The rain hit the windshield like shards of glass, but Nitin Luthra barely blinked.
He wasn’t really seeing the road.
He was feeling it — every bump, every turn — as if the storm outside echoed the storm within him.
He had received the call yesterday.
After three long years.
"Sir, we believe we’ve found someone matching your wife’s profile. She was admitted to a private hospital outside Gurgaon under unknown identity. Head injury. No family claims."
The moment he heard it, he didn’t wait. He left an important investor meeting in London, cancelled every obligation, and boarded the first flight home.
No goodbyes. No suitcase. Just hope and desperation carrying him across continents.
Now, here he was — driving recklessly through the unfamiliar, rain-soaked streets of Gurgaon. His hands clenched the steering wheel. His pulse a thunder in his chest.
Could it really be Bhawna?
He hadn’t allowed himself to imagine her face in months.
It hurt too much. But now…
The streets of Gurgaon were half-submerged, people running for shelter. The storm didn’t stop. Neither did he.
His mind was clouded with a thousand memories—her laughter, the warmth of her hand in his, the soft way she used to say his name.
Then he saw her.
A lone figure walking slowly down the road, back turned to him. Her neon green salwar clung to her skin in the rain. She looked small. Frail. Defenseless.
His heart skipped.
He honked — once, twice — shouting reflexively.
“Hey! Get off the road!”
But she didn’t flinch.
She just kept walking. Like she was sleepwalking through the storm.
He hit the brake—
Too late.
A sickening thud.
The world tilted.
His chest slammed into the steering wheel. The wipers squealed uselessly.
He fumbled with the door, stumbling into the downpour.
She was on the ground, lying on her side. Her back still to him, her dupatta soaked, hair plastered to her neck.
“Oh God… oh God—please—”
He rushed to her, crouched beside her, gently rolled her toward him—
And froze.
For a second, he thought the rain was playing tricks on him.
But when he saw her face…
His heart stuttered.
Bhawna.
It was her.
He blinked, disbelieving, brushing the hair from her cheek with trembling fingers.
“Bhawna…?”
She didn’t move.
A jolt of fear ripped through him.
His throat tightened as he fumbled for his phone, hands slick with rain and shaking. He dialed for an ambulance, voice cracking as he barked out the location.
But the operator’s voice came through, muffled by static.
“Sir, due to the storm and flooding, all emergency vehicles are delayed. Please—if you can—bring the patient to the nearest hospital yourself.”
He stared at the screen in disbelief.
“No… no, no… please,” he whispered. “Not now. Not again.”
He turned to his car, yanked open the door, threw himself behind the wheel—and twisted the key in the ignition.
Nothing.
A choking cough from the engine. Then silence.
The sudden brake, the floodwater, the impact — his car had given up. And now, so close to saving her, fate was testing him all over again.
“No—damn it!” he roared, slamming the steering wheel.
The rain showed no mercy.
He turned to her fragile body lying on the slick road, the neon fabric of her salwar clinging to her skin, face pale as snow.
Without thinking, without caring, he dropped to his knees beside her and gently gathered her into his arms — bridal style. Her head lolled against his shoulder.
“Please, Bhawna… stay with me,” he whispered brokenly. “Don’t leave me again. I just found you… I just—please.”
And then he ran.
No umbrella. No protection.
Just the storm and a man carrying the only piece of his heart that had ever mattered.
The road was cracked, slippery. The sharp stones underfoot tore into his skin, and his feet began to bleed. At one turn, he slipped and fell, his knee scraping against the gravel, tearing his trousers, blood mixing with rain.
But he didn’t stop.
He tightened his grip on her and pushed forward — teeth gritted, eyes stinging.
“You promised me forever, Bhawna…”
“Don’t you dare break it now.”
People watched from doorways, wide-eyed, but he didn’t see them. He didn’t feel the pain. Only the fear — of losing her again.
After what felt like an eternity, the dim lights of the hospital glowed through the storm.
He crashed through the doors, shouting hoarsely for help.
“She’s hurt—she’s unconscious—I hit her—please—help!”
Nurses rushed. A stretcher came. Someone tried to take her from his arms gently.
But he clung.
Until her fingers stirred — barely — and a faint sound escaped her lips.
He looked down.
She wasn’t fully awake. She wasn’t aware.
But even in that unconscious haze, her hand curled weakly against his chest, like she remembered.
Like she belonged there.
Like destiny, no matter how cruel, couldn’t tear them apart.
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