Last 12 hours of Abhi's life had been no less than a rollercoaster ride. He should have been spending his wedding night with Pragya by then but instead he was in his room alone holding his head in his hands. His wedding wasn't stopped by the goons or anyone else but him. A severe headache and a series of images in his mind stopped him from getting married to Pragya again. Again. The word 'Again' was the root of all problems. He was already married to Pragya and he had forgotten it. His world became unstable and collapsed. His family was happy that he got his memory back but he couldn't be. Everything seemed confusing to him that he wasn't able to distinguish between reality and his imaginations. He wanted to be left alone. He wasn't in a mood to take anymore. The process of his memory returning to him was more like a flood of information rushing into his brain all of a sudden and he felt like he was stuck at the depth of it.
He had noticed that neither Aliya nor Tanu were present when he was brought home. They would have obviously known the danger of being seen by him. He wasn't going to leave them unpunished but he badly wanted to fall on his bed. He was exhausted both emotionally as well as physically. Usually he resorted to alcohol during painful situations but then he wanted to be in his senses. He wondered that if he wakes up the next day, he would feel it's all a dream. He hadn't spoken a word to Pragya since he came home. He could see a mix of pain and happiness in her eyes but he was already an emotional mess that he was afraid that he would tell something that might hurt her. She looked dangerously fragile even though he supposed he was in a vulnerable state.
He couldn't sleep. He found it unfathomable that a single person's loss of memory could make a family so helpless. He wanted to hold his people responsible for the mess. How could they allow him to make bad decisions and be with bad people when he was at disadvantage due to his memory loss? Is it too much to ask? Shouldn't they have protected him? He wanted to shout at them. He wanted to ask his Daadi why she let everything happen. He wanted to grab Purab's collar and ask him how could he let him marry Tanu. He wanted to ask Pragya why she didn't tell him she was his wife. He was an angry man and had a bad temper but he wasn't blind to the intentions of his loved ones. He understood their helplessness though he wished they could have made him understand things by hook or crook. How bad would have Daadi felt seeing him being fooled again and again? How angry would have been Purab to see his friend being cheated? How depressing must it have been for Pragya to see him see her just as a secretary and marry Tanu? The more he thought about it, the more angry he was with himself. Why was he even confused whether he loved Pragya or not? His memory loss wasn't just his loss but the loss of happiness of his loved ones. He stood up and started pacing around the room. When his legs and brain got tired, his eyes drifted to sleep.
He woke up to the chill breeze from the window.
"Fuggy, close the windows", he said in sleep pulling a pillow to cover his ears.
"Fuggy", he repeated this time louder. It was after few seconds, he realised what he said. He got up from the bed and went to the balcony. He knew what exactly he was going to do.
"Who has come at this time?", murmured Sarla as she went to open the door. The doorbell rang again and she got annoyed.
"What-", she stopped her words when she saw Abhi standing at her door step. She was shocked to say the least. Pragya's Daadi came to the scene asking what she was doing instead of sleeping. Seeing Abhi, she invited him in and Sarla made him sit on the couch after which she offered to go and wake up Pragya. But before she could take few steps, Abhi called her "Aunty Ji"
When she turned to face him, he asked her whether he could meet Pragya on his own. Sarla and Pragya's Daadi looked at each other with happy smiles and both of them told him that it was his home and he doesn't need to get permission.
He entered her room and closed the door. He could make out her sleeping face from the dim light coming from the bed lamp. Her being scared of darkness and having light on while sleeping facilitated him to sit on the bed and watch her face. He remembered how in the beginning she disliked his music. He thought that life was crazy that she became his fan number 1. He planned to ask later whether she really started liking his music. It was clear that she had been crying. Her face looked swollen and there were tear marks on her cheeks. He bent down to kiss her forehead but she ended up turning around in sleep that his kiss landed on her pillow. She wasn't being easy even while sleeping, he murmured. He could no longer see her face as her back was facing the lamp. He was pondering whether to wake her up or wait till the morning. It was almost 1 am. He decided to let her sleep and wait till then.
Pragya felt a huge mass of warmth behind her and something encircling her waist. She was too sleepy to wake up initially but after few seconds, she felt alarmed and turned back. As soon as he felt her moving, his sleep got disturbed and he opened his eyes.
"Aap", she said shocked. She wasn't sure it wasn't her dream but she was also puzzled whether dreams would feel so real.
"Aap...", she said again.
"You must be tired. Sleep now. We'll talk in the morning", he whispered.
"But... Aap... Here...", she stuttered but he put his finger on his lips.
"I am telling you na. Sleep now. I will be here only. I won't go anywhere. We'll talk in the morning. No more talks. Close your eyes."
She didn't really know what they were going to talk in the morning or what was going on his mind but she knew he wasn't going to leave her and that was enough. Every other question can be put to sleep. He pulled her close and she put her head on his chest snuggling closer to him. She was sure that "tomorrow is going to be a better day". He ran his fingers through her hair and if asked he would have been ready to promise that he never felt so happy before. Both had found their home.
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