The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife

CHAPTER 25: THE STRANGE FEELING

Rishaan Malhotra stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his private office on the 50th floor of the Malhotra Group headquarters, staring out at Mumbai’s glittering skyline as the sun began its descent. The city stretched below like a living organism — cars crawling like ants, lights flickering on one by one. Yet for the first time in years, the empire he commanded felt strangely distant. His mind kept returning to the boardroom meeting that afternoon. To *her*.

Aarya Sharma.

The name echoed in his head like a half-remembered melody. He loosened his tie, running a hand through his dark hair, his hazel eyes narrowed in confusion. Why did her face refuse to leave his thoughts? The way she had carried herself — poised, confident, with an underlying strength that seemed to pull at something deep inside him. When their eyes had met across the table, a strange warmth had spread through his chest. Familiar. Comforting. Almost… like coming home.

“Kaun ho tum, Aarya Sharma?” (Who are you, Aarya Sharma?) he muttered to the empty room, his deep voice laced with frustration. He walked back to his desk and sat down, replaying the meeting in his mind for the tenth time. The way her voice had remained steady during the presentation, the subtle elegance in her gestures, the quiet fire in her eyes when she had said, “Kuchh cheezein dil se aati hain, Mr. Malhotra. Unhe kabhi bhoola nahi ja sakta.” (Some things come from the heart, Mr. Malhotra. They can never be forgotten.)

Those words had struck him like a lightning bolt. For a fleeting second, he had felt something — a pull, a fragment of warmth that didn’t belong to his current life. He rubbed his temple, where the old scar from the accident still faintly remained. The doctors had warned him that some memories might never return. Five years of his life remained shrouded in fog. Yet today, sitting across from Aarya Sharma, that fog had thinned just enough for strange sensations to slip through.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his leather chair. Small flashes came unbidden. A golden sunrise. The scent of marigolds and incense. A woman’s soft laughter echoing in a kitchen. The feel of delicate pearls under his fingers. A temple bell ringing in the distance. He saw hands — his own — tying a mangalsutra around someone’s neck. The images were blurry, fragmented, gone as quickly as they appeared. His heart raced.

“ Yeh kya ho raha hai mujhe?” (What is happening to me?) he whispered, pressing his palms against his eyes. There was no logical reason for this reaction. Aarya Sharma was just another architect — talented, yes, but nothing more. Yet being near her had felt like… recognition. Comfort. A strange sense of safety he hadn’t felt since the accident.

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Rishaan?” Natasha Kapoor’s voice floated in, warm and familiar. His fiancée entered the office carrying two cups of coffee, her designer saree elegant and perfectly styled. Natasha was the daughter of a prominent business family — beautiful, sophisticated, and everything society expected of the future Mrs. Malhotra. They had been engaged for eight months, a union carefully arranged and publicly celebrated.

“Darling, you’ve been locked in here for hours,” she said with a gentle smile, setting the coffee down. “The meeting went well, I assume? I heard Aarya Designs gave an impressive presentation.”

Rishaan forced a smile, taking the cup from her. “Haan, impressive thi.” (Yes, it was impressive.) But his voice lacked its usual conviction. He took a sip, his mind still replaying Aarya’s face — the way her eyes had held his with such intensity, as if she knew secrets he had lost.

Natasha sat on the edge of his desk, studying him closely. “Kya baat hai, Rishaan? Tum theek nahi lag rahe. Meeting mein kuchh hua kya?” (What’s the matter, Rishaan? You don’t look fine. Did something happen in the meeting?)

He shook his head, trying to brush it off. “Kuchh nahi. Bas… us architect, Aarya Sharma. Usme kuchh aisa tha jo mujhe familiar laga. Jaise main use pehle kahin dekha hoon.” (Nothing. Just… that architect, Aarya Sharma. There was something about her that felt familiar. As if I’ve seen her before.)

Natasha’s perfectly manicured eyebrows rose slightly. A flicker of something — concern? jealousy? — crossed her face before she masked it with a soft laugh. “Achha? Well, she is quite well-known now. Maybe you saw her in some magazine or event. Don’t overthink it, jaan. Tumhare paas itna kaam hai.” (Really? Well, she is quite well-known now. Maybe you saw her in some magazine or event. Don’t overthink it, my love. You have so much work.)

Rishaan nodded, but the strange feeling refused to leave. As Natasha chatted about their upcoming engagement party and wedding plans, his mind wandered again. He remembered fragments — a woman’s hand in his, skipping stones by a lake, laughter in a sunlit kitchen. “Badmash!” (Rogue!) someone had teased in a memory. The voice sounded like his own.

“Rishaan? Sun rahe ho?” (Rishaan? Are you listening?) Natasha’s voice brought him back. She placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle but possessive. “Tum aaj kuchh alag ho. Kya yeh Aarya Sharma ne kuchh kaha tha jo disturb kar gaya?”

He shook his head. “Nahi. Bas… kuchh yaadein. Accident ke baad wali. Mujhe lagta hai jaise uske aas-paas kuchh trigger ho raha hai.” (No. Just… some memories. The ones after the accident. It feels like something is triggering around her.)

Natasha’s smile tightened just a fraction. “Yaadein? Tumhe toh kuchh yaad nahi tha na us period ka? Doctors ne kaha tha ki woh sab permanently lost ho sakte hain. Don’t stress yourself, baby. Tum mere ho ab.” (Memories? You didn’t remember anything from that period, right? The doctors said it might be permanently lost. Don’t stress yourself, baby. You are mine now.)

Rishaan gave her a small smile and kissed her forehead, but the comfort he usually felt in her presence felt… muted tonight. Something about Aarya Sharma had unsettled the carefully rebuilt foundations of his life. He spent the rest of the evening going through old files, searching for any mention of her name, but found nothing. The frustration gnawed at him.

That night, after Natasha had gone home, Rishaan lay in his massive king-sized bed in his penthouse, staring at the ceiling. The city lights twinkled through the glass walls, but sleep evaded him. He kept seeing Aarya’s eyes — deep brown pools filled with something he couldn’t name. Pain? Recognition? Longing?

Finally, exhaustion pulled him under.

In the dream, he stood in an ancient temple at sunrise. Marigold garlands hung from carved stone pillars, incense smoke drifted lazily through the air, and temple bells rang softly in the distance. A woman in an ivory saree adorned with delicate pearls stood before him, her back turned. He reached out, his hands trembling as he fastened a mangalsutra around her neck. The touch felt so real — warm skin, jasmine scent in her hair.

“Ab tum meri ho…” (Now you are mine…) he whispered in the dream, his voice thick with emotion.

The woman turned slowly, but just as her face was about to be revealed, the image blurred. He could see the outline of her smile, the curve of her cheek, but not her eyes. Not her full face.

He reached out desperately. “Kaun ho tum?” (Who are you?)

The woman in the wedding saree remained faceless, yet his heart knew her.

Rishaan woke up with a start, his chest heaving, sweat covering his forehead. The dream felt more real than anything had in five years.

He sat up in bed, heart pounding, whispering into the darkness:

“Aarya…”

To be continued...