At Iraaya's Office
"Token number 43?"
Her voice was steady, crisp, the kind of tone she used to keep the world at a manageable distance. Iraaya didn't look up immediately. Her eyes were still on the computer screen, fingers hovering above the keyboard, mind already calculating the KYC checklist.
When she finally glanced at the man walking up to her desk, her breath hitched for a fraction of a second. He was tall, wearing a neatly ironed blue shirt, his hair combed back, his face freshly shaven—but there was something about him. Something oddly familiar, though she couldn't place it.
But he showed no reaction. No flicker of recognition. Just a polite nod.
"Hello," he said, setting his documents on the counter. "I need to open a current account on behalf of my firm. I have the documents."
His voice. She tilted her head ever so slightly. That voice. It felt like a ripple through her memory—that day by the river.
"Please fill this form. Do you have your Aadhaar and PAN?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
He slid the documents toward her. "Already attached," he said, offering the faintest of smiles.
She took the forms and busied herself with her screen, heart skipping in a way it hadn't in a long time.
But Ehan... Ehan already knew.
He had memorized her name the second the hospital receptionist had muttered it while entering the discharge details. Iraaya. It had rung in his ears for days—no, weeks. Iraaya Anand. The angel in a green kurti who had pulled him back from the place he thought was his end.
And here she was. Behind a dusty desk, in a sea of noisy customers, doing what she did every day, completely unaware that she had changed someone's life forever.
Ehan forced himself to play it cool. To not say too much. She looked skittish, guarded. He recognized that posture—the folded arms, the avoidance of eye contact. He couldn't scare her away.
"You work here long?" he asked casually.
She looked up, a little surprised at the question.
"Uh, yeah. Few years," she said. "Please sign here and here."
Ehan took the pen, his hand brushing against hers. Just lightly. She stiffened, almost imperceptibly.
He pulled back instantly. Too soon, he warned himself.
As she scanned the papers, he glanced at her name badge—Iraaya A.—as if he needed confirmation.
"Iraaya..." he said softly, pretending to read it off the badge for the first time. "That's a beautiful name."
She gave a brief smile, tight-lipped. "Thank you."
"I had a friend named Ira," he said, lying with smooth ease. "Back in school."
She didn't respond, just stapled the forms and reached for the stamp.
"You probably don't remember me," he added, testing.
She froze for a split second. "Should I?" she asked without looking up.
"No," he smiled. "Just wishful thinking."
Something in her stirred. Was it a tease? Or did he know something?
She tried to brush it off. "You'll get a confirmation message once the account is activated," she said, finalizing the process. "You can collect your welcome kit from the front desk."
He nodded. "Thanks for the help."
She offered a courteous smile and turned to her computer. He walked away, but she could feel his presence linger longer than necessary. And when he was finally gone, her heartbeat didn't settle for a good few minutes.
At Iraaya's Home
That evening, she sat cross-legged on her bed, journal open, pen hovering.
Something strange happened today.
She chewed the end of the pen thoughtfully. That man... there was something about him. Like I've seen those eyes before. Heard that voice. But I can't place it. And the way he said my name...
She tapped the page, then added slowly:
I didn't feel afraid. Just... unsettled. In a good way?
Her handwriting slowed as the memory of the river rushed back. The splash. The weight of his body in her arms. The cough. "You should've let me go." His face was blurry in her memory, the details half-lost in panic. But maybe...
No. It's just a coincidence.
Ehan's POV
Ehan didn't go home straight that evening.
He sat in his car outside the bank for twenty minutes, staring at the revolving glass door she might've walked out of.
"She doesn't remember me," he murmured to himself. "But she will. Someday."
He ran his fingers through his hair, his heart lighter than it had been in years.
It had taken only about fifteen minutes at the counter, but her voice had silenced the noise inside him. The noise that had screamed for escape, for endings, for oblivion.
"I'm not imagining her anymore," he whispered. "She's real."
At Iraaya's Office
The next day, he was back.
This time, he claimed he hadn't received the welcome kit.
"I was told to come to the same counter," he said.
Iraaya narrowed her eyes. "You were?"
"Maybe I misheard," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Still... nice to see you again."
She blinked. "I can check with the front desk for you."
"Only if it's not too much trouble."
As she got up and walked toward the reception, Ehan watched her. There was a softness to her, beneath the efficiency. He noticed the way she kept brushing her hair behind her ears, the small frown she wore when focusing.
When she returned, she placed a sealed envelope on the desk. "Here's your kit."
He took it and held it like it was something fragile.
"Thanks," he said. Then, hesitantly, "I'm Ehan. Ehan Satpathy."
Her fingers froze mid-movement.
"I... didn't ask," she said softly.
"I know," he said. "But I wanted you to know."
Their eyes met for a moment.
Something shifted.
She lowered her gaze. "Have a good day, Mr. Satpathy."
He smiled. "It already is."