Rishabh leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the wooden desk. His office was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from his laptop screen displaying Ishan’s altered records.

"So," he exhaled, eyes locked onto Ishan, who sat across from him, visibly shaken. "You’re telling me that before five years ago, you remember nothing?"

Ishan nodded slowly. "Not a single thing. No childhood memories, no family, no friends. Just… blank."

Rishabh exchanged a glance with Mayank, who was fidgeting restlessly beside Ishan. "And now some guy—Shubman—appears out of nowhere, claiming to be your husband?"

Ishan clenched his fists. "Yes. But something feels off about him. I don’t know why, but when I look at him, my head starts pounding. Like my brain is trying to tell me something, but I can’t—" He exhaled sharply, frustrated.

Rishabh steepled his fingers. "Alright. First, we stop treating this as a coincidence. Someone wiped your past, and I want to know who and why." He turned his laptop around to show them a database of private transactions. "Mayank gave me access to certain… let’s say, ‘unofficial’ records. And guess what?"

Mayank leaned forward. "What?"

"Around five years ago, a massive sum of money was transferred into an account under Shubman Gill’s name. An account that never existed before that day."

Ishan’s breath hitched. "Five years ago… the same time my records start?"

Rishabh nodded. "Exactly."

Ishan swallowed hard. "This isn’t just identity theft, is it?"

Rishabh shook his head. "No, Ishan. This is something much, much bigger."

----

Mayank’s fingers flew across his keyboard as lines of encrypted data scrolled down his screen. His eyes narrowed in concentration. “Okay, I’m in.”

Ishan and Rishabh leaned over his shoulder, watching the screen light up with numbers.

“Bank transactions?” Ishan asked, his voice hesitant.

“Not just any transactions,” Rishabh muttered, pointing at a particular set of numbers. “This right here—five years ago, Shubman Gill’s account received a sudden deposit of five million rupees.”

Ishan’s stomach twisted. “Five million?”

Mayank nodded. “And the strangest part? Before that, there were no records of this account even existing.”

Ishan frowned. “Wait. What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Mayank continued, “it’s as if someone created this bank account from scratch five years ago, dumped a huge amount of money into it, and then—” He clicked on another tab, pulling up a timeline of transactions. “—for the next few years, there were only small, controlled withdrawals. Someone was living off this money, but carefully. No luxury splurges, no unnecessary spending. Almost like they were trying not to draw attention to themselves.”

Ishan felt his pulse quicken. “And this account is definitely under Shubman’s name?”

“Yes,” Rishabh confirmed. “But I don’t think he’s the one who opened it. Someone else set this up for him.”

Ishan gritted his teeth. “So, you’re saying that five years ago, someone erased my past and, at the same time, gave Shubman five million rupees?”

“Exactly,” Mayank said grimly. “And I bet whoever did this wasn’t just being generous. This was payment for something.”

Ishan shivered. “Payment for what?”

Rishabh exhaled. “That’s what we need to find out.”

----

Ishan sat at the café table, his fingers gripping the edge of his chair as he anxiously glanced at the time on his phone.

“He should have been here by now,” he muttered under his breath.

Rishabh, sitting across from him, sipped his coffee but didn’t look any more relaxed. “He promised he’d meet us?”

Ishan nodded. “Yes. Nikhil was my college classmate. He told me he remembered me from before five years ago. He said he had something important to tell me about my past.”

Rishabh glanced at the empty seat beside them. “Then where the hell is he?”

Mayank, who had been leaning against the café counter, checking his laptop, suddenly looked up. “I tried calling him five times already. His phone is switched off.”

A cold shiver ran down Ishan’s spine. “Something’s wrong.”

Just then, a waiter approached their table. “Excuse me,” he said hesitantly. “Are you Ishan Verma?”

Ishan looked up. “Yes?”

The waiter handed him a folded napkin. “A man told me to give this to you.”

Heart pounding, Ishan unfolded it.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you. Please don't look for me."

Rishabh snatched the napkin and examined it. “He was scared.”

“Or someone made him scared,” Mayank said darkly.

Ishan’s stomach twisted. Nikhil had been excited to meet. He had said he remembered things about Ishan that no one else did. And now, suddenly, he was gone?

“What do we do?” Ishan whispered, feeling lost.

Rishabh’s jaw tightened. “We keep digging. Because whoever scared him away doesn’t want us to know the truth.”

----

Ishan sat on the couch, staring blankly at the napkin note. The words kept echoing in his mind—I can't help you. Please don't look for me.

Mayank was pacing the room, his frustration evident. “This isn’t a coincidence. First, all your past records vanish. Now, someone who claims to remember you disappears? Someone is watching us.”

Rishabh checked his phone, his face grim. “I’ve tried tracking Nikhil’s last location. His phone was last active near the university, but now it’s completely offline.”

Ishan ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Why would anyone go this far just to erase my past?”

Before anyone could answer, a sudden loud BANG! echoed through the apartment.

The three of them jumped.

“What the hell was that?!” Mayank exclaimed.

Ishan rushed to the window. His eyes widened in horror.

A brick lay on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass. A folded piece of paper was wrapped around it.

Rishabh hurried over and picked it up. His hands tightened into fists as he read the message aloud:

"Stop digging. Or next time, it won’t be a warning."

The room fell into a tense silence.

Mayank cursed under his breath. “They aren’t just erasing your past, Ishan. They’re willing to hurt you to keep it hidden.”

Ishan swallowed hard. His hands trembled as he stared at the note.

Someone out there knew the truth about him.

And they were ready to do anything to keep it buried.

-----

The air in Ishan’s apartment felt heavy with tension. Mayank was already on the phone, trying to get security footage of the street outside. Rishabh, on the other hand, paced back and forth, muttering under his breath.

Ishan just sat there, staring at the broken glass, still gripping the threatening note. Someone was trying to scare him into stopping. But stopping what? He didn’t even know what he was searching for anymore.

A sharp knock on the door startled all three of them.

Rishabh moved toward the door cautiously, glancing at Ishan before opening it.

And there stood Shubman, looking completely unbothered.

Ishan felt an instant wave of unease. Every time he looked at Shubman, something inside him screamed that something was wrong—but he could never figure out what.

“What are you doing here?” Rishabh asked coldly.

Shubman gave a casual smile. “I heard about the incident. I came to check on my husband.”

Ishan tensed. His husband? The words felt foreign to him.

Shubman’s gaze flickered to the shattered window. “Quite the mess. Must have been terrifying, huh?”

His voice was calm—too calm.

Ishan studied him carefully. There was no worry, no panic, not even curiosity. Just complete indifference.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Mayank pointed out suspiciously.

Shubman sighed, stepping inside like he owned the place. “Of course, I’m not. I told you all before—there are people out there who want to break us apart, Ishan. Someone doesn’t want you to remember your past.”

Ishan felt his frustration spike. “Then tell me about my past! Why do I only remember the last five years? Why don’t I remember you?”

Shubman’s expression didn’t waver. He simply reached out, gently cupping Ishan’s cheek.

“You don’t have to force yourself,” he said in a soothing tone. “Your memories will come back naturally. Just trust me.”

Ishan felt his body tense at the touch. His head pounded again, flashes of something trying to break through the fog in his mind. But the moment passed too quickly.

Shubman stepped back, acting like the conversation had never happened.

“I’ll handle the police report for this incident,” he said, adjusting his watch. “No need to stress yourself, love.”

Then, just like that, he walked out.

Ishan stared at the door after he left, his pulse racing.

Something about Shubman’s calmness didn’t sit right with him.

It almost felt like he already knew what was going to happen.

------

Ishan jolted awake, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands clutched the bedsheet, damp with sweat. The room was dark, except for the dim glow of his bedside lamp. His heart pounded against his ribs, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was.

The dream had felt so real.

A dark room. The cold press of a hand gripping his wrist. A voice—low and soothing—whispering words he couldn’t quite make out. The worst part? The face.

It was Shubman’s face.

But there was something wrong. The smile had been just a little too wide. The eyes had held something almost hungry. And the way he had dragged Ishan into the darkness, ignoring his protests, had sent pure terror through his veins.

Ishan shuddered, running a hand through his messy hair. He turned to check his phone—3:47 AM. Another sleepless night.

He sighed and leaned back against the pillows, trying to steady his breathing.

It’s just a nightmare, he told himself. It doesn’t mean anything.

But deep down, a part of him knew.

It wasn’t just a nightmare.

It was a memory.

----

Ishan sat at a quiet corner table in the café, absentmindedly stirring his tea. He had barely slept, and the exhaustion was starting to weigh on him. Every time he closed his eyes, the nightmare returned—Shubman’s face, the cold hand, the dark room.

He needed a distraction.

As if on cue, the café’s speakers crackled to life, playing an old tune. It was soft, slow, and strangely familiar. The melody sent a shiver down his spine, but he couldn’t understand why.

His fingers tightened around the cup. His mind tried to grasp at the memory, but it slipped away like sand through his fingers.

“Are you okay?”

Ishan blinked, looking up to see Rishabh watching him with concern.

“That song…” Ishan’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I know it.”

Rishabh frowned. “It’s an old song. A classic, I guess. Why?”

Ishan shook his head, trying to piece together the fragments in his mind. “I don’t know. It just…feels important.”

A memory—just out of reach. A warm voice humming that very tune. A hand gently ruffling his hair.

His heart clenched painfully.

Who was it?

“Maybe you heard it before,” Rishabh suggested. “Sometimes things from our past stick with us without us realizing.”

Ishan nodded absently, but something deep inside told him this wasn’t just some random song from his childhood.

It was a clue.

----

Ishan walked aimlessly through the city streets, his mind clouded with unease. The song from earlier still lingered in his thoughts, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place where he had heard it before.

His feet carried him into a high-end shopping district, where designer stores lined the sidewalks. Normally, he wouldn’t have entered a place like this, but a sudden whiff of perfume in the air made him freeze.

The scent was soft yet intoxicating, a blend of sandalwood and jasmine.

His breath hitched. Why did it feel so personal?

His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He turned sharply, following the scent into an upscale boutique. The store was filled with expensive clothes and jewelry, but Ishan barely noticed any of it.

His gaze landed on the perfume display. A row of glass bottles shimmered under the bright lights, but one in particular made his heart race.

He picked it up. The name felt familiar.

The moment he sprayed it onto his wrist, a flash of something crashed into his mind.

—Laughter. Hands gripping his waist. A voice whispering, "This smells just like you, Ishan."—

The memory was too fast, too fragmented. It was gone before he could grasp it.

Ishan gasped, his head spinning. His fingers trembled as he placed the bottle back.

Who had said those words to him?

And why couldn’t he remember anything before five years ago?

----

Ishan hurried out of the boutique, his chest tight with unease. The scent still clung to his wrist, teasing the edges of his fragmented memory. His breathing was uneven as he walked down the street, trying to shake off the strange feeling gnawing at him.

Was that a real memory, or was his mind playing tricks on him?

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a message from Abhishek.

"Where are you? Call me ASAP."

Ishan frowned but didn’t reply. He didn’t feel like talking right now—not when his own past felt like a blurry, half-finished puzzle.

As he reached a traffic signal, his eyes landed on Shubman standing across the street. He wasn’t smiling or calling out to him—he was just standing there, watching.

Something about the way he stood felt wrong.

A wave of dizziness hit Ishan so hard that he had to grab a nearby pole for support. His vision wavered, and for a split second—Shubman’s face shifted.

It wasn’t his usual expression. It was...warped.

His smile stretched too wide, his eyes too dark, his face almost inhuman.

Ishan’s breath hitched. He blinked rapidly, and just like that—Shubman looked normal again.

Ishan felt his stomach churn. His skin prickled with a deep, inexplicable fear.

Was he hallucinating?

Or had he just seen something he wasn’t supposed to?

-----

Ishan stormed into the apartment, his hands shaking as he shut the door behind him. His heart was still hammering from what had just happened. That thing he saw—it wasn’t real, right? It couldn’t be.

Before he could even process it, Abhishek walked in from the kitchen, his brows furrowed.

"What the hell is going on with you?" he demanded.

Ishan flinched at his sharp tone. “I don’t know,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I think… I’m losing my mind.”

Abhishek’s expression softened. He walked over, placing both hands on Ishan’s shoulders. "What happened?"

Ishan hesitated, then blurted out, "I saw Shubman. But for a moment, he… he didn’t look like himself. His face—" He exhaled shakily, unable to finish.

Abhishek studied him carefully before sighing. "You’re not crazy, Ishan. Something is messing with your head."

Ishan clenched his fists. "Then why do I feel like I’m the only one noticing it?"

Abhishek sat him down on the couch and leaned forward. "Listen, you've been having weird memory gaps, recurring nightmares, and now this? Someone could be manipulating you—mentally or even chemically."

Ishan's head snapped up. “Chemically?”

Abhishek nodded. “Drugs. Psychological conditioning. It’s not unheard of.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And if that’s the case, it means someone wants you to doubt yourself.”

Ishan swallowed hard. The thought of someone deliberately messing with his mind sent a chill down his spine.

Abhishek continued, “Whatever’s happening, you need to stop being alone with him.”

Ishan hesitated. "You think he's dangerous?"

Abhishek’s jaw tightened. "I think he’s hiding something. And until we figure out what, you need to stay the hell away from him."

Ishan wanted to argue, but deep down, he knew Abhishek was right.

Something wasn’t adding up.

And if he didn’t start finding answers soon…

He might lose his mind completely.

To be continued.....