Nobody said a word.
The document in Kabir's hand seemed heavier than anything we had discovered so far.
The rain outside had started again, and the sound of thunder rolling across the sky only made the silence inside the room feel more oppressive.
I stared at the paper.
My mind refused to accept what I had just heard.
"Read it again," I said quietly.
Kabir swallowed.
His hands were shaking.
"The body of Subject A-K was declared unrecoverable after the laboratory incident."
He looked up.
"Arjun Kapoor's body was never found."
Meera frowned.
"Then why was he declared dead?"
Professor Dev closed his eyes.
"Because everyone believed he was."
"Believed?" Kabir repeated. "You mean nobody actually confirmed it?"
"No."
The old man's voice was filled with regret.
"The explosion destroyed most of the underground section. We recovered many things."
His expression darkened.
"But not him."
"And yet..."
He looked toward me.
"We held a funeral."
The room became quiet again.
A strange uneasiness settled over me.
A funeral.
Without a body.
Without proof.
Without certainty.
Somewhere deep inside, that thought felt wrong.
Terribly wrong.
As though...
Someone had wanted the world to believe Arjun Kapoor was dead.
Meera sat beside me.
Her fingers lightly touched my hand.
A small gesture.
But enough to steady my racing thoughts.
"You don't have to figure everything out tonight."
I gave her a tired smile.
"When did you become the calm one?"
She laughed softly.
"Someone has to."
Kabir immediately pointed toward himself.
"It's definitely not him."
For the first time all evening, Professor Dev smiled faintly.
And for a moment...
The tension eased.
Later that night.
Meera had fallen asleep on the couch.
Kabir was pretending to sleep, though I knew he was scrolling through conspiracy theories on his phone.
Professor Dev had gone to his room.
But I couldn't sleep.
Not after everything.
I stepped outside onto the balcony.
Rain had stopped.
The city lights below looked peaceful.
Normal.
Unlike my life.
I took out my voice recorder.
A habit that now felt almost necessary.
"Voice note. 1:32 AM."
I paused.
"If someone hears this someday..."
I smiled bitterly.
"I hope your life makes more sense than mine."
For several seconds, I remained silent.
Then I added:
"I don't know who Arjun Kapoor is."
"I don't know why I remember things that shouldn't belong to me."
"But I know one thing."
My eyes drifted toward the living room.
Toward Meera.
Sleeping peacefully.
"I don't want to lose her."
I stopped recording.
And suddenly—
A familiar voice spoke behind me.
"You said that before."
I froze.
Slowly turning around.
But there was nobody there.
Only darkness.
And the sound of the wind.
Yet...
I knew I had heard someone.
The next morning.
Professor Dev looked strangely nervous.
More nervous than usual.
He had barely touched his breakfast.
Kabir noticed it immediately.
"Professor, you're making me uncomfortable."
Meera smiled.
"He's been uncomfortable since birth."
"True."
But Professor Dev wasn't listening.
His eyes remained fixed on an old watch in his hand.
A silver pocket watch.
Ancient.
Worn.
And strangely familiar.
I frowned.
"Where did you get that?"
The old man looked startled.
Then forced a smile.
"An old gift."
But before he could say anything more—
The doorbell rang.
Everyone looked up.
Nobody was expecting visitors.
Kabir stood.
"I'll get it."
He opened the door.
And immediately froze.
All the color disappeared from his face.
"Kabir?"
No answer.
Meera stood up.
"What happened?"
Slowly...
Kabir stepped aside.
And a woman entered.
Around fifty years old.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
But her eyes...
Her eyes made my blood run cold.
Because I knew them.
Not from dreams.
Not from memories.
But from somewhere much deeper.
The woman looked directly at me.
Tears appeared in her eyes.
Her lips trembled.
And then she whispered—
"Arjun..."
The pocket watch slipped from Professor Dev's hand.
It hit the floor.
His face turned completely pale.
"No..."
The old man stood up abruptly.
"No, this can't be."
The woman turned toward him.
Twenty years of pain visible in her eyes.
And spoke the words that shattered the room.
"Dev."
"It's been a long time."
Professor Dev staggered backward.
His entire body trembling.
"Ananya..."
Everyone froze.
Meera's eyes widened.
Kabir dropped his coffee.
And my heart nearly stopped.
Because according to the newspaper—
According to the records—
According to history—
Dr. Ananya Kapoor had died twenty-one years ago.
Yet...
She was standing right in front of us.
Alive.
And when she looked back at me—
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
She smiled sadly.
And whispered words that made my soul tremble.
"My son..."