Riyan, aged twenty-two, never did find love to believe in.
Love, to him, was like the prints in the sand—gorgeous but always erased. He had
witnessed love break up too many times. His parents, the perfect couple that everyone used
to envy and wish to be like, now lived as strangers in the same house. His friends, who had
made "forever" promises, now hung out as if they were never buddies.
So he built walls. Tall, strong walls around his heart.
Until Meera came along.
Meera was a force of nature—fierce and wild, with an enthusiasm for life that made the world
her canvas. She painted outside the parameters of what was thought possible by others.
She was full of magic at the age of twenty. Her eyes were like shining stars, and her smile
had the power to dispel the darkest cloud. She did believe in love like children believe in fairy
tales—because she wished it to be like that.
"Love has nothing to do with time," she had said once. "The only thing is, how strong it is."
Riyan did not understand.
But he would soon.
They met in the most ordinary of circumstances—two strangers at a bus stop on a rainy day.
She wasn't holding an umbrella but had her hands extended to catch the raindrops as if they
were precious gifts. He simply observed her in silence.
She smiled at him. "Don't you love the rain?"
"It's just water," he replied.
She gasped as if he had profaned something holy. "No! It's poetry. It's music. It's the earth
weeping tears of joy."
And just like that, she turned ordinary rain into something magical.
Then she did everything to make every moment special and memorable.
The manner in which she stole flowers from gardens playfully and pushed them behind his
ear, giggling, "This is your crown, King of My Heart."She always returns home via a different route every time and is always keen to hear what
others did not observe in the city.
How she penned letters to strangers and stashed them in library books, hoping someone,
somewhere, would discover one and feel loved.
The way she loved him.
Meera made love look so easy.
For the first time ever, Riyan did something brave—he let himself fall.
Their time together was endless.
Midnight phone calls that were never long enough. Hand-holding on busy streets as if they
were the only two living humans. Stolen kisses in between laughter. Love messages on
napkins slipped with secret grins.
For the first time ever in his life, Riyan wished to believe in forever.
Then forever ended on a cold December morning.
He woke up early, seeing sunlight brighten her serene sleeping face with gold. He softly
drew circles on her hand and whispered, "Wake up, sleepyhead."
She slowly opened them, blinking in bewilderment and frowning slightly at him.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Riyan giggled, believing it was a joke. "Very funny. Stop it."
But she didn't laugh.
"I'm not joking."
His heart sank.
He tried to reach her, for something—but there was nothing there.
Nothing but blank confusion in those dark brown eyes—the very same eyes that used to look
at him like he was her entire universe.
The physicians labeled it anterograde amnesia, an uncommon condition that wiped out
Meera's short-term memory whenever she slept.
It was like a nightmare.
She woke up every morning to find him a stranger.Riyan may have left.
It would have been easier.
His friends advised him, "Maybe it is time to move on."
They cautioned him, "You're young. You shouldn't live this way."
But how was he going to leave when loving her was as essential as breathing?
The very hardest morning was the very first.
Meera awoke frightened. She had no idea where she was, who he was, or why he was
sobbing. He attempted to tell her, but he was unable to speak.
And so he started writing.
Every evening, Riyan documented their romance in a diary.
Page 1: My name is Riyan. I love you.
Page 2: Yesterday, you mentioned that the sky feels emptier without the moon.
Page 3: It is our special song. You hum it when you are happy.
He would place the notebook beside her bed each morning. She would read their story
again, discovering their memories anew.
And gradually, gracefully—she would come to love him again, as she had in the past.
There were some days when everything was just so perfect. She would smile at him with the
same twinkle in her eyes, as if by magic they had discovered each other once more. They
would stroll hand in hand, their laughter a symphony, recalling happy times—until the night
stole her memories away once more.
There were days when it was tough. She woke up confused. Some mornings, she would
scream in anger and frustration. Some mornings, she would weep, pleading to be informed
of what was going on. And Riyan, as much as it hurt him, would grit his teeth to begin again.
On a quiet evening, under the stars, Meera looked at him and said softly, "What if one day I
forget how to read?"
Riyan's throat constricted.
"Then every morning, I will read to you our story, backwards, in the style of a bedtime story."And on that day so long awaited—when Meera clutched the notebook in shaking hands, its
words strange and foreign to her—Riyan took her gently by the hands and renewed their
love.
Again and again. And again and again.
One more time.
Even after she had forgotten how to read.
Even after she had forgotten how to speak.
Even when she could not remember his name.
She no longer addressed him with the nickname she had taken on for him. She no longer
walked hand in hand with him.
But he remained.
Because love was not about remembering.
It was about keeping a promise.
Until that night, when he was tucking her into bed, Meera held his hand. Her eyes shone with
bewilderment, her mind muddled with forgetfulness.
She didn't recognize him anymore. She spoke in a soft, shy voice, saying,
"I don't know who you are, but I feel I've loved you before, maybe in another life or a dream."
And that was enough.
While her mind was forgetful, her heart remembered.
And Riyan?
He would remember both of them.