I had no idea who Isobella was—just that she was Lorenzo’s cousin. Honestly, I knew little about his family, except that his grandmother once lived in India. That’s how he met Ahaan Bhai during his time here. Despite the mystery of it all, I got ready to meet her.

I slipped into my outfit—a soft blue, ribbed cardigan with faux fur cuffs and collar, paired with a black mini skirt, sheer black tights, and my favorite knee-high boots. I carried a small black handbag and couldn’t help but take a mirror photo. I always dreamed of being an influencer, of showing the world the light, the beauty in life. But somewhere along the way, I lost my own light. With a stalker shadowing me and my ambitions buried, it was hard to see a way forward.

But lately… I’ve started loving myself again. My cheeks are rosier, there’s a healthy glow on my skin that wasn’t there before. The credit? All goes to Lorenzo.

As I stepped out of my room, there he stood—denims, a white shirt under a light sweater, sneakers, and his hair brushed back effortlessly. A watch on his wrist, casual elegance at its best. I raised an eyebrow and teased, “Any chance you peeked at my outfit in my bedroom?”

He grinned, reached out his hand and said softly, “Come here, angel mine.” He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.

The rain had started, so we took an umbrella as we stepped out together. Tomorrow, my family would arrive, and in six days, my brother would be married in a Christian ceremony—short, sweet, a vow exchange. As we descended in the elevator, Lorenzo took a photo of us together and kissed my hand gently. I blushed like I hadn’t in a long time.

But as we drove to the restaurant where Isobella waited, something inside me stirred—unease, a creeping shadow.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and attentive.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Something feels off.”

“Don’t worry, cara mia,” he said, brushing his lips over mine. “I’m here with you.”

We entered the hotel. There she was—Isobella—waving at us. She hugged Lorenzo a little too long, and I couldn’t help but notice. Maybe she missed her cousin deeply… or maybe there was more beneath the surface.

The candle on the table flickered as Lorenzo’s phone vibrated against the polished wood. He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly before looking at me.

“I need to take this,” he said softly. “It’s from Milan. Just a minute?”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

He kissed the top of my head gently before walking away, his figure vanishing into the hallway that led toward the restrooms and lounge.

Silence settled in his absence. The clatter of cutlery and soft jazz from the speakers filled the air around me, but at our table, there was nothing but the tap-tap-tap of Isobella’s manicured fingers against her phone screen.

I stared at the untouched tiramisu in front of me, feeling suddenly out of place, like someone who had walked into the wrong scene in a play she didn’t audition for.

I gathered some courage. “You and Lorenzo seem close.”

Her fingers paused, hovering above her screen. “We grew up together. He’s more like a brother than a cousin,” she replied, tone breezy. “But then again, we were always a little more complicated than labels.”

She didn’t look at me when she spoke. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or just her way of communicating—disinterested, detached. I pressed on anyway.

“He’s talked about you,” I said quietly. “Said you were important to him.”

That finally made her glance up. Her eyes sparkled, but the smile that followed wasn’t warmth—it was something else entirely. Something sharp.

“Oh?” she said, placing her phone down slowly. “He told you everything?”

I frowned a little. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head slightly, like a cat watching something flutter just within reach. “Just… everything. About you. About the accident.”

Her words pierced like cold rain.

I blinked. “What accident?”

A beat.

Then her face lit up with a smile that felt wrong.

“Oh,” she said with syrupy pity, “you really don’t remember.”

My heart started to beat faster.

She leaned in a little, elbows resting delicately on the table, her voice a murmur dipped in mock concern.

“I mean, I heard you lost your memory after it happened. Poor thing. I can’t even imagine how strange it must be to not remember who you were.” She let out a light laugh. “But it’s sweet, really, that you and Lorenzo met again. After all these years. After that crash on your 20th birthday. God, I thought I’d lost him that night.”

Crash. Birthday. Lost him.

My blood ran cold.

She continued as if she were describing a distant movie scene, not my life.

“You were both so close then, too. But I suppose fate has a sense of humor. He came back—alive and whole. And you… well,” her eyes skimmed over me, from my plain blouse to the trembling hand on my lap, “you’re alive too. That’s what matters, right?”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“But,” she added after a pause, eyes narrowing slightly as if analyzing a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, “I was a bit surprised, you know. When I saw you. You don’t really look like his type.”

There it was.

A dagger, sharpened with a smile.

I sat frozen as her words echoed inside me. Accident. Memory. Birthday. Lorenzo. Alive. Type.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My ears were ringing, my chest tight. My spoon clinked softly against the plate as I stood up on trembling legs.

I spotted him by the glass doors outside, still on the phone, pacing with one hand in his pocket, the other brushing his hair back.

I walked to him slowly, like someone trapped in a dream that had turned into a nightmare.

He saw me and ended the call immediately. “Adhira?” Concern etched his brow. “Is everything okay?”

I looked up at him, searching his eyes for something—truth, memory, a lie. Anything.

“What did she mean?” I whispered. “Isobella. She mentioned an… accident. My birthday. She said I lost my memory.”

He stilled.

Like a sculpture frozen in mid-motion.

“Lorenzo,” I pressed, my voice cracking, “what happened to me?”

His expression flickered—something like pain. Something like fear.

But no answers.

Only silence.

And in that silence, I realized this night wasn’t just dinner.

It was the edge of a truth I hadn’t even known I’d forgotten.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊

There goes chapter 18.

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