Advik walked slowly, his eyes scanning the nameplates on the doors. He could see how Sakshi's hands were trembling. She looked exhausted.

As the door swung open, the scent of home, sandalwood incense and laundry detergent, hit them. He stood at the threshold, feeling like an intruder in a house that supposedly belonged to him.

"Papa!"

A high-pitched, joyful scream pierced the silence. Before Advik could even process the sound, a small, energetic blur of a boy came racing down the hallway. Satvik's face was lit up with the kind of pure, unadulterated joy that only a child can feel. His eyes were sparkling, and his tiny legs were moving as fast as they could.

Advik froze. This was the child. His child.

Satvik didn't notice the hesitation in Advik's eyes. He didn't see the bandages or the confusion. All he saw was his hero, finally home. He crashed into Advik's legs, wrapping his chubby arms around his father's knees and squeezing with all his might.

"Papa! Papa aa gaye! Mumma, dekho... papa!"

(Papa is here! Mumma, look…papa!)

Satvik chirped, his voice full of wonder as he looked up, grinning widely. Advik looked down. He expected to feel nothing but awkwardness. But as he looked into Satvik's eyes, eyes that were a perfect mirror of his own, something deep inside his chest shifted.

It wasn't a memory, but it was a pull. A strange, magnetic connection that bypassed his brain and went straight to his heart.

Involuntarily, without even thinking about it, Advik bent down. His hands moved with a muscle memory his brain didn't possess. He tucked one hand under around his legs and the other behind his head, lifting Satvik into his arms.

As Satvik buried his face in Advik's neck, giggling, Advik's hand began to move in a slow, rhythmic circle on the boy's small back. It was an instinctive gesture, a father's way of soothing a child, a habit he had built over two years that his amnesia couldn't erase.

Sakshi stood by the door, watching them. When she saw Advik pick him up, when she saw that familiar, protective rub on Satvik's back, the tears she had been holding back finally broke.

She covered her mouth with her dupatta to stifle a sob. For a fleeting second, it looked like her Advik was back. But then she saw his eyes. They were soft for the child, but when they flickered over to her, they turned guarded and distant again.

Her parents, Prakash and Meera, exchanged a worried glance. They saw their daughter's heartbreak and the confusing state of their son-in-law.

Time has a way of moving forward even when your heart is stuck in the past.

A month had passed since Advik returned home. Physically, he was almost back to his old self. The bruises had faded, the bandages were gone, and he moved with the strength of the soldier he was.

But the fog in his mind hadn't cleared. Sakshi and the last five years remained a total blank, a story he was being told but couldn't remember living.

His bond with Satvik, however, had become the talk of the household. It was as if nature was compensating for his lost memory. Even if Advik didn't remember the day Satvik was born or his first steps, he had become the perfect father. 

He spent hours on the living room floor playing with blocks, teaching Satvik how to salute, and carrying him on his shoulders around the small apartment.

"Papa, ghola bano!"

(Papa, become horse!)

Satvik would yell, and Advik would immediately drop to all fours, laughing as the toddler hopped on his back. With Satvik, Advik was relaxed. He was warm. He was a father.

But the moment Satvik went to sleep and the apartment grew quiet, the atmosphere changed. The warmth evaporated, replaced by a cold, stiff politeness between Advik and Sakshi.

Advik had moved his things to the guest bedroom on the very first night. He couldn't bring himself to share a bed with a woman who felt like a stranger, no matter how many wedding photos he saw. Sakshi had accepted it with a quiet nod, though it felt like a knife to her chest every time she saw him take a pillow and a blanket to the other room.

Living together was a series of awkward dances. Sakshi tried her best to be the wife he remembered. She made his favourite tea, she kept his clothes ironed, and she tried to talk to him about small things. 

But anytime she accidentally brushed against him in the kitchen or sat too close on the sofa, Advik would instinctively flinch and take two steps back.

It made Sakshi freeze every time. It was a silent rejection that hurt more than any words could. She couldn't forget the incident from a week ago. It haunted her every time she looked at the guest room door.

It was early morning. Sakshi had just finished her shower, thinking Advik was already in the kitchen making tea. She stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a soft white towel, her hair dripping wet and sticking to her shoulders.

At that exact moment, the bedroom door pushed open. Advik walked in, holding a small toy truck that Satvik had been crying for.

"Sakshi, Satvik ko yeh..."

(Satvik wanted this…)

The words died in his throat. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as they landed on her. The sight of her, almost naked, vulnerable, sent a jolt through him.

Sakshi gasped, clutching the towel tighter against her chest, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. Advik's face turned bright red. He looked away instantly, his posture turning rigid and awkward.

"Sorry... I didn't... mujhe laga tum..."

(I thought you…)

He stammered, his voice thick with embarrassment. He didn't stay for another second. He practically turned on his heel and bolted out of the room, shutting the door with a sharp thud.

For the rest of the day, he wouldn't even look her in the eye. He had treated her like a stranger he had accidentally walked in on, not the woman who had shared his life and his body for years.

Back in the present, Advik stood on the balcony, looking out at the city lights. 

His feelings were a chaotic mess. He felt like he was living a double life. When he was with Satvik, he felt grounded, like he belonged here. He loved that little boy with a ferocity that surprised him every day.

But then there was Sakshi.

He looked at his wedding ring, which he had started wearing again because his mother insisted. It felt heavy on his finger. He felt tied to a woman he didn't know. He could see how much she was suffering. He saw the dark circles under her eyes and the way her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore.

He felt guilty. Every time he stepped back from her touch, he saw the flicker of pain in her expression, and it made him feel like a monster. But he couldn't force a connection he didn't feel. He couldn't pretend to remember the whispers, the kisses, and the intimacy they once shared.

"Kaise karu?"

(How do I do it?)

He whispered to the night air.

"How do I be a husband to someone who feels like a stranger?"

Inside, Sakshi turned off the kitchen light. He heard her bedroom door close softly. Another night of sleeping in separate rooms. Another night of being strangers under the same roof.

Advik sighed, his heart heavy with a confusion that showed no sign of clearing. He was home, but he was still so very far away.