In her nineteen years of life, Vanika had never had a guy speak to her that gently, look at her that deeply. He was literally a walking fantasy — and then he had to ruin it by calling her something that made her feel like a middle-aged aunty with three kids and a housing loan. The heartbreak hit like a slap she was expecting maybe nurse crush arc , secret love , maybe some Prince fiance Twist - but mother hood it came out of syllabus

The doctor, still focused on her charts, said calmly,

“Miss Vanika, you’ll need to attend physical therapy sessions to help your body regain movement. And if you feel any discomfort — mental or physical — you must let us know.”

Vanika was barely listening.

She pointed at the hot stranger and snapped, “First of all, who even is he? Aur isse bahar nikalo!”

She turned to the nurse, half-whispering in disbelief, “Sexy ho ke bhi pagal nikla. Main kis angle se iski maa lagti hoon?!”

The nurse tried to hide a laugh, but her expression said it all — even she didn’t believe it.

Vanika’s heart squeezed painfully. Not just from the headache, but from the sheer betrayal of the universe. A man this good-looking had walked into her room, held her hand like she meant the world, and then dropped a bomb that shattered her fragile hopes into dust.

Viraf stepped closer, his eyes filled with panic.

“Mom, please… just listen to me—”

“Don’t call Mom me!” Vanika snapped, inching away from him in bed. “You clearly have me mistaken for someone else. I’m nineteen, not ninety!”

The doctor and nurse watched silently, exchanging looks.

It wasn’t the first time Viraf had come to visit her.

He had been there every single day she’d been unconscious.

He knew her file. He knew her birthday. He even knew the lullaby that had calmed her down during a panic attack in her sleep.

But the truth was, Vanika didn’t remember any of it.

And that more than anything scared them all.The silence after her outburst felt louder than her actual voice. Vanika sat upright in the hospital bed, back slightly aching, eyes narrowed, breathing heavy. She could still hear the echo of that one word in her ears like a bad ringtone stuck on repeat.

Mom.

She stared at the man — Viraf — like he was some rare species of delusional. Every cell in her brain wanted to scream, How dare you?! But her heart… well, her heart was far more confused.

He didn’t look like someone who was pretending.

He looked like someone who was grieving.

Still standing near her bed, Viraf’s hands clenched at his sides, like he was physically stopping himself from reaching out again. His jaw was tense, his eyes wet — but not broken. Not yet.

"You're… really not joking?" Vanika asked, voice smaller now, the anger melting into discomfort.Viraf blinked. Slowly. Like he was hoping she'd suddenly remember.

“No, Mom. I— I know this is confusing. But please. Just trust me for now.”

She flinched again.

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your mom! Look at you — you’re what, thirty? Do I look like I raised a grown man with facial hair and chest muscles?!”

The nurse coughed. The doctor turned his back to hide a smirk.

Viraf still didn’t move. “I know this is a lot. You… you just wake up it's more like confusion to you the situation. The doctors said you might forget things.”

Vanika shook her head, eyes darting between all of them like they were part of some prank show she hadn’t signed up for.

“This isn’t forgetting,” she said sharply. “I know who I am. My name is Vanika. I’m nineteen. I was in college. I hate math. I cry during sad movies. And I’ve never—ever—been anyone’s mother.”

Viraf’s lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Because how do you convince someone they’re not who they think they are? The doctor stepped in again, voice gentle. “Vanika… it’s possible your memory has regressed. It happens with head trauma. Sometimes the mind protects itself by clinging to a safer version of reality. We don’t want to overwhelm you, so let’s take this one step at a time.”

Vanika looked down at her hands. They didn’t feel like a mother’s hands. They weren’t wrinkled, or rough, or anything close to what she imagined motherhood would feel like. She had pink nail polish. Tiny silver rings. A barely-there scar on her thumb from learning to chop onions. These were her hands.

“You’re telling me… I have a son who looks like a Greek god and calls me Mom?” she said finally, dryly.

Even the nurse gave her a side glance like, Honestly, same question.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Viraf said, stepping forward again, slower this time, like she was a scared animal that might run. “But please. Don’t shut me out. I’ve been here every single day. I never left you, Mom. Not once.”

Her eyes flicked up to his. He wasn’t lying. She could feel it.

Which somehow made it worse.

Because if this wasn’t some weird mistake… then the real question was even scarier:

What kind of life had she forgotten?