Chapter 6: A Daughter's Devotion and the Lost Years

The Chocolate Promise

The nurse gently cleaned the scrape on Sharmila’s cheek, her expression soft with pity. But Sharmila’s eyes were locked on the bed beside her, where Priya lay still, lost in an unyielding coma.

“Why is she always sleeping?” Sharmila asked, a curious furrow in her brow.

The nurse, speaking in simple terms the child could grasp, explained, “She’s in a very deep sleep, darling. It will take a long time for her to wake up.”

“Can’t anyone wake her?”

“No one can,” the nurse replied, then added quietly, “She has no one to look after her right now, just like you.”

The quiet sadness of that statement struck Sharmila. She slid off her bed and padded to Priya’s side. She stroked Priya’s hand, a fierce, innocent protectiveness rising in her chest. “It’s okay. Sleep well. I’ll look after you.”

The nurse smiled, tears welling slightly. “Will you really, little one?”

Sharmila nodded seriously. “Yes! I’ll sing to her, and feed her, and tell her everything.”

“You don't need to do all that. Just being here is enough. And if you look after her really well,” the nurse whispered conspiratorially, “I’ll get you a big chocolate bar.”

“It’s a deal!” Sharmila beamed. She gently touched Priya’s forehead. “From now on, I’m taking care of you.”

Sharmila spent hours in vigil. She gently massaged Priya’s feet and cleaned her face with a cool, wet cloth. One night, a violent thunderstorm broke, and the sound of thunder booming outside terrified her. She slipped into Priya’s bed, clutching the older woman tightly, finding comfort in the solid, silent presence.

She talked constantly, sharing her deepest woes—her missing parents, the confusion of Mouni’s misplaced rage, and the unsettling charm of Doga.

Then, she spoke of Krrish. “Krrish saved us all,” she whispered, her voice full of pride. That memory triggered the unsettling conversation with Doga. Sharmila leaned over, checking to see if Priya was still asleep. “You know, Doga came to us and told us to kill Krrish. I refused, and Mouni did too. But… sometimes a dark fear comes over me when I think about it.”

The Year is 2006

Sharmila looked at Priya again. This time, as she looked away and back, she saw them: Priya's eyes were open.

Sharmila froze in shock.

A frantic alarm went off, and the nurse rushed in with the doctor. Priya was sitting up, her eyes wide with panic. “Where is Krishna? Doctor, where is Krishna? He was just here with me!”

The doctor turned to the nurse. “Who is Krishna? We have no details on anyone else.”

“I don’t know, Doctor. We couldn’t find any information about him or her.”

The doctor approached Priya cautiously. “What is your name?”

“Priya. My name is Priya.”

“And who is Krishna?”

Priya’s brow furrowed in confusion. “He is the man I love. We came to the coffee shop… What coffee shop? Where am I?”

Sensing the deep confusion, the doctor maintained his calm, deliberate tone. “Priya, do you know what year this is?”

Priya hesitated, looking around the stark white room. She answered slowly, confidently. “It’s 2006.”

The doctor’s eyes met the nurse’s. He pulled her aside. “Nurse, this is a delicate case. She has severe retrograde amnesia. She’s trapped years in the past. We need to handle this very carefully. Contact her known friends and family immediately.”

Priya was awake, but the person who woke up knew nothing of the woman Sharmila had been caring for. She didn't know Krrish; she only knew Krishna, the man who loved her enough to leave his mountain home for her. Everything that happened after that first meeting—including her marriage—was gone.

Honey and the Mortuary

A few days later, Priya, still disoriented, noticed Sharmila staring at her.

“What do you want? Why are you staring at me like that?” Priya asked.

Sharmila looked crestfallen. “Don’t you remember anything I told you?”

Priya shook her head. “No. I didn’t know you spoke to me at all.”

Soon after, the nurse successfully contacted Priya’s best friend, Honey, who arrived immediately, horrified by the news.

“What happened to you? No calls, no messages,” Honey said, trying to hug her friend.

“I thought we just spoke recently,” Priya replied. “Why didn’t anyone tell you about my accident?”

“Krishna never talks to anyone but you.”

Priya’s voice turned brittle with pain. “Well, look at him now. He left me.”

“Do you remember how the accident happened?” Honey asked gently.

“There was a fire at the circus. I got caught in it,” Priya recalled.

“Oh my God. Then Krishna must have been hurt too,” Honey murmured, instantly regretting it when Priya glared at her.

“Don’t say that, Honey. He can’t be hurt.”

“Priya, I’m just saying maybe—”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“Fine, let’s talk later. But there were many victims in that explosion. Krishna could be in one of the other wards.”

Priya scrambled out of the bed, her breath catching in her throat. She rushed toward the ward doors, checking faces, desperately praying Krishna wasn't among them. A male nurse approached. “If your relative isn't in a ward, they might be near the mortuary.”

Priya’s eyes filled instantly. Honey tried to stop her at the double doors. “Priya, you shouldn’t go in. I’ll check. I promise.”

“No, I have to see!” Priya pushed past her. Sharmila stayed outside, her small body trembling.

After checking every face, Priya stumbled out, convulsing with sobs and retching violently onto the hospital floor. Sharmila rushed to her, placing a comforting hand on her back, gently rubbing her as the little girl had done in the hospital room. Priya, overwhelmed by grief, turned and clung to Sharmila, burying her face in the child’s shoulder, weeping as if her heart had shattered. Sharmila held her tight, rubbing her back, whispering the single, steady word, “Hush.”

The Missing Son

Priya insisted on leaving the hospital immediately. Honey assured the doctor she would take full responsibility.

Before leaving, Priya turned to the staff. “I’m taking Sharmila home with me. She wants to come, and I want her company.”

Sharmila cheered excitedly. The nurse knelt and hugged Sharmila tightly. “Will you be a good girl? No mischief with Priya. If you feel scared or troubled, call me, alright?” Sharmila agreed happily, and with a wave, they left.

Honey drove them to Priya’s beautiful house. The watchman rushed up to the car. “Madam! How are you? I’ve been waiting so long for your return.”

Priya had no recollection of him. Unwilling to be rude to a stranger, she simply said, “I’m fine.”

The watchman continued, “Did Krishna Sir not come with you?”

Priya’s hope flared. “Do you know something? Did he tell you where he went?”

The watchman looked confused, stepping back slightly. “You both left together, Madam. We didn’t know where you were admitted, or we would have come.” Priya deflated instantly. No one knew anything.

Priya took Sharmila inside. Honey, however, stopped the watchman. “Who is that little girl with Priya?”

“She’s a patient. She’s been looking after Madam since she woke up. Poor thing, her parents were lost in the blast too.”

Honey then asked the question burning in her mind. “How long have Priya and Krishna been living here?”

“Five years, Madam.”

“Five years?” Honey was stunned. “And… do they have children?”

The watchman lowered his voice. “They have a son, Madam. But no one knows where he is.”

Honey gasped. The watchman told her everything he knew.

Inside, Priya stared blankly at a framed photo of herself and Krishna. “Where are you, Krishna? Why did you leave me? Please, come home quickly.”

The Photo and the Nightmare

Honey walked in, and Priya immediately challenged her. “What were you talking about for so long?”

Honey lied smoothly. “I was just asking about Krishna.” She then began secretly searching the room for any hidden family pictures.

Priya noticed her friend’s anxious movements. “What is it, Honey? Is there a problem? Did the watchman say something?”

“No, no,” Honey lied again. “He mentioned your medicines. I’m just looking for them.” Honey found a picture, quickly hiding it away from Priya's view.

Priya’s suspicion grew. “Why would the medicines be in the bedroom, Honey?”

Honey stammered an excuse. “I was just panicking! I’ll go get us something to eat.” She fled the room.

Priya was left utterly bewildered by her friend’s strange behaviour. At that moment, Sharmila came bounding over, her face alight. “I love this house!”

Priya’s face finally broke into a genuine smile. “Come on, let’s explore it together.” She took Sharmila’s hand.

Outside, Honey sat in her car, staring at the hidden photo. It showed Krishna, Priya, and a five-year-old boy. The boy's name was Rohan. Honey knew Rohan was Priya’s son, a son Priya herself didn't remember. The watchman had confirmed the awful truth.

Night fell. Sharmila and Priya were asleep peacefully when Priya woke up, thirsty. She made her way to the kitchen for a drink. As she turned to walk back, she saw a shape in the corner, shrouded in darkness. “Who’s there?” she whispered.

The figure slowly stepped into the faint moonlight filtering through the window. Priya saw his face. It was the man from the photograph—but twisted. He wore the terrifying Krrish mask, his mouth stretched into a wide, malicious, teeth-baring smile.

He spoke in a low, evil voice. “Finally, you came.”

Priya jolted upright in bed, heart hammering, sweat beading on her forehead. Who was that man? Why was he waiting for me?

She looked at Sharmila, who was sleeping soundly beside her. The sight of the child brought a fragile sense of calm. Priya gently stroked Sharmila’s hair, trying to soothe her own terror, all while trying to place the identity of the menacing, masked figure in her dream.

The Hostage

Priya woke up early, trying to cook something comforting for Sharmila. Sharmila slowly woke and offered to help, but Priya scooped her up, holding her close. “You don’t have to help me. Go relax and watch some TV, alright?”

Sharmila’s heart swelled with the familiar, maternal warmth.

Priya served Sharmila breakfast. As the child looked up with wide-eyed excitement, the television news suddenly dominated the silence.

The broadcaster’s voice was tense. “Is Krrish preparing to execute his threat in front of the entire city? It looks like he has no intention of sparing Mohit.”

The screen cut to a live feed. Krrish was holding Mohit suspended high in the air by his neck. Mohit thrashed desperately, his eyes bulging and turning blood-red as circulation failed. He was gasping, hands clasped together in a pleading gesture. “Please! Let me go! I don't know how I was captured!”

The sight of the masked figure, now real and terrifying on the screen, instantly ripped through Priya’s fragile peace. The man from her nightmare was not a dream; he was a very real, very dangerous terrorist—and he was connected to her lost life.