It began as a dream—no, a nightmare. A blur of flickering images: white hospital walls, the echo of sobs, a blinding surgical light above her face, and a boy's voice whispering, "Take it… live for me." The words came like a thunderclap across a valley long silent. And then it wasn't a dream at all. It was memory.
Kabita jolted upright in her silk-draped bed, her skin damp with sweat, heart pounding like it was trying to claw out of her chest. The moonlight spilled through the massive windows, casting silver shadows on the marble floor. But her world had changed.
Because now—now she remembered.
Not a dream. A life.
Not a face. A name. Rajan.
Not a story. A sacrifice.
It all came back in a flood so violent, she gasped for breath. The heart in her chest—it wasn't just hers. It had never been hers. It was his. Rajan's.
Rajan, the soft-spoken boy she once mocked. The fool she had ignored. The boy who had loved her with the kind of purity that terrified her. The one who died… for her.
Kabita collapsed back onto the bed, her fingers curled into the silk sheets, as she stared up at the ceiling like it could explain her own monstrosity.
She saw it now.
The old world. The hospital bed.
The silence when she woke up from the coma.
The name of the anonymous donor no one would speak of.
Arnav's haunted eyes when she pressed for answers.
The feeling she thought was guilt—it had been memory scratching at the surface.
She began sobbing uncontrollably. It was raw, animal, ugly crying. Her whole body shook from the weight of what she had done—not just in that past life, but in this one. She had betrayed him twice.
Once by throwing him away.
Twice by forgetting him.
In this life, she had grown up surrounded by luxury. She had been cruel, arrogant, selfish. She had chosen desire over sincerity, mocked gentle love as weakness, and worshipped status like a god. And all the while, the boy who had loved her enough to die had been just across the fence. Alone. Watching. Waiting.
And now he thought she had chosen to betray him again.
She crawled out of bed, wrapped her arms around herself like she could hold the pieces of her soul together. Her mind screamed one truth over and over again like a violent mantra:
"He was mine. He is mine. And I threw him away."
She rushed to her mirror, flicked on the golden vanity lights, and stared at her own reflection. Who was this woman? This flawless goddess wrapped in designer silk with kohl-rimmed eyes and ruby lips? This woman who walked with arrogance, who flirted for sport, who ruined gentle hearts like Rajan's without a second thought?
She stared harder. And for the first time… she hated what she saw.
Because beneath the perfect exterior was a monster. One who took what was sacred and discarded it. One who hurt the only person who had ever loved her completely.
She whispered, "Rajan…" like it would summon him.
But he wasn't here.
Not now.
Not yet.
And maybe, she didn't deserve him.
But that didn't matter.
She stood slowly, her legs trembling beneath her. There was only one truth now. Only one thing that made any sense in this upside-down world:
She would make him hers. In this life. At any cost.
Even if he hated her.
Even if he turned away.
Even if it took her lifetime after lifetime.
She would show him. She would earn that love she once threw away.
Not for guilt. Not for pity.
But because now she knew—he had always been her soul's other half.
And for once, she was going to fight. Not with seduction. Not with power. But with her heart.
No more pride.
No more games.
No more lies.
Just love. The kind that kneels. The kind that begs. The kind that says, "I'm sorry," and waits forever for forgiveness.
She didn't know how she'd do it. She didn't even know where Rajan was now.
But she knew this: the girl who let him go was dead.
And the woman who stood here now was going to burn every bridge, tear down every wall, and walk barefoot through every fire if that's what it took to reach him.
Because for the first time in both lives, she didn't want the world.
She wanted him.