’s past had truly been rewritten…

That meant someone had gone through an extreme effort to make sure he would never remember.

And that someone was still out there.

-----

The weight of the revelation pressed heavily on Ishan’s chest. His own face, his own signature, his own supposed wedding—all of it staring back at him from Mayank’s screen, undeniable proof of a life he had no recollection of living.

His hands trembled as he clutched his phone, his mind spiraling into the unknown. Had his memories truly been stolen? Had someone rewritten his past? And if so, why?

The tension in the room was thick, suffocating. Abhishek sat down beside him, his voice low and steady. “We’ll figure this out. You’re not alone in this.”

Ishan barely heard him. His thoughts were drowning in chaos.

Then—

RING!

The sudden sound of his phone vibrating against the wooden table made everyone jump.

Ishan grabbed it without thinking, his breath hitching as he saw the caller ID.

Unknown Number.

He hesitated.

“Answer it,” Mayank instructed, his sharp eyes locked onto the screen.

Ishan swallowed hard before pressing the green button and bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, a deep, distorted voice—so unfamiliar yet strangely chilling—slid through the speaker.

“You’re looking in the wrong places, Ishan.”

His blood ran cold.

Abhishek and Mayank exchanged glances, instantly alert. Mayank activated a tracing program on his laptop while Abhishek gestured for Ishan to keep the caller talking.

“Who is this?” Ishan demanded, his voice shaking.

A soft chuckle. Amused. Knowing.

“I warned you not to dig. But you never listen, do you?”

Ishan’s grip on the phone tightened. “What do you want from me?”

Another low laugh. “Nothing. You already belong to me.”

The words sent an icy dread coursing through his veins. His breath hitched. His skin prickled with unease.

Mayank gave him a signal—he was tracking the call.

“Who are you?” Ishan pressed, trying to keep his voice steady.

The caller ignored the question.

“You think you’re getting closer to the truth?” The voice darkened. “You’re only walking deeper into the lie.”

Ishan’s stomach twisted. “I don’t understand—”

“You will.”

A beep.

The call ended.

Ishan pulled the phone away from his ear, his hands clammy with sweat. His heart pounded violently in his chest.

“Did you trace it?” Abhishek asked urgently.

Mayank cursed under his breath. “It bounced through so many servers, it’s impossible to pinpoint an exact location.” He turned to Ishan. “But one thing is clear.”

Ishan’s breath was shallow. “What?”

Mayank’s expression was grim. “Someone is watching you.”

A chill crawled up Ishan’s spine.

And worse—they were always one step ahead.

-----

The air in the apartment felt stifling, the silence weighing heavily after the call ended. Ishan’s fingers were still clenched around his phone, his knuckles white.

Mayank leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “This isn’t some random hacker or con artist. This guy knew exactly what to say to shake you. He wanted you to feel like you’re trapped.”

Ishan swallowed hard. “What if he’s right? What if I’m not looking in the right places?”

Abhishek scoffed, leaning forward. “No, listen to me, Ishan. This—whoever this is—wants you to doubt yourself. Wants you to think you’re crazy so you stop digging.” His voice softened. “But we won’t let that happen.”

Mayank nodded, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “First, let’s work with what we have. We’ve got the marriage certificate, we’ve got legal documents proving you and Shubman were together, and we have a voice on the other end of the phone who clearly knows too much.” He paused. “And then… there’s him.”

The mention of Shubman sent a shiver through Ishan.

He turned toward Mayank. “What do you mean?”

Mayank’s eyes darkened. “We’ve been treating him like a person to investigate, but what if we’re looking at this wrong?”

Abhishek frowned. “What are you getting at?”

Mayank tapped on the screen, showing the digital records of Shubman’s transactions, his legal documents, even his social media history. “Everything checks out—too perfectly. There’s no inconsistency, no missing gaps, nothing that raises a red flag.” He turned to Ishan. “But tell me this—if he’s been your husband for years, why hasn’t anyone close to you ever met him before now?”

Ishan’s breath hitched. The room felt like it was closing in around him.

Abhishek’s eyes widened. “Shit. That’s true.”

Mayank continued, his voice sharp. “I looked into mutual acquaintances. No public photos together before the past few months, no family interactions, no close friends mentioning your supposed wedding.” His gaze locked onto Ishan. “If you really lost your memories, shouldn’t there be at least one person who remembers you two together?”

Ishan’s pulse pounded in his ears. “So… what are you saying?”

Mayank exhaled slowly. “I’m saying, what if the lie isn’t just your memories?”

The words hit Ishan like a physical blow. His mind was spinning, thoughts colliding in every direction.

Abhishek stood abruptly. “We need answers.”

Ishan barely registered him. A pit had opened in his stomach, dread sinking its claws deeper.

There was only one person who could give them the truth.

Shubman.

And Ishan wasn’t sure he was ready for what he might uncover.

-----

Ishan sat in the passenger seat, his fingers gripping his knees as Abhishek drove through the dimly lit streets. The city outside was alive with its usual hum, but inside the car, silence pressed down like a heavy fog.

“You sure about this?” Abhishek asked, glancing at Ishan.

Ishan’s heart pounded in his chest, but he nodded. “I have to be.”

Mayank sat in the back, staring at his laptop screen. “If things go sideways, I have a backup plan,” he muttered. “But we need to get him talking. See if he slips up.”

Ishan’s fingers twitched. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more—answers or for all of this to be a horrible mistake.

As they pulled up to the luxurious apartment complex, Ishan’s stomach twisted. The place was pristine, modern, like something out of a high-end magazine. It felt cold. Empty.

The moment they stepped into the building, the receptionist smiled at Ishan. “Welcome back, Mr. Verma.”

Ishan froze. He had never been here before.

Abhishek cleared his throat, steering him forward. “Thank you.”

They took the elevator in silence. Each floor they ascended felt like another step toward something irreversible.

When the doors finally opened, Ishan’s breath caught.

Standing in the doorway of the apartment was him.

Shubman.

He was dressed casually, his sharp features unreadable. But there was something unsettling in his eyes. Something that sent a chill down Ishan’s spine.

“Ishan,” he greeted smoothly, stepping aside to let them in. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

Ishan forced himself to step inside, his pulse erratic. “We need to talk.”

Shubman’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Of course.”

The door shut behind them with a quiet click.

The game had begun.

-----

The apartment was immaculate, almost eerily so. Not a single item was out of place, the air filled with the faint scent of expensive cologne. The decor was sleek and modern, yet devoid of personality—like a perfectly staged set rather than a home.

Ishan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he took a step forward. His pulse roared in his ears, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady.

“You say we’ve been married for years,” he began, his gaze locking onto Shubman’s unreadable expression. “Then tell me—where did we get married?”

Shubman didn’t flinch. He exhaled softly, as if he had expected this. “Mumbai. A private ceremony. You said you didn’t want anything extravagant.”

Ishan’s jaw tightened. “Who attended?”

Shubman’s lips curled slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “You wanted it small. Just us and a few close friends.”

Lies.

He could feel it in his bones.

Mayank, standing off to the side, crossed his arms. “Funny. Because we looked into it. No venue, no records, no guest list. Just a certificate that magically appeared when Ishan got arrested.”

Shubman’s eyes flickered to Mayank, something dark shifting behind them. “You hacked into private records, didn’t you?” His tone was smooth, almost amused. “Not very legal, Mayank.”

Mayank smirked. “Neither is stealing someone’s life.”

A flicker of irritation passed through Shubman’s expression before he let out a quiet chuckle. “Ishan…” His voice softened, and he stepped closer. “I know you’re confused. I know all of this must feel overwhelming. But you love me.”

Ishan flinched. His heart pounded violently at the familiarity in that voice. At the way it curled around his name, like it had done so many times before—except he couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember any of it.

Shubman reached for him, but Ishan took a sharp step back. “Don’t.”

A shadow passed over Shubman’s face, brief but unmistakable. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual calm demeanor.

Abhishek stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “You keep saying he lost his memory. That you’re his husband. That you love him.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Then why haven’t you helped him remember?”

Shubman’s smile didn’t waver, but something in the air shifted. “I have been helping him,” he said smoothly. “But memories don’t return overnight. It takes time.”

Mayank let out a humorless laugh. “Convenient.”

Ishan felt like he was drowning. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, his mind spinning with the weight of everything.

The doubt. The fear. The nagging feeling that something was wrong.

He turned to Shubman, forcing himself to meet his eyes. “If I really loved you, if we were really married…” His voice shook. “Then why don’t I feel it?”

Silence.

For the first time, Shubman had no answer.

And that terrified Ishan more than anything.

-----

The silence in the apartment was deafening. Ishan’s words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on everyone in the room.

Shubman’s expression remained unreadable, but something in his eyes darkened. He took a slow breath, stepping toward Ishan again, this time with an almost deliberate slowness.

“You don’t feel it?” His voice was softer now, quieter. “Ishan… memories can fade, but feelings don’t just disappear.”

Ishan swallowed hard, forcing himself to hold his ground. “Then why does every part of me scream that I don’t know you?”

For a fraction of a second, something flickered across Shubman’s face—something raw, almost dangerous. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“Ishan.” His voice was velvet, smooth and coaxing. “Think about it. We’ve built a life together. Shared moments. Laughter. Love.” He reached out, fingertips barely brushing Ishan’s wrist. “It’s still there, even if you don’t remember it yet.”

Ishan’s breath hitched, but not for the reason Shubman wanted.

Everything about this felt wrong.

The way Shubman spoke, the way he looked at him—there was something carefully crafted about it, like he was reciting a script.

Like he needed Ishan to believe him.

Abhishek stepped forward, his patience thinning. “Enough of this bullshit.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You keep saying you love him, but love doesn’t manipulate. Love doesn’t trap someone in a life they don’t remember.”

Shubman turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking toward Abhishek. His lips twitched into something resembling amusement. “You don’t understand, do you?”

Abhishek’s fists clenched. “Oh, I understand perfectly.” He gestured toward Ishan. “He doesn’t remember you. And instead of helping him figure things out, you’re just feeding him whatever story you want him to believe.”

Shubman’s jaw tightened for the briefest moment before he exhaled slowly, regaining his calm. He turned back to Ishan, his gaze softening again. “Ishan. Please.”

The plea in his voice made something in Ishan’s chest tighten—but it wasn’t love. It was fear.

“I don’t trust you,” Ishan whispered.

The words sliced through the air, cutting deeper than anything else that had been said.

For the first time since they had entered the apartment, the mask on Shubman’s face cracked.

And in that moment, Ishan saw it.

The truth wasn’t in what Shubman was saying.

It was in what he wasn’t saying.

Shubman needed him to believe this lie.

Because if Ishan didn’t… the entire illusion would shatter.

To be continued.....

I don't know yaar what have I written 😭 but what can I do ? I am not feeling like doing anything for the past few days and my health is also not good.