MEERA 10:17 AM THE BRIDAL SALON
The dress was perfect.
Silk, ivory, delicate lace tracing the sleeves like whispers. Meera stood before the three-way mirror, a bride reflected into infinity. But all she saw was the girl in a college library eight years ago, watching the boy she loved hold another girl's hand.
Her phone buzzed. Rishi.
"How's the dress?"
"Beautiful."
"And the bride?"
"Questioning."
He called immediately. "Talk to me."
Meera kept her voice low, though the boutique was empty except for the tailor fussing with pins. "Do you ever feel like you're betraying who you used to be by being who you are now?"
"Every damn day," Rishi said, without missing a beat. "But that's growth, Meera. Not betrayal."
"What if I'm just… covering old wounds with wedding lace?"
"Then you'd be in pain. Are you in pain?"
She looked at her reflection the slight smile, the calm in her eyes. "No."
"Then you're not covering. You're healing." He paused. "The past isn't a cage. It's the foundation. You can build something new without destroying what was."
Meera touched the lace at her wrist. "What if I miss her sometimes? That girl who loved in silence."
"Then miss her. Then thank her. Then let her rest. She got you here."
She took a shaky breath. "I wish you charged for therapy."
"I do. You're paying for my wedding suit." He hung up with a laugh.
Meera looked back at the mirror. This time, she saw only the woman about to marry a good man. And for the first time that morning, she smiled without hesitation.
ARYAN 3:45 PM THE BOARDROOM
The deal was worth seventeen million dollars.
Aryan sat at the head of the table, watching signatures being scrawled on dotted lines, hearing the polite applause of his team, feeling nothing.
Afterward, in his office, Rishi found him staring at the Dubai skyline, tie loosened, success sour in his mouth.
"You look like you just lost, not won."
"What's it for, Rishi?" Aryan didn't turn. "All of this. The deals, the tower, the view. Who is it for?"
"For you."
"But who am I now? A guy in a suit who's good with numbers and bad with feelings?"
Rishi came to stand beside him. "You built walls to keep the pain out. But now you're wondering why you feel so alone inside them."
Aryan closed his eyes. "I thought if I built high enough, I wouldn't see the past anymore."
"But you brought the past with you. In your pockets. In your phone. In the way you still hold your coffee like you're waiting for someone to take the cup from your hands."
They stood in silence, the city gleaming below.
"Success isn't a scar, Aryan," Rishi said quietly. "It's a bridge. But you have to decide where you want it to lead."
"Where does yours lead?"
"To people," Rishi said simply. "Not properties."
Aryan finally looked at him. "When did you get so wise?"
"Around the same time you got so rich. We all choose our currencies."
ANAYA 8:30 PM THE RESTAURANT
The restaurant was all soft lighting and softer music. Anaya sat across from him the man whose name she hadn't yet spoken to the others. He was talking about architecture, his voice calm, hands moving gracefully.
She nodded, smiled, sipped her water.
Am I peaceful or numb?
Is this moving on or giving up?
Do I deserve this calm after the storm I caused?
Her phone glowed on the white linen. A text from Rishi:
"How's the date?"
"Good."
"Liar."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know guilt when I see it. Even through text."
She excused herself to the restroom.
"I don't know if this is right," she typed.
"You're looking for right like it's a destination. It's not. It's a direction."
"What if I'm going the wrong way?"
"Then you'll know. But you can't heal in the same place you broke. You also can't run from who you were. Be still. The answers come when you stop asking."
She stared at the words. Be still.
When she returned to the table, her partner—still faceless in the narrative of her life reached for her hand. "Everything okay?"
She looked at their joined hands. His was warm. Steady.
"Yes," she said, and for that moment, she meant it.
"I'm glad."
THE COURIER 10:15 PM ARYAN'S LOBBY
Aryan was the first to see him a uniformed courier holding three cream colored envelopes.
"For Aryan Seth, Meera Kapoor, and Rishi Malhotra."
"That's… all of us."
"Yes, sir."
Aryan signed, took the envelopes. Same handwriting. No return address. He called Meera and Rishi.
They met in the lobby, curiosity overriding the late hour.
"Open them together," Rishi said.
They did.
Inside each was a single photograph.
College. The campus courtyard. Diwali night.
They were all in it Aryan, Meera, Anaya, Rishi, even a younger Rohan at the edge, holding sparklers. But none of them remembered this photo being taken. They weren't looking at the camera. They were looking at each other Aryan at Anaya, Meera at Aryan, Anaya at the ground, Rishi at Meera.
It was a moment stolen, a secret witnessed.
On the back, in neat, unfamiliar script:
"Not everyone forgot."
Meera's hand trembled. "Who…?"
Rishi turned the photo over again. "Someone was watching. Even then."
Aryan's blood ran cold. "And they're still watching now."
Their phones buzzed simultaneously an unknown number.
One message, same to all three:
"The past isn't done with you yet."
Three hearts.
One question.
And a ghost from the past who had just RSVP'd to the present.
Some doors, once opened, can never be closed.
And some photos, once seen, can never be unseen.