You are my Happiness

15th Feb., 2002 -

On the day following the meteor's descent, near the Monster Café during a peaceful late morning, Harsh lay on the ground. His legs were folded beneath him, and his face bore a concerning sight - blood gently trickling from his eyes, nose, and ear. For a brief moment, he seemed disconnected from reality, and the intense headache he had felt faded away. Harsh gazed up at the vast blue sky, quietly asking himself, "Who am I?" Then, he pondered a more profound question, "What am I. Doing here?" In his mind, he grappled with the puzzling vision of a woman as he gazed at the little girl and a gentle voice came urging him to "wait." These two things felt entirely contradictory to his puzzled mind.

The people nearby, initially stunned into silence, began to gather around, their numbers growing as more joined. Some couldn't bear the sight of Harsh's bloodied face and feared he might be possessed by something unnatural. Panic spread among the onlookers, leading some to call for an ambulance while others sought help from Sage, a local figure known for his wisdom. A few cautiously approached Harsh, attempting to offer assistance.

Sitting on the ground, Harsh lowered his gaze to observe the approaching crowd. Suddenly, the searing headache returned, causing him to let out a warning cry, prompting the people to keep their distance. Fearful, the crowd stepped back as Harsh clutched his throbbing head, desperately trying to endure the intense pain. Someone promptly called for emergency assistance, and an elderly woman began reciting sacred verses from the 'Hanuman Chalisa,' hoping to bring solace to the distressed man.

Inside the dimly lit Monster Café, two dedicated CID officers, Sneha and Sanjeev, took a well-deserved break from their demanding work, savoring a shared cup of coffee. Despite being new recruits, they had quickly developed a strong bond.

After finishing their coffee, they walked outside and were taken aback by an unexpected sight. A large crowd had gathered on the bustling street. Sanjeev, eager to make an impression on Sneeha, promptly took the lead, with Sneha in tow. They made their way through the crowd to find Harsh, who looked distressed and injured. Both officers quickly showed their IDs to disperse the public away.

Sneha approached Harsh gently, trying to talk to him. But something was terribly wrong. His face was a chilling sight, devoid of emotion, like a ghoul with no depth, and his eyes radiated an eerie blue glow. Yet, despite this gruesomeness, Sneha recognized him as someone who was presumed dead according to the Causality List. A spark of hope ignited within her, fueled by an unwavering determination to interrogate him and unearth leads to solve her given case.

Sneha tried to convince Harsh to come with them willingly, but he didn't respond. Sanjeev decided to take charge and move Harsh himself. Sneha was worried about the consequences, so she called for backup.

Once again, Harsh found himself lost in one of his peculiar visions. He stood high atop a hill, accompanied by a wise old sage dressed in a flowing white robe. The sage's eyes were like the night sky, dark and speckled with shimmering stars. In the distance, waves of fiery red swept across the horizon, and an unsettling scent hung in the air, as if war and despair were casting a long shadow over the world.

With a touch of sorrow in his voice, the elderly sage lamented, "You are not the savior, not a hero, not our hero. You've ignited this conflict." Harsh couldn't quite grasp the situation, and the sage's words remained shrouded in mystery. Despite the chaos, Harsh felt an unusual sensation—a strange fondness, a hint of serenity.

Sanjeev, wearing a sly smirk, cast a sidelong glance at Sneha as he approached Harsh.

Harsh's eyes, now an eerie shade of blue, snapped open. Without a second thought, he reached out and smacked Sanjeev's foot with his bare hand, as though it were a blade.

Sanjeev tumbled to the ground, yelping in pain, while Sneha's shocked cries went unanswered. Sanjeev clutched his throbbing foot, his suffering akin to a severe bruise, the injured area turning red and leaving a lasting mark. He groaned in agony, muttering, "What in the world... You, you rascal."

Harsh stood up, his expression emotionless, his face an unsettling sight. Dark lines of blood formed chilling patterns, stemming from his deep-blue, intense eyes.

In a bewildered haze, Harsh found himself abruptly thrust back into reality. His bewildered gaze drifted to his side, where Sanjeev lay, inexplicably clutching his ankles. Harsh was left utterly perplexed, his thoughts racing to make sense of this sudden turn of events. Meanwhile, Sanjeev's once tranquil countenance had given way to a startling manifestation of anger, rendering him an unrecognizable stranger. His eyes, now ablaze with an unsettling intensity, betrayed the transformation occurring within him.

Suddenly, as if propelled by some unseen force, Sanjeev tugged forcefully at Harsh's foot, sending him tumbling headfirst into a disorienting descent. Sanjeev, on the other hand, rose to his feet, an eerie chuckle escaping his lips, its tone tinged with a sinister undertone.

This sudden metamorphosis caught Sneha completely off guard. Sanjeev had always been a picture of composure in her presence, but this version of him appeared reckless and audacious. She was acutely aware that the adrenaline coursing through his veins was the only thing sustaining him in this frenzied state; it was only a matter of time before it waned. Thinking on her feet, she fumbled with her static-filled radio, urgently calling for reinforcements.

With Harsh pinned beneath him, Sanjeev began to rain down punches with his knuckles, each strike delivering a curious mix of pain and discomfort to himself. Harsh bore the brunt of the blows, his face bearing the unmistakable marks of a burgeoning bruise. Even as Sanjeev's hand reddened from the self-inflicted punishment, he persisted in his relentless assault. Amid the chaos, Harsh struggled to make sense of the situation unfolding around him. Yet, through the haze, he glimpsed Sneha, and a spark of recognition ignited within him.

Summoning an unexpected wellspring of strength, Harsh clamped onto Sanjeev's knuckles, his determination etched on his face. Sanjeev, in a desperate bid to retaliate, attempted to strike with his free hand, only to find it ensnared in Harsh's iron grip as well. Sanjeev's guard wavered momentarily due to the searing pain, and seizing the opportunity, Harsh sent Sanjeev flying with a mighty kick, using his free leg. As Harsh loomed ominously over Sneha, his countenance now bore an unmistakable blend of sorrow and regret, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Sneha, growing increasingly anxious, retreated cautiously, continuing her frantic plea for reinforcements through the radio, her voice laced with desperation. Sanjeev, in the throes of frustration, bellowed, "Stop, you bastard!" while he fought to regain his footing. As Harsh neared Sneha with tears glistening in his eyes, Sanjeev, driven by anger and humiliation, lunged at him in an attempt to tackle him to the ground. However, Harsh, anticipating the move with remarkable agility, sidestepped gracefully, causing Sanjeev to lose his balance and tumble to the ground.

Tension hung palpably in the air as Harsh pressed on, drawing nearer to Sneha, his heart heavy with emotion but just as Harsh was on the verge of reaching Sneha, the screeching arrival of several police cars shattered the stillness. A cadre of armed officers emerged from the vehicles, encircling Harsh and forming a protective shield around Sneha. Harsh found himself in a precarious predicament, trapped by law enforcement with his back against the storefronts. Sanjeev in his fury unabated, roared, "Nowhere to run, huh? Pathetic piece of shit," his words dripping with disdain.

The police chief stood firm, his voice carrying an authoritative tone as he addressed the tense situation, "We are the Mumbai police, and our intentions are not to harm you. Stay low and do not resist, and we won't pursue you."

Harsh's eyes darted anxiously to the side, and there it was - his only chance for escape, a narrow alleyway beckoning him. Without hesitation, he made a swift dash towards it, determined to outmaneuver the police who were now shouting, "Quick, pursue him!" Sneha, too, swiftly ordered her team to capture him. A squad of officers sprang into action, hot on Harsh's trail, and the chase was set in motion. Meanwhile, a remaining officer attended to Sanjeev and accompanied Sneha back to the station. During the ride, Sneha briefs the chief about Harsh's connection to the previous day's incident, emphasizing the need to apprehend him promptly.

Harsh's heart pounded as he raced through the cramped alleyways, the relentless footsteps of the police echoing behind him. The labyrinthine alleys eventually led him into a bustling market, where he attempted to disappear amidst the crowd. With remarkable skill, he adjusted his tattered clothing, concealing his face and blending seamlessly into the throng of people. The pursuing officers fanned out, scanning the area for any trace of him. Harsh knew he had little time; they would soon secure the exits. He deftly navigated the human tide, desperately seeking an escape route. Eventually, he stumbled upon a wider alley that spilled him onto a busy main street, a bustling pedestrian square adjacent to a broad four-lane road.

Gasping for breath, Harsh paused briefly, his heart pounding in his chest as he believed he had successfully evaded his pursuers. But as he cautiously took a few steps forward, two unfamiliar officers approached him from the opposite direction, their expressions revealing no recognition. In a split second, Harsh calmly altered his course, attempting to blend in. However, an unexpected sharp pain shot through his head, leaving him disoriented. From the very alley he had just emerged from, more police officers appeared, scouring the surroundings with determined eyes, all on the hunt for him. Spotting Harsh amidst the crowd, they swiftly communicated his location to their colleagues through radios. Fear coursing through him, Harsh accelerated into a sprint, knowing that the officers were in relentless pursuit.

A sleek gray car cruised down the wide, empty four-lane highway with a determination that matched its intense velocity. Heran, the driver, held onto the steering wheel with a sense of urgency, yet tears silently streaked down her face. Draped in an elegant all-white gown, following Sam's message to head for the stadium.

But fate had other plans in store for Heran. As the world blurred past her windows, she suddenly spotted a very familiar face - none other than Harsh, racing ahead with the relentless pursuit of the law hot on his heels. In a moment of shock and panic, Heran slammed her foot on the brakes, causing her tires to screech and her car to come to a smoking, heart-stopping halt. Cars behind her swerved and screeched to avoid a collision, their irate drivers pouring out of their vehicles and shouting angrily. Yet, amidst this chaos and commotion, Heran's sole focus remained on finding her precious someone.

With anxious eyes scanning the chaos, Heran couldn't locate Harsh amidst the turmoil, but she could see the flashing police lights and the officers chasing someone. Doubt gnawed at her mind, wondering if this was a vision or a cruel reality playing tricks on her.

A concerned man approached her car door, asking questions with a mix of curiosity and frustration, but Heran, still gripped by anxiety and confusion, decided to accelerate away from the scene. The disgruntled drivers behind her begrudgingly resumed their journeys, leaving the highway behind, but Heran's mind was still clouded by uncertainty.

Meanwhile, Harsh, pursued by the relentless law enforcement officers, managed to evade the initial wave of police vehicles. However, his escape was far from certain, as they had received orders not to return empty-handed. As twilight descended upon the city, the relentless chase continued.

Harsh, desperate to shake off his determined pursuer, called for backup. Another platoon of officers lead by Captain himself joined the pursuit, steadily closing the gap between them. Yet, Harsh refused to yield to the mounting pressure and kept running, determination etched into every step.

In a last-ditch effort to escape the relentless pursuit, Harsh dashed into a narrow alleyway, his heart pounding as he weaved through a labyrinth of crisscrossing passages. But, in the cruel twist of fate, he made a wrong turn, finding himself trapped in a dead-end with an imposing wall blocking his path, and a squad of officers closing in from the front.

As the officers closed in, taunts and threats filled the air, their voices echoing with the weight of impending capture. Harsh's head throbbed with a growing headache, and the Captain gloated, "Big mistake underestimating Mumbai PD."

With his back against the unforgiving wall, Harsh faced what seemed like an insurmountable situation. All hope appeared to be slipping away. His gaze fixed on the colossal wall before him, he could feel the tension in the air.

The officers warned him, "Don't try anything funny. Surrender peacefully, and it won't end too harshly for you." Suddenly, Harsh experienced a surreal vision of an unknown woman, her voice echoing with a strange, sweet reassurance, "Don't stop; we'll soon be together." His head throbbed with an almost unbearable pain, and he couldn't help but scream, clutching his head. The cops exchanged wary glances, a hint of fear flickering across their faces. The Captain ordered, "Capture him now!" The officers moved in, ready to apprehend him.

Then, in an astonishing turn of events, something truly remarkable occurred. Harsh's eyes began to emit a brilliant blue glow, and a radiant blue light began to envelop his legs as he leaped toward the sky. The officers were left dumbfounded, their jaws agape as they watched this supernatural feat unfold.

With a grace that defied all logic, Harsh landed gracefully on the other side of the imposing wall, his eyes returning to their normal state. He stood there, equally amazed and perplexed, unable to comprehend how he had accomplished such a miraculous escape. With no time to ponder the mysteries of this newfound ability, he made a fateful decision to go rogue in the bustling city.

On the journey back, as the vehicle hummed along the winding streets, a sudden wave of disorientation swept over Sanjeev. His eyes grew heavy, and the world around him blurred into a disconcerting mosaic of fragmented memories. As he blinked open his eyes, he realized he was lying in a sterile, white room, his head

heavy, and his body throbbing with pain, and his leg felt strangely disconnected. Peering beneath the blanket that covered him, he discovered his foot is encased in bandages, the sight both reassuring and perplexing in equal measure.

A haze of recollection began to form within his consciousness, and faint images of their encounter with Harsh danced at the edge of his mind. Turning his gaze towards them bedside, he found a nurse watching him closely. Startled, Sanjeev's voice cracked as he uttered, "Wait, this isn't what it looks like."

The nurse, her expression compassionate, moved towards the door. Just as she left, Sneha rushed in, clutching a stack of files. Nurse politely requested the exit and lives, with the room to themselves, Sanjeev struggled to sit up, his legs still uncooperative. Sneha's arrival brought both relief and curiosity. She studied Sanjeev intently but remained silent.

Sanjeev's eyes shifted to the table nearby, covered with documents detailing every aspect of Harsh's life, from his residence and education to his workplace. Amidst the paperwork lay a pile of printed sheets, the word 'Wanted' prominently displayed with Harsh's picture at its center.

Attempting to stand, Sanjeev's legs betrayed him, causing him to falter. Sneha, concerned, inquired, "Are you alright?"

Sanjeev responded, "I'm okay, but my legs won't cooperate."

Sneha attempted to assist him, despite his shyness. As she helped him sit, their bodies unavoidably brushed against each other, sending a shiver down Sanjeev's spine. He tries to pull back himself after the collision but as he shifted back, Sneha's boobs flashed before his eyes. He turned crimson, his embarrassment evident, and he gingerly withdrew.

Concern etched across her face, Sneha scrutinized him. "Are you sure you're alright? You're turning quite red. Perhaps I should call the doctor."

Sanjeev, determined to regain his composure, shook his head adamantly and eased himself back onto the bed. He stopped Sneha's concerns and watched as she returned to her task of sorting through the documents.

However, as Sanjeev tried to piece together the events leading to his current situation, he couldn't escape the nagging realization of his syndrome. Tentatively, he asked Sneha, "Did I, by any chance, behave strangely?"

Sneha reassured him, "No, you were just a bit more assertive than usual, which isn't typical for you."

Sanjeev's expression fell, and his mind raced with apprehensions. "Assertive? That means it happened again," He whispered to himself, envisioning the darkest possibilities, "I can't recall a thing, what if I offended Madam or revealed an uncomfortable truth like the last time? What if I hurt her and she doesn't like me anymore or criticized her fashion choices or, even wore proposed her? Or maybe made an inappropriate gestures like grabbed her bonkers or peaked at her undies?" His mind raced with these fleeting thoughts, causing his face to blush with embarrassment and his expressions ranged from confused to bizarre.

After watching his emotional rollercoaster, Sneha's own expression shifting from curiosity to mild concern. She felt disturbed and couldn't help but mutter, "Weirdo," under her breath.

After hours of anxious waiting, as the evening cast its gentle shadows, a group of police officers arrived at the doors of Police Clinic, carrying vital news in their hands. Sneeha, fully immersed in her laptop, was surrounded by a carefully arranged cluster of telephones. She meticulously combed through articles, scribbling notes with precision. Sanjeev rested on a clinic bed, a bright red mark on his left cheek reminding him of his recent altercation and a forceful slap he had bore. His face twisted with discomfort as the doctor examined his leg, searching for the source of the nerve causing him rendered immobile.

With an air of seriousness, the officers entered the room, delivering somber updates alongside intriguing additional information. They shared a detailed account of their pursuit of Harsh, shedding light on the hardships they had faced in capturing him. They narrated the intense standoff, where they had successfully cornered him, only for Harsh to execute an incredible leap, clearing a wall nearly

eleven-feet high—an athletic feat that even seasoned athletes would find nearly impossible.

The old doctor taps Sanjeev with a small hammer to trying to uncover the source of paralysis. Intrigued, Sanjeev shouts and momentarily grabs the doctor's tool, insisting on hearing the revelation. For Sneeha, this newfound information carries significant weight as potential evidence. Urgently, Sanjeev asks, "Is he the one?" Sneeha nods with determination, her eyes narrowing in thought. "He may have acquired destructive abilities from Raj tech, which could be a crucial lead in yesterday's incident," she suggests. Sneeha's agreement carries unwavering conviction as she adds, "This could be the solid evidence we've tirelessly sought."

As the golden hues of the setting sun cast long shadows on the bustling street, Harsh's steps seemed almost aimless. Memories of happier days danced through his mind, a bittersweet reverie that clashed with the throbbing pain in his head, threatening to consume him. With every step, weariness weighed on his shoulders, and his parched throat yearned for relief, while the gnawing hunger in his belly grew more insistent. His journey led him through a labyrinth of faces and voices, a cacophony of strangers, until, almost by accident, he stumbled upon a humble store selling bottled water.

There, the cool glint of those bottles beckoned him, a mirage of refreshment in a desert of his despair. But as he fixated on the promise of quenching his thirst, the store owner's abrupt and harsh shout jarred him from his thoughts. "Go away!" the owner barked, an abrupt dismissal that stung. And then, a woman's voice, no less aggressive, chimed in, "TAKE IT!" Despite the unexpected offer, Harsh merely clenched his left arm and continued his weary march, unnoticed by the passersby who deftly averted their gaze.

Meanwhile, within the confines of Agarwal Clothings, Kajal meticulously delved into the intricate details of a sales report, her mind engrossed in the world of numbers and data. However, her intense focus was momentarily disrupted when a familiar face caught her eye through the window. It was a brief but poignant moment that stirred something deep within her.

Without a second thought, she dashed outside, her determined strides resonating with purpose as she pursued the man.

The bustling streets turned into a bewildering maze, and her pursuit led her to unfamiliar faces that bore no resemblance to the man she was chasing. Panic gripped her, a frantic urgency driving her to scour every corner for any sign of him. Her heart whispered with certainty that the fleeting glimpse had indeed been Harsh.

Returning to the store, she was met with an unsettling encounter. A persistent stalker, also known as the leader of a local gang with a questionable reputation, accosted her. He leered and taunted, “Hey there, babe, looking for someone? Well, you’ve found me. Come, have a seat on my lap.” His crude words drew laughter from his gang members, who pointed at her. Kajal’s response was firm and direct, “Fuck off,” she retorted before walking away towards her store. As she moved away, the lecherous group continued to ogle her, commenting on her appearance from behind, fixating on her features and figure. Unbeknownst to them, a pair of fierce eyes observed their every move.

After Kajal had departed, Sam rushed towards the group of lechers, his intentions far more severe than mere retribution. Panic swept through the perverts as they recognized him, their voices erupting into frantic screams of, “It’s Samir, run!”

In their desperate attempts to escape, they stumbled over one another, their legs trembling with fear at the mere sight of Sam’s determined countenance. Chaos reigned as they scattered in every direction, a turbulent sea of fear and confusion in the wake of Sam’s approach.

Once she entered the store, Kajal resolved to review the day’s CCTV footage, holding on to a glimmer of hope. And there, in the flickering frames, a clear image of Harsh emerged. Emotions surged within her—anticipation, relief, and a newfound sense of happiness washed over her, infusing her with purpose once more.

Kajal wasted no time, dialing Heran with urgency in her voice, the words tumbling out, "I found Harsh." On the other end of the line, Heran's heart skipping a beat and could only muster a shocked, "What?" She hastily packed her belongings, racing towards Agarwal Clothings in her car. The drive was quite yet tumultuous, as the wheels turned, Heran couldn't help but ponder the enigma of the man she had seen earlier. Was he truly Harsh, and if so, what had prompted the police to be in his pursuit? Questions and anticipation raced through her mind fueling her determination.

Arriving at their agreed-upon meeting spot, the two friends reunited, their faces etched with a mix of hope and apprehension. Kajal recounted every detail about her encounter with Harsh, her voice trembling with emotion. Yet, amidst this reunion, Kajal's mother entered the scene, extending a warm welcome to Heran, her words unveiling a new layer of complexity. Kajal was under immense pressure to complete her monthly sales report by dinner, a fact that ignited an ember of anger within her.

Anger surged within Kajal, a sense of injustice that she couldn't ignore. She protested, explaining that she was already drowning in her workload and couldn't meet the unreasonably tight deadline. Her mother's temper flared as she reminded Kajal of her recent leaves, her patience thinning with each word. Desperation filled Kajal's voice as she disclosed that she had attended a friend's funeral earlier that day. Yet, her mother's concerns extended beyond the present; Kajal had taken leave two days before. With unwavering resolve, her mother underscored the report's importance and retreated into the store.

Heran felt a pang of guilt for entangling Kajal in this whirlwind. Apologizing, she suggested that Kajal return to assist her mother. But Kajal, her frustration bubbling, declined the offer, feeling neglected and unappreciated. She confided in Heran, "Nah, I'm fine here. She doesn't treat me well; it's like I'm adopted or something." Heran, her voice soothing, reasoned that Kajal's anger was coloring her perception and reassured her that her mother loved her deeply. Kajal looked at Heran, a mix of emotions in her eyes, and after a moment of contemplation, they decided to divide their efforts to search for Harsh more efficiently.

[WRITER’S NOTE – At the entrance of Agarwal Clothings, Sam strolled in, finding the cash register area strangely deserted. With a quizzical glance around, he noticed a partially filled sales report file resting atop the counter. Without hesitation, he assumed the role of the cashier, positioning himself behind the register.

With nimble fingers, he seized the pen and began transcribing the month’s sales data from the computer. His pen danced across the paper, meticulously recording each transaction, ensuring every figure was accurately captured. The soft hum of the computer served as a backdrop to his silent dedication as he meticulously etched the financial story of the past month.]

After hours of relentless searching, as the clock approached nine o'clock in the evening, Kajal threaded her way through the bustling streets, her footsteps echoing the urgency that had driven her throughout the day. Weary but undeterred, she rounded a corner and happened upon a bounty poster that clung tenaciously to a bus stand. Its proclamation was unequivocal: 'Wanted,' it blared, and above the bold lettering, a photograph of Harsh gazed somberly, tempting fate with an enticing ₹32,700 reward for his capture or any tidbit of related information. The revelation that her quest had unearthed shook Kajal to her very core, prompting her trembling fingers to tear the poster away from its metal moorings in a surreal act of disbelief.

Meanwhile, Heran embarked on her tireless expedition, traversing the vast urban expanse within the confines of her car. The minutes ticked away as she covered significant ground, her determination unswerving. At last, as if guided by fate or an unseen hand, she spotted a familiar figure among the scattered shadows of an empty park—Harsh, the elusive quarry of this citywide chase. Without a moment's hesitation, she maneuvered her car to a halt and rushed towards him, the adrenaline coursing through her veins lending an almost surreal quality to her pursuit.

Yet, as Heran closed the distance between them, something peculiar seized her attention. Harsh, despite his physical exhaustion forged by ceaseless run, wore an odd cloak of tranquility. The debilitating headaches that had plagued him had vanished into the ether, but his body ached with the weariness of endless miles, his legs threatened mutiny, and an insatiable thirst taunted his parched throat.

The park itself stirred dormant memories within Harsh, casting an aura of nostalgia upon his fevered senses. With faltering steps, he made an attempt to approach a wooden bench, his gaze drifting along the pathways etched with echoes of the past. Yet, with each advancing stride, his vision blurred, and the burden of his weary body grew heavier, until, with an almost tragic inevitability, he collapsed, his outstretched hand tantalizingly close to the embrace of the bench.

Then, like a guardian angel descending from the heavens, someone reached out and steadied his faltering form. As Harsh's eyelids fluttered open, he found himself cradled within the gentle, tear-stained countenance of Heran. Her gaze, a mirror of profound sorrow, met his, and he, in turn, surrendered to the vast expanse of the starlit sky above. His eyes grew heavy, and his labored breaths seemed to bear the weight of his arduous journey.

"Why didn't you show up last night?" Heran's voice quavered with emotion, her tears tracing silent rivers down her cheeks. "I was so worried about you. Did you forget I was waiting? Did you forget me?"

Harsh's sobs, wrought from exhaustion and the relentless storm of his emotions, intensified as he struggled to find words. "I don't... I don't know who you are. Why are you crying? I don't know... I don't know who I am to you."

Clutching Harsh closer to her chest, Heran held him in a tender embrace, her tears falling like rain upon his weary head. "I know you do," she whispered, her voice trembling with an undying hope. "You know this place. Remember when you brought me here after our first date? You were going to propose to me, but you were too shy and scared. I was scared too, afraid of the fancy restaurant and its bright lights. We were both nervous."

Harsh clung to consciousness like a sailor to a lifebuoy, his memories slowly resurfacing like treasures from the depths of the sea. Heran giggled softly amidst her tears. "But then you brought me here. We sat on this very bench. You had forgotten the ring at the restaurant; you were so clumsy back then." They both chuckled, their laughter mingling with tears like the rain and sunshine coalescing in a storm.

"Then," Heran continued, her voice tender and filled with warmth, "you picked a white flower from a nearby branch, knelt in front of me, and said you wanted to be with me until we withered away. I didn't know how to react, so I jumped on you and said yes, I wanted to be with you. I was so happy back then, with you."

Their laughter and tears blended seamlessly in this poignant moment, as Harsh's eyes began to regain their light, shifting to a brighter shade of brown, reflecting the rekindling flames of his memory.

Standing together, leaning on each other for support, the flickering light pole above them finally gave out with a faint, distant . buzz, mirroring Harsh's exhaustion. He slumped, but Heran, ever the steadfast guardian of their shared history, caught him, cradling him against her shoulder. With a sigh of relief and a heart filled with love, she whispered, "You are my happiness," a warm smile gracing her lips as they embarked on this new chapter, hand in hand.

[WRITER’S NOTE - In a Former time, beneath the soft caress of a moonlit night, Harsh and Heran found themselves reunited, seated upon that ever-familiar bench in the park. The intermittent flickering of the gentle overhead light lent an enchanting allure to the atmosphere, casting fleeting shadows that danced like whispers on the ground. Heran, her demeanor as graceful as ever, cradled a bouquet of dainty white blossoms in her hands, their pristine petals glowing ethereally in the moon's tender embrace.

As their fingers intertwined, the couple emitted an unmistakable aura of warmth and tenderness that enveloped them like a cozy, well-worn blanket. The silence that hung between them was not one of tension, but of serene contentment, as if the world had hushed itself to allow their shared moment to blossom. Their love, palpable even in the simplest of gestures, wove an enchanting tale of affection that anyone fortunate enough to witness could feel deep within their own hearts.]

With unwavering determination, Heran carried Harsh on her shoulder, pressing forward despite the visible strain in every step. Her resolute spirit was her driving force, while Harsh, nearly exhausted, was guided persistently by her towards her car. As he finally settled into the car's passenger seat, fatigue overcame him.

Without delay, Heran retrieved a water bottle from her car's console and extended it towards Harsh. He, his energy depleted, struggled even to twist off the bottle cap. Heran stepped in to lend him a hand, allowing Harsh to take a few revitalizing sips of water before surrendering to much-needed rest.

Heran, with the thought of their usual rendezvous point in mind, decided to give Kajal a call and share the good news of finding Harsh. Kajal, upon receiving the call, promptly hopped onto her trusty KTM, ready to reunite with her friends. Heran steered the car back, and after a brief yet heartwarming reunion, they set off to their prearranged meeting spot.

Meanwhile, Kajal's phone chimed with a second call, this time from her persistent mother. Kajal, in a lighthearted moment, decided to decline her mother's call for the time being. Her curiosity about Harsh's condition got the best of her, and she turned to Heran for an update.

As Heran opened the car's back door to reveal Harsh's presence, Kajal's face displayed a mixture of disbelief and amusement. She couldn't contain herself as she exclaimed, "I can't believe it! I attended your funeral today, and here he is, lying in your car. Isn't that crazy?" In response to Kajal's infectious laughter, Heran giggled, and they shared a heartfelt moment of mirth.

Kajal's mother, made yet another attempt to reach her daughter but this time from the balcony of their home. Her brother, Sam, chimed in, expressing their mother's concerns. With a playful grin, Kajal teased Sam by revealing Harsh's presence with a mischievous remark. Sam, initially skeptical, demanded an explanation, Kajal folds her to ask Heran. Sam looks at Heran and, with the wind gently caressing her face, confirmed, "It's Harsh; he's here." Sam's face transformed from a mixture of anger and confusion to one of sheer joy.

Sam couldn't contain his excitement as he inquired about Harsh's whereabouts. Kajal explained that their friend was taking a much-needed nap in Heran's car after a tiring day. Sam, determined to extend his gratitude, dashed inside the house and returned with a meticulously completed file of monthly sales, which he tossed to Kajal. Catching the file with a grateful smile, Kajal thanked Sam, referring to him as the best brother.

Soon, a towering figure, cloaked in the shroud of the night, emerged silently behind Heran. In his grasp, a cigarette smoldered, its ember a tiny beacon in the darkness. His frame exuded strength, an imposing presence that commanded attention.

With practiced ease, he retrieved the cigarette from his lips, holding it aloft. The tendrils of smoke danced in the moonlight, forming ethereal patterns in the air. Heran, sensing his presence without the need to turn, felt an involuntary shiver coursing through her, like an unexpected gust of wind on a chilly evening.

>> Here ends the 3rd chapter...