The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife

Chapter 5: Forgotten

The sterile hospital room felt like a tomb, devoid of warmth or hope. White walls glared under harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead, casting long, unforgiving shadows across the tiled floor. The air was thick with the sharp scent of disinfectant and something metallic—blood, perhaps, or just the cold machinery of modern medicine. A single narrow window overlooked the rain-lashed streets of Jaipur, where the monsoon continued its relentless assault, raindrops streaking down the glass like tears that would not stop. Monitors beeped rhythmically in the corner, their green lines tracing the fragile thread of life. In the center of it all lay Rishaan Malhotra, the man who had been her entire world just hours ago, now a stranger to himself.

Aarya stood frozen at the threshold, her yellow salwar kameez still damp from the storm, clinging to her like a second skin of sorrow. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the doctor—a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a clipboard in hand—gestured her inside. The suffocating silence pressed down on her, broken only by the mechanical hum of the ventilator and the distant wail of another ambulance outside. No marigold garlands here. No incense smoke drifting through ancient pillars. No temple bells echoing their love. Just this cold, clinical void.

"Doctor sahib... please, bataiye. Mera Rishaan... woh theek ho jayega na?" (Doctor sir... please tell me. My Rishaan... he will be okay, right?) Aarya's voice was a fragile whisper, cracking under the weight of her fear. She clutched the edge of the doorframe for support, her knuckles turning white. The doctor nodded gravely and led her to a chair beside the bed. Rishaan's handsome face was pale, bruised, with a bandage wrapped around his head. Tubes snaked across his chest, and his strong hands—hands that had held hers so tenderly at the temple—lay limp at his sides.

The doctor cleared his throat, his voice low and measured in the heavy silence. "Mrs. Malhotra, your husband survived the crash, but the head trauma was severe. He has suffered a traumatic brain injury leading to retrograde amnesia. Severe memory loss."

Aarya blinked, the words sinking in slowly like stones into the lake near their villa. Memory loss. She shook her head, a small, hopeful smile breaking through her tears. "Amnesia? Theek hai, Doctor. Yeh temporary hoga na? Bahut logon ko hota hai aur woh theek ho jaate hain." (Amnesia? Okay, Doctor. This will be temporary, right? Many people get it and they recover.) She reached out, gently taking Rishaan's cold hand in hers, squeezing it as if she could transfer her love through touch alone. His fingers didn't respond, but she held on tighter. "Humne abhi abhi shaadi ki hai. Pyaar se sab yaad aa jayega. Main uske saath hoon na." (We just got married. With love, everything will come back. I am with him, right?)

The doctor sighed, pulling up a stool across from her. The room's silence grew heavier, the beeps of the monitor echoing like a countdown. Outside, thunder rumbled, shaking the window panes. Aarya fumbled in her small purse, her hands trembling as she pulled out the sacred items she had carried from the villa in her panic: their simple gold mangalsutra that she had clutched during the drive, her wedding ring with its delicate pearl, and the folded marriage certificate from their private ceremony—witnessed only by the old pandit ji and the hills.

"Dekhiye, Doctor. Yeh dekho. Hum pati-patni hain. Temple mein shaadi hui thi, sunrise ke time. Marigold garlands, incense... sab kuchh." (Look, Doctor. See this. We are husband and wife. We got married in the temple at sunrise. Marigold garlands, incense... everything.) She held them out, her voice gaining strength with desperate hope. The certificate shook in her grip as she traced the ink where Rishaan had signed with a steady hand. "Yeh sab usse yaad dilayega. Main usse har din kahaniyan sunaoongi—kaise hum mile the bookstore mein, kaise unhone mujhe pyaar kiya jab unki family ne mana kiya. Pyaar sab theek kar deta hai, hai na?" (This will remind him. I will tell him stories every day—how we met in the bookstore, how he loved me when his family refused. Love fixes everything, right?)

Tears streamed down her face unchecked now, but she smiled through them, leaning closer to Rishaan's still form. *Flashback:* The golden sunrise at the ancient temple in the Aravalli Hills. His hazel eyes locking with hers as he applied the sindoor. "Ab tum meri ho, poori tarah." (Now you are mine, completely.) The way his lips had claimed hers in that first kiss as husband and wife, the temple bells ringing their joy. She could still feel the warmth of his embrace before he left, his whispered vow: "Main tumse bahut pyaar karta hoon... chahe kuchh bhi ho jaaye." (I love you so much... no matter what happens.)

"Doctor, woh uthenge toh main unke paas baithungi. Unki favorite chai banaungi, unki favorite shayari padhungi. Villa mein humare din... cooking together, lake pe walks. Sab yaad aa jayega." (Doctor, when he wakes up, I will sit by his side. I'll make his favorite chai, read his favorite poetry. Our days in the villa... cooking together, walks by the lake. Everything will come back.) Her voice was fervent, almost pleading with the universe itself. She believed it with every fiber of her being. Their love was stronger than any injury, any accident. The Malhotra family's opposition, the mysterious threats—none of it had broken them. This wouldn't either.

The doctor listened patiently, his expression softening with empathy, but the weight of his profession shadowed his eyes. He glanced at the marriage certificate, nodding slowly. "Aapki dedication bahut acchi hai, Mrs. Malhotra. Support like this is crucial for recovery. But amnesia after such trauma can be unpredictable. Some memories return quickly, others take time... or may never fully return."

Aarya nodded vigorously, refusing to let doubt creep in. She slipped the mangalsutra around her own neck for strength, the black beads cool against her skin—a tangible link to their sacred vows. "Nahi, Doctor. Humara pyaar naya nahi hai. Do saal ka safar hai iska. Main usse har pal remind karungi. Unke chhote-chhote touches, unki hasi, unki soft side jo sirf mere saamne aati thi." (No, Doctor. Our love is not new. It has a journey of two years. I will remind him every moment. His small touches, his laughter, his soft side that only came out in front of me.)

She turned back to Rishaan, brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead with trembling fingers. The sterile room felt a little less suffocating in that moment. "Jaan, sun rahe ho? Main yahan hoon. Aarya. Tumhari Aarya. Humne secret marriage ki thi, yaad hai? Aravalli Hills ka temple, sunrise, pearls wali ivory saree." (My love, can you hear? I am here. Aarya. Your Aarya. We had a secret marriage, remember? The temple in the Aravalli Hills, sunrise, the ivory saree with pearls.) Her voice broke into a sob, but she continued, whispering stories as if he could hear every word. "Tumne mujhe kitchen mein counter pe uthaya tha. Chocolate cake banaate hue ladai ki thi. Aur lake pe stones phenke the. Humare bachchon ke sapne... ladki tumhari tarah strong, ladka tumhari stubbornness ke saath." (You lifted me onto the counter in the kitchen. We fought while making chocolate cake. And skipped stones at the lake. Our dreams of children... a girl strong like you, a boy with your stubbornness.)

The flashbacks came in waves, each one a dagger wrapped in gold. Their playful arguments over breakfast: "Teen din? Bilkul nahi!" (Three days? Absolutely not!) His boyish laughter as he abandoned his billionaire coldness, pulling her into dances by the infinity pool. The intimate conversations under the stars where he promised forever. "Tum meri duniya ho." (You are my world.) She clutched the marriage certificate to her chest like a talisman, rocking gently in the chair as nurses came and went, adjusting IV drips and checking vitals in the oppressive silence.

Time stretched endlessly in that room. Aarya refused the nurse's offer of food or rest. "Main yahan se nahi jaungi jab tak woh uth nahi jaate." (I won't leave from here until he wakes up.) She prayed silently, then aloud, mixing Hindi mantras with English pleas. "Hey Ram... usko wapas lao. Hum abhi zindagi jeena shuru kiye hain. Malhotra family ko bhi accept kar lenge ek din, par pehle yeh yaadein wapas lao." (Hey Ram... bring him back. We have just started living our life. The Malhotra family will accept us one day, but first bring back these memories.)

Hours passed. The rain eased slightly outside, but the storm inside her raged on. She believed fiercely. Love had conquered their obstacles before—the family refusal, the secrecy, the threats. It would conquer this. She imagined waking him with a kiss, seeing recognition spark in those hazel eyes. "Tum yaad karoge, jaan. Main help karungi." (You will remember, my love. I will help.)

The doctor returned after what felt like an eternity, checking charts and speaking in hushed tones with a colleague. Aarya stood up, hope blooming anew in her chest. "Doctor, ab kya? Kab uthenge woh? Main ready hoon sab kuch karne ke liye." (Doctor, now what? When will he wake up? I am ready to do everything.)

The doctor looked at her, then at Rishaan's still form, and back to her hopeful, tear-streaked face. He hesitated, the suffocating silence in the room growing even denser, the monitors beeping like a warning.

"There are gaps in his memory... including recent years."

The words landed like a final blow. Recent years. Their meeting, their love, their secret wedding, the villa days—all of it possibly erased. Aarya's knees buckled. She clutched the bedrail, the marriage certificate crumpling slightly in her fist. The room spun, the sterile white walls closing in. Hope fractured, but a small, defiant spark remained in her heart. She would fight for their love, even if it meant starting from nothing.