The kettle had already boiled twice before Aarav noticed.
He stood in the kitchen staring at the small notebook in his hand. The pages were filled with short sentences written in tight, careful handwriting.
Morning
●Drink water
●Today is Tuesday
●Don’t panic
●If confused, breathe first
●Meera will help
He read the list again, slower this time.
Then he checked the date on the wall calendar. Tuesday. Good. That matched. From the bedroom, Meera’s voice drifted out.
“Are you reading that again?” Aarav quickly closed the notebook. “I was just checking something.”
“You check it every morning, even when you know I am here!”
She appeared in the doorway tying her hair into a loose knot. There was a softness to her movements, the relaxed patience of someone used to handling small crises.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
He shrugged. “Hard to tell.”
She walked into the kitchen and gently took the kettle from the stove. “You forgot to turn it off again.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay,” she said calmly. “Nothing burned.”
She poured tea into two cups and slid one toward him. “Here. Drink this first.”
Aarav picked up the cup but didn’t drink. His eyes had already drifted back to the notebook lying beside the table.
Meera noticed.
“Did you take your medicine?” “Yes.”
“Are you sure?” “Yes.”
“Show me.”
He rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. “You don’t trust me at all.”
“I trust you,” she said, sitting across from him. “I don’t trust your brain.” That made him laugh.
“Fair.”
She took a sip of tea and leaned back. “You’re calmer today,” she said.
“I am?”
“Yesterday you asked me what day it was six times.” “Only six?”
“Seven actually.” “Progress,” he said. She smiled.
Outside the window the morning had begun to sink in with traffic and distant horns. The apartment held a quiet, routine rhythm — tea, newspaper, the low hum of the ceiling fan.
Aarav glanced towards the refrigerator. Several notes were stuck to it.
Morning routine
Open this when confused Safe place
Visitors often asked about them. Meera always laughed it off.
“He panics sometimes,” she would say. Today she noticed him staring at the notes. “Do they help?” she asked.
He nodded slowly. “Sometimes.” “Good.”
She reached across the table and tapped the notebook with one finger. “Why don’t you write things like normal people though?”
“What do you mean?”
“You write like instructions.” He looked down at the page.
“Maybe instructions are easier.” “For who?”
He thought about it.
“For the person reading them.” Meera accepted that answer.
After breakfast she went to the living room while Aarav wandered around the apartment doing small things that didn’t need doing. Straightening books. Moving a chair slightly. Checking the calendar again.
Every now and then he would glance towards the doorway, as if making sure she was still there. From the couch Meera watched him.
“You’re literally pacing!” “I’m walking.”
“You’ve walked past the bookshelf nine times.” “Ten to be precise.”
“You’re nervous.” “About what?” “You tell me.”
He didn’t answer.
She studied him for a moment longer, then softened her voice. “Hey.”
He stopped.
“You’re okay,” she said. “I know.”
“You always get like this when you start thinking too much.” He exhaled.
“Probably.”
She gestured toward the armchair. “Come sit.”
He obeyed.
She leaned forward slightly. “Tell me something.” “What?”
“What day is it?” Aarav hesitated. “Tuesday.” “Good.”
She smiled, satisfied.
“See? Your brain still works.” “Barely.”
“That’s all we need.”
They sat quietly for a while.
Rain began sometime in the afternoon, tapping lightly against the windows. Meera moved towards the balcony door and stood watching it the way she always did.
Aarav approached carefully. “You’ll get cold.”
“I like rain.” “I know.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Did we ever kiss in the rain?”
The question seemed to come from nowhere. Aarav froze.
“I don’t remember,” she added quickly. “It just feels like we did.” He thought about it for a second.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She smiled like she had solved a puzzle.
“See? My brain still works too.” He smiled back.
Evening settled slowly over the apartment. The lights were dim now, the rain softer.
Aarav was sitting at the table writing in the notebook again when he heard something behind him.
“Excuse me.” He turned.
Meera was standing near the sofa, staring at him. Her expression had changed completely.
Not worried. Not calm.
Just… blank.
“Can I help you?” she asked politely. Aarav didn’t move.
“What do you mean?” he said quietly. She looked around the apartment.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I might be in the wrong place.” His chest tightened.
“You live here,” he said gently. Her eyebrows pulled together. “No.”
“You do Meera! You do!” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know this house.”
A long silence filled the room.
Then she asked the question. “Who are you?”
Aarav closed the notebook.
Instead of panicking, he stood up very calmly. Too calmly.
He walked toward the side table and opened a drawer. Inside was a small recorder.
When he turned back toward her, his face had softened into a patient smile. “My name is Aarav,” he said quietly.
She took a step back.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” “I don’t know you.”
“I know.”
He pressed the play button.
The room filled with a recorded voice. His own.
“Hi Meera.
If you’re hearing this, it means today is a difficult day. My name is Aarav. I’m your husband.
You have an illness that affects your memory. Sometimes you wake up and things don’t feel like yours. Sometimes I don’t feel like yours.
But you are safe. You are home.
And I’m here.”
The recording stopped.
Meera stared at him, trembling. “Do I forget you?” she whispered. Aarav nodded once.
“Yes.”
She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He stepped closer and gently held her hands. “No,” he said softly.
Then he smiled — the same warm smile he had practiced many times before. “Hi.”
She looked at him through tears and confusion. “My name is Aarav,” he said gently.
“We just met.”
Meera looked at him uncertainly, studying his face as if trying to decide whether it belonged in her life.
Outside, the rain had almost stopped. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Aarav walked quietly to the table.
He opened the drawer and took out the small notebook. When he returned, he placed it gently in Meera’s hands. “If things feel confusing,” he said softly, “this might help.” She opened it slowly.
The first page read:
Morning
●Drink water
●Today is Tuesday
●Don’t panic
●If confused, breathe first
●Meera will help
She frowned slightly. “But… I’m Meera.”
Aarav smiled — warm, patient, familiar. “You see? I do know you, You’re safe!” He nodded toward the kitchen.
“Would you like some tea?”
She hesitated, then gave a small polite nod. “Yes… thank you.”
Aarav turned toward the stove. “Jasmine?”
