CHAPTER 18: FRACTURED TIME

CHAPTER 18: FRACTURED TIME

Arjun's Point of View

It had been two years since the accident. Two long, bittersweet years of walking on eggshells, loving someone who was sometimes a stranger, and waiting for a tomorrow that might never come.

When Dad first told me about Pia's condition, I was shattered. Her memory loss wasn't just a glitch—it was selective, triggered, and frighteningly fragile. Her mind had tucked away the trauma like it never happened. But it didn't stop there. It erased everything that came after too—every birthday, every kiss, every quiet evening spent in each other's arms.

At first, I thought maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

She didn't remember the accident.

She didn't remember losing our baby.

She didn't remember crying in my arms night after night.

But neither did she remember the joy in her eyes when she felt our child kick for the first time.

Or the way she whispered, "I love you more today than yesterday," when we danced barefoot in our kitchen at midnight.

All of it—gone.

The first episode came out of nowhere. It was nearly six months after she returned home from the hospital. Life was beginning to find a rhythm again. We had taken it slow. Rebuilt. I had learned not to correct her too much when her memories didn't line up. We were… managing.

That day, we were driving through the city when we stopped at a red light. The usual. The buzz of traffic, the honking of cars. But something about it—maybe the angle of the sunlight, maybe a sound—triggered something deep inside her.

She gasped.

I looked over to find her staring straight ahead, eyes wide, lips trembling.

"Pia?"

No answer.

"Pia, what's wrong?"

"I…" she looked at me like she didn't know me. "Where… where am I?"

I pulled the car to the side immediately. Panic hit me like a freight train.

She started crying, holding her head. "What happened? Where's my bag? I—I was coming back from shopping… I was at the mall… I met Rina, and—"

I felt my breath catch in my throat.

That day. That exact day.

She thought it was that day.

The day of the accident.

She had regressed.

I called Dad immediately. He told me to bring her to the hospital.

That night, she had no memory of the past six months.

We had to go through it all again.

The recovery.

The gentle reminders.

The quiet heartbreak.

Eventually, the memories trickled back—slowly, inconsistently. But never all of them. Some days she remembered being married for two years. Other days, she swore we had just had our wedding.

The second major episode happened just a week ago.

We were sitting in the garden, drinking tea. She was humming some tune under her breath, swaying a little to the rhythm.

Then she suddenly stopped.

"Arjun," she whispered.

I looked up from the newspaper.

"I feel strange."

"What do you mean?"

She put the cup down. "I feel like… like I don't belong here. Why do I have this ring? Are we… married?"

I slowly reached across the table and took her hand. "Yes, Pia. We are."

She stared at me, stunned. "But… how? I—I don't remember. I feel like I just graduated. I was living with Ma and Papa. I don't know how I got here."

And just like that… she was gone again.

The Pia who had slowly started to rebuild her life, the Pia who had learned to smile again—vanished behind a curtain of forgotten time.

Each time she lost those memories, a part of me shattered.

But I never showed it to her.

Never let her see the way my hands shook when I touched her face, or how I slept beside her wide-eyed, wondering if the next morning she'd remember me at all.

Dad had explained that it wasn't just an accident. Her brain had developed a kind of defense mechanism. Stress, shock, even a powerful emotional trigger could cause her mind to regress.

"She can regain her memories," he said, "but there's no guarantee. And if she remembers something traumatic suddenly, she might break again. Worse than before."

So I tread carefully.

I learned to love her in every form. As the newlywed bride. As the girl who forgot our child. As the woman who asked me, again and again, "When did we fall in love?"

And every time, I gave her the same answer.

"Every day, Pia. We fall in love every day."