Samantha Pov

The hall glittered with fairy lights, champagne flutes clinked, and soft music echoed through the laughter of the elite. Samantha adjusted her press badge, letting the camera hang heavily around her neck—a perfect mask for the storm brewing inside her.

She had covered dozens of high-society events before, but never one that threatened to break her piece by piece.

“Come on, Sanjana. You can do this. You’ve handled so many assignments,” I whispered under my breath. “You’re not Sanjana. You’re Samantha. Leave the past in the past. It’s buried in the snow-peaked mountains of Kashmir.” I was so engrossed that I didn't realise when I reached inside.

My colleague nudged me. “There he is. The groom-to-be. Handsome, isn’t he?” I followed her gaze. There he stood.

Liam. My Liam.

My heartbeat staggered.

He was surrounded by glittering guests and flutes of sparkling wine, but all I could see was the man who once played the guitar beneath the almond tree, singing with me, as petals floated down around us like confetti. It was music that had brought us together, and now it mocked me through the violins playing in the background.

He still looked the same , dark tousled hair that I traced with my fingers. The same tilted smile that once accelerated my heartbeat . Maturity suits him well .

He stood tall in a tailored navy suit, talking to guests with that effortless charm that used to make my knees go weak. But the arm he had around his fiancée’s waist wasn’t meant for someone else. It had once been mine.1

I lifted the camera slowly. The lens offered the distance I needed, a fragile barrier between my heart and the truth. My hands trembled as I zoomed in. I clicked the shutter too forcefully.

The sound made him glance my way.

He looked directly at me—and smiled politely. A tight, impersonal smile. The kind you give to strangers.

Of course he didn’t recognise me. Not with this face—a stranger’s face, reshaped by surgeons after the accident had stolen everything.

“You, okay?” someone asked.

Yeah,” I lied. “Just light-headed.”, I blinked. Tom, my colleague, handed me a glass of water. “Here. You look pale. Take this , it will help .” Tom spoke while he handed a glass of water

I needed to focus. Do my job. Pretend I wasn’t standing there watching the man I loved celebrate a future that didn’t include me. Pretend I wasn’t alive when the world believed I had died. Pretend this wasn’t killing me.

“Samantha, where are you lost?” Another voice snapped me back.

“The bride-to-be, Miss Rose Carter, wants an exclusive shoot with her fiancé, Mr. Liam Turner. It’s your assignment. They’re waiting for you in the back garden.” I nodded, unable to trust my voice.

Why does this always happen to me? Why is destiny always against me? First, I lost him in the accident. Then I lost my face, my identity. And now I’m going to watch him do all the things with someone else that I once dreamed of.

“Hey, Miss Photographer, where do you think you’re going? You have to take our pictures. These days, people are so unprofessional,” Rose snapped as I approached.

I froze, her voice sharp as glass. As I stepped forward, I felt more than heard a shift beside me.

“Rose,” Liam said, his voice firmer than I expected. “That was uncalled for.”

“What?” she turned, confused.

“She’s doing her job. There’s no reason to speak to her like that.”

“I just—”

“Apologise,” He said quietly but clearly.

“ Sorry. Long day.” She gave a tight-lipped smile .

I nodded. I didn’t have the strength to respond.

I guided them through the poses. Rose laughed a little too loudly; Liam smiled dutifully. But all I could see were shadows of the man I once loved. The one who’d promised me forever beneath a starlit sky in Kashmir. The one who never came looking for me after the fateful accident.

Then came the final blow. “I want a picture of us kissing,” Rose said, pulling Liam close. “It has to be dramatic.”

I barely managed to steady the camera as their lips met. My chest felt like it would crack open.

Even if I told him who I was—would it matter? Would he believe me? Would he even care?

“I—excuse me,” I mumbled, pretending to need the restroom, and fled.

I locked myself inside and leaned over the sink, gripping the counter. My reflection stared back. The face here is refined, repaired, but not mine, with only the eyes that are familiar. The pain behind them more so.

Tears welled up like a broken dam. What are you doing, Sanjana? Crying over a man who never searched for you? Who left you behind when you needed him most? My inner voice was screaming now. He left scars—not just on your face, but on your soul.

Still, my heart ached for him.

The memories flooded in—sirens, blood, the cold metal of the hospital table. The moment I realised my old life was gone. The moment I knew I’d become a ghost, even for the man who had once held my world together.

I wiped my face and reapplied my makeup with trembling hands. I had to be strong. I had to finish the job.

As I capped the lipstick and straightened up, the door creaked open.

“Are you okay?” came a voice that was quite familiar.

Samantha’s POV**

“The door creaked open.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude,” came a familiar voice. Deep, careful, and soft in the way it always had been when he spoke to me.

Liam.

My heart stalled. I turned, slowly. He stood just inside the threshold, one hand still on the door.

“I noticed you weren’t feeling well,” He said, unsure. “I thought I’d check on you.”

I opened my mouth, but words failed me.

His eyes searched mine. “You just… seem familiar.”

I lowered my gaze. “I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.”

He nodded, clearly not convinced. “If you need a minute, take it. Rose can wait.”

Then he left—quiet as he came. And I was left shaking again, wondering if destiny was playing cruel tricks… or writing a second chance.

Liam’s POV

I adjusted the cuff of my blazer as I posed beside Rose, camera flashes dancing off the jewelled embroidery of her gown. The party was nearly halfway through, and I had already shaken more hands than I could count. Smiles, laughter, champagne—everything looked perfect. Everything felt… rehearsed.

Yet, a quiet thread of unease tugged at my heart. She is not Sanjana—the girl I met years ago, the girl I loved. Rose is nowhere near her but still I need to move on. I’ve spent so long grieving for Sanjana. This empire needs an heir, and I need to move forward.

It started during the garden photoshoot. I noticed her—the photographer. She barely spoke, gave clipped instructions, and clicked the shutter with calm precision. But it wasn’t her professionalism that caught my attention. It was the sense of familiarity.

When she lifted the camera and our eyes met, I felt a jolt, It was like hearing a forgotten song. Her eyes lingered on me a little longer then intended . There was a history there, silent and painful. I noticed how she tucked loose strands behind her ears. And her voice ,when she spoke, it was like Sanjana was standing in front of me wearing a mask.

I’ve tried to ignore it, to shake it off. But the feeling wouldn’t leave. People noticed I seemed distracted, but I didn’t care. I kept scanning the room for her.

She stood near the edge of the ballroom, her camera lowered, her expression unreadable. She was watching everyone but seemed lost in her own world. Her posture was calm, but her eyes revealed a silent storm.

“Liam?” Rose’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I answered absently.

“You spaced out. Everything okay?”

“Yes. Just thinking,” I said.

“About the new business deal?” she teased.

I gave her a polite smile, thankful for the distraction.

“Even with such a beautiful lady standing next to you?” she added with a flirtatious smile.

But the woman behind the camera haunted me more than any business deal ever could. I stole another glance at her. Her hands trembled slightly. Her eyes flickered with an unknown emotion., whenever they met mine. She was a like puzzle, familiar but incomplete.

“Darling,” Rose called to gain my attention.

“Stop calling me that. I don’t like it,” I snapped.

“Okay, sorry. I won’t repeat it,” she replied, playfully holding her ears.

You shouldn’t have done that, Rose. You reminded me of Sanjana. Our playful banter, her quick retorts. It was all coming back. I don't know why today of all days everything reminds me of Sanjana.

A tap on my shoulder pulled me out of my thoughts. Rose pointed toward a group.

“My friends. They want to meet you.” I followed Rose through the crowd as she tugged me toward a small group.

“Liam, this is Shaurya my best friend ,” She said.

Shaurya smiled, extending a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

I shook it, eyeing him briefly. Shaurya looked Indian, but there was something cold in his expression. The warmth or gentleness that I had often seen in the people in India is missing . His gaze was too sharp, his smile too calculated, just like that of a spy .

We walked over to other friends , I greeted them politely.

My gaze drifted again. I found her ,the photographer laughing with a colleague. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. The way She tucked the loose strand behind her ear . 1 had seen it before. Somewhere deep in my memories.

Soon, the guests began departing. The press team left. And with them went the girl, I couldn’t stop thinking about.

Third Person POV

Hours later, as the press team wrapped up and headed out, the weather turned ominous. Black clouds gathered. It began raining the moment they entered the car.

“Can’t we wait until it stops raining?” Samantha asked timidly.

“Come on, Samantha, I didn’t know you were afraid of rain,” Lisa teased. The others laughed.

Reluctantly, she got in. Her body trembled. Her heart raced. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her hands were cold.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked, glancing at her. “You’re sweating in this weather.”

“I’m fine,” she replied curtly.

Tom took the hint and said no more.

Suddenly, headlights from an oncoming vehicle blinded the driver. He swerved, barely avoiding collision. The car swayed violently. The driver slammed the brakes. Tires screeched.

A scream tore through the night. And then there was a silence

Liam’s POV

The mansion, once glittering with light and laughter, now stood in silence. Rain tapped softly against the windows, the only sound breaking the stillness. Darkness had swallowed the celebration, and the joy of the evening had faded. Only one room remained lit ,my private bar.

The clink of glasses echoed as Kabir and I sat on barstools, having drinks. The bar was stocked with every liquor imaginable, but no liquor was strong enough to drown the ache in my chest.

“Where were you? I didn’t see you the whole evening,” I asked him, my voice low.

“I came late,” he replied, pouring more golden liquid into his glass. “Don’t ask why. You already know.”

I sighed. “You never liked Rose. You always wanted Sanjana to be my wife.” with those words

I downed my drink in a single gulp. The burn in my throat was sharp—but not sharper than the void that Sanjana left behind.

“She’s the only one who’s ever occupied my heart. But Mom wants to see me settled. This empire needs an heir. This marriage—it is just a marriage of convenience.”

Kabir stared into his glass. “I still don’t believe she’s dead. Her dead body was not found. There’s still a chance that she is alive .”

“Five years, Kabir,” I said, walking over to the window. “It’s been five whole years since that accident. Nothing. No sign of her. She’s gone.”

The rain outside was relentless, drumming against the glass. I hated rain. It reminded me of the night I lost her. Sanjana had taken the light from my life, and the rain had taken her.

“Did you even try to search for her?” He asked quietly. “Or did you just believe what they told you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn't.

“Let’s bury the past where it belongs.” I finally said. It was necessary if I wish to move on.

“It’s getting late. You can use the guest room next to mine. Your stuff from last time is still there.”

Kabir stood silently beside me as I turned to leave. I closed the door behind me and dragged my lifeless body to the only place where I still felt close to her—my room. My sanctuary of memories.

The Following Morning

I woke up with the usual headache. A side effect of drinking to much . With lots of effort I got up and took two painkillers for my headache .

After finishing my morning ritual I sat down with the morning paper and a cup of black Coffee

A headline caught my eye:

“Press Van Involved in Highway Accident — Names Withheld”

My chest tightened. I had a gut feeling. I just knew it was them. Her.

“What happened?” Kabir asked, descending the stairs. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I handed him the paper wordlessly.

After reading it, he frowned. “It was stormy yesterday. Accidents happen. Why does this concern you?”

" Come with me. I will explain ." With a swift pace, I moved to the garage, followed by Kabir.

“There’s a reporter named Samantha,” I began, hesitating. “She was part of the team covering the event.”

He raised an eyebrow. “There are plenty of Samanthas, Liam. Why this one?”

“I don’t know. Since yesterday, she’s haunting my senses. The way she laughed, tucked her hair behind her ears, her voice—everything reminds me of Sanjana.”

Kabir was quiet now.

“It’s strange, I know,” I continued. “But I felt something. Like she’s Sanjana with a different face.”

By the time I stopped speaking, we had reached the hospital’s parking lot.

Kabir tugged at my sleeve. “So… do you still think Sanjana is dead?”

I didn’t reply. I stepped out of the car. He followed.

Kabir’s thoughts (Unspoken)

I may not know this Samantha girl well, but there’s one thing I can never tell You my dear friend that Sanjana is alive. I was forced to hide it from him. I’m sorry, my friend.

“Can’t you walk a little faster?” I hissed. “A snail’s better than you.”

We reached her room. Her colleagues stood outside. I greeted them, and one of the male reporters—Tom, I think—guided us inside.

She lay on the hospital bed, fragile and pale, wires connected to her thin wrists. My heart clenched.

“Good morning, Samantha. How are you feeling?” I asked gently.

Her eyes fluttered open. They were empty, hollow.

“Good morning, Mr. Turner,” she replied flatly. “What brings you here?”

“I heard about the accident… just wanted to check on you.”

A faint, lifeless smile tugged at her lips. “Why, Mr. Turner? Why inquire about my well-being? I’m just a press reporter. You’ve checked that I’m alive. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I need rest.” Her voice was cold. There was something in her tone—sarcasm? Anger?

I turned, confused. Before leaving, I asked Tom how the others were. Then I left.

Samantha’s POV

Now you care?

Where were you when I lay on a cold hospital table, my face torn apart and my identity taken from me?

That night—when you proposed to me—was supposed to be the most beautiful night of my life. But it became a curse.

You disappeared when I needed you most.

Now you come here with your polished shoes and empty concern?

If. only you knew… who I really am?