Arjun Reddy's eyes fluttered open, greeted by the familiar scent of sandalwood that wafted through his childhood room. The ornate patterns of the chandelier above his head, the soft silk drapes swaying by the open windows—all of it was unmistakable. This was his room in the Amarasinghe Estate, a place he hadn't seen in decades.
Panic surged through him as his mind scrambled to piece together what had happened. The last memory he had was of collapsing in his Manhattan office, his 40-year-old body giving way to the relentless grip of a heart attack. Yet now, as he moved his hands, smaller and smoother than they should be, he realized something impossible had happened.
Arjun stumbled to the mirror, dreading what he might see. A boy stared back at him, no older than 14, with a lean frame and curious, wide eyes.
"No… this can't be," he muttered, his breath hitching.
His heart pounded as the memories of his teenage years came rushing back. He wasn't just 14—this was 1996, the year everything in his life had fallen apart. The memory hit him like a tidal wave: the accident, the phone call, the cold, detached voice on the other end.
"Your parents… they didn't make it."
The words echoed in his mind as grief surged anew, as raw and painful as it had been the first time. His parents—Amarasinghe Veera Reddy and Saumya Haarika Chowdary—were gone.
Hours passed in a blur as Arjun roamed the silent mansion. The once-vibrant Amarasinghe Estate, with its sprawling gardens and bustling staff, was now eerily quiet. The head butler, Ravi Chowdary, had dismissed the workers for three days, giving the family privacy to grieve.
Arjun wandered aimlessly through the halls, each step unearthing bittersweet memories. The dining room, where his mother had insisted on family meals. The study, where his father had mentored him in business strategy. The grand staircase, where he'd once slid down the banister, earning a playful scolding from both parents.
Now, the house felt suffocating, its grandeur a cruel reminder of what he had lost. He found himself back in his childhood room, sinking to the floor as tears streamed down his face.
"Arjun?"
The soft voice cut through the silence. He looked up to see Saumya Ananya Chowdary, his mother's younger sister, standing in the doorway. At 18, she was a vision of youthful beauty—her fair skin glowing in the soft light, her long hair cascading over her shoulders.
She stepped closer, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay?"
He wanted to tell her no, that he was anything but okay. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, he shook his head, his tears betraying him.
Ananya knelt beside him, pulling him into a gentle embrace. Her presence was warm and soothing, a balm to his aching heart.
"It's okay to cry," she murmured, her voice trembling. "You've been so strong, Arjun. Too strong."
Her words broke something inside him. He clung to her, sobbing into her shoulder as the weight of his grief poured out.
As the evening wore on, they sat together on the floor, leaning against the bed. Ananya didn't leave his side, her hand resting gently on his.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do I go on without them?"
Ananya's eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. "You're not alone, Arjun. You have me."
Her words stirred memories of his past life. After his parents' deaths, when their relatives had tried to wrest control of his inheritance, Ananya had been his only ally. She had fought for him, sacrificing her own dreams to ensure his safety. But in doing so, she had paid the ultimate price.
In his past life, she had died in a car accident while running errands on his behalf. The guilt of her death had haunted him for years. But now, here she was—alive, vibrant, and ready to stand by him again.
"Ananya," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "You've done so much for me before… I don't want you to sacrifice yourself for me again."
She frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"
He hesitated, unsure how to explain the weight of his words. "Just promise me… promise me you'll always be here for me."
"I promise," she said softly, her hand tightening around his.
The room fell into a contemplative silence, their shared grief creating an unspoken bond. But as the night deepened, the emotional intensity between them began to shift.
Arjun looked at her, his gaze lingering. "Ananya… I need you now more than ever."
She looked back at him, her eyes searching his. "I'm here, Arjun. Whatever you need."
Her unwavering support and the raw vulnerability of the moment stirred something deeper in him. Slowly, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
Ananya froze, her breath hitching. "Arjun…"
"Please," he whispered. "I need you to help me forget. Just for a little while."
Her heart ached as she looked at him, the boy she had watched grow up now drowning in pain. The weight of his grief, his pleading eyes, and the crushing sadness in the room were too much for her to bear.
"You've been through so much," she said softly, tears welling in her eyes. "If this will help you… I'll do it."