A FORGOTTEN CHAPTER

I

July 6, 2018 | Friday, 1:30 PM

Bhrikutti Mandap Exhibition, Kathmandu

The modest hall of Bhrikutti Mandap was mostly quiet. Only a handful of scattered audience members sat in the folding chairs, and a lone camera crew stood near the front. It was the book launch for Ameet Shrestha, a writer whose name had yet to command much attention.

His first two books, Not My Love and You Are Not Mine, had both been quiet failures, leaving him crushed and financially strained. It had taken him over six agonizing months of research and re-writing to finish his third effort: a thriller titled A Different Love Story.

At 2:00 PM, a tall man walked casually toward the main stage. He had shoulder-length dark hair, wore a sharp jacket, and sported classic Ray-Ban sunglasses. Despite his obscure standing, he carried himself with the magnetic ease of a screen actor.

In the back row, a young woman watched him intently. Though a self-proclaimed bookworm, she had never heard of Ameet Shrestha. Yet, the moment he stepped into view, something clicked. She found him instantly captivating.

The host of the event, Sameera Adhikari, tapped her microphone. "Welcome, everyone. So, Ameet-ji, can you tell us a little bit about this new project?"

Ameet offered a modest smile. "Thank you, Sameera. With this book, I wanted to step outside my comfort zone. My first two attempts were straightforward romantic novels, and frankly, their lack of success plunged me into a dark place. During my hiatus, I researched what went wrong. I realized I needed a fresh approach. A Different Love Story isn't just about romance—it is driven by suspense and mystery."

As he spoke, the young woman in the back remained completely spellbound. His deep, steady voice drew her in completely.

"We have time for just a few questions from the audience," Sameera announced, opening the floor.

The young woman raised her hand immediately. A staff member passed her the microphone.

"Hi, my name is Priya Sharma," she said, her voice steady. "My question is: what made you want to become a writer in the first place?"

Ameet nodded thoughtfully. "I’ve been an avid reader all my life, from classics to modern fiction. Reading made me realize I had stories of my own inside me. As a child, I entered writing competitions, and my teachers always encouraged me. But ultimately, what drives me is the need to share a narrative. Motivation and encouragement are everything."

When the event concluded, Ameet sat at a small table to sign copies. Priya queued up, holding a brand-new paperback. As he signed the flyleaf, she spoke up. "Could I perhaps get your email address? I'd love to send you my feedback once I finish reading."

"Of course," Ameet said warmly, writing his contact details right beneath his signature.

II

To: ameet.shrestha@email.com

From: priya.sharma@email.com

Subject: Feedback on "A Different Love Story"

Dear Ameet-ji,

I hope this email finds you well. I just finished reading A Different Love Story. Going in, I expected a standard romantic story based on the title, but I was completely mistaken.

Your narrative pacing and tone were unlike anything I usually read, and you have officially made a devoted fan out of me. It was a true pleasure to read your work. I look forward to your future books.

Best wishes,

Priya Sharma

Sitting at his desk, Ameet smiled as he read the message. Throughout his struggling career, he had never received fan mail. Moved by her words, he typed a reply right away.

To: priya.sharma@email.com

From: ameet.shrestha@email.com

Subject: Re: Feedback on "A Different Love Story"

Dear Priya-ji,

Thank you so much for reaching out and sharing your thoughts. Readers' feedback means everything to me, especially after the struggles I faced with my earlier works. Your kind words are deeply encouraging.

Warm regards,

Ameet Shrestha

Within a month, A Different Love Story transformed from a sleeper release into a national bestseller. Ameet’s name began appearing in literary columns, television interviews, radio broadcasts, and across social media. For the first time in his life, he felt validation. As his profile grew, his inbox was flooded with friend requests—among them, one from Priya Sharma.

III

Over the following weeks, Priya and Ameet maintained a steady correspondence through messages. Eventually, they arranged to meet in person on a Saturday afternoon at the Universal Café in Sukedhara.

"I am so sorry I'm late," Ameet said as he pulled out a chair.

"Don't worry about it at all," Priya replied with a smile. She had already ordered two hot milk coffees, which arrived moments later.

"So, what are you working on next?" Priya asked, leaning in.

"I’m outlining another suspense thriller," Ameet replied, sipping his coffee.

"Why not try something closer to home? A story about college life, or youth culture—or even your own love story?"

Ameet paused, looking down at his cup. "My love story?"

"Yes! A personal romance. Readers love authenticity."

"Well..." Ameet hesitated, his demeanor suddenly growing reserved. "The truth is, I don't have a love story to write about."

Priya put her cup down in disbelief. "I don't buy that for a second. You're attractive, articulate, and creative. There's no way you haven't been in love."

"I assure you, Priya," Ameet said quietly, his gaze drifting toward the window. "There is no love story in my life."

As he stared out into the street, his mind drifted back to a past he could only recall in shattered, painful fragments—a past he chose to keep hidden.

IV

October 2015 | Kathmandu

It was the height of the border blockade (Naka Bandhi), and public transportation was virtually non-existent across the city. Rain poured over the quiet streets near the New Baneshwor bus stop, where a young woman named Anjali stood stranded under a meager shelter.

A motorcycle pulled up nearby. The rider took off his helmet, revealing a friendly face. "Hello. Are you heading somewhere? I can give you a lift if you're stuck."

Anjali hesitated, looking up and down the empty, rain-slicked road. Seeing no buses in sight, she accepted. "Lalitpur," she said, climbing onto the back.

They rode in silence through the downpour until he pulled up outside the MetLife insurance office in Lalitpur. "Here you go," he said.

"Thank you so much," Anjali replied warmly.

The following day, at the exact same hour, Ameet was waiting at the Baneshwor stop. What started as a chance act of kindness quickly turned into a daily routine. Soon, Anjali found herself looking forward to seeing him every evening.

November 2015 | New Baneshwor

By late autumn, their daily rides had turned into a genuine connection. On a quiet Saturday afternoon, they sat together at a neighborhood café for their first official date.

"You look wonderful today," Ameet offered softly, breaking the initial quiet.

"Thank you," Anjali smiled. "You look great too."

The waiter arrived, breaking the silence. "I'll have a milk tea," Ameet said. "And for you?"

"A milk coffee and an order of steamed chicken momos, please," Anjali added.

In the weeks that followed, their meetings became frequent. Friendship naturally gave way to deep affection, and soon, love.

One afternoon, they met at a small tea shop in Dillibazar over samosas and hot tea.

"My parents are pressing me about settling down," Anjali admitted softly, watching his reaction. "When they brought up marriage, I told them about us. They want to meet you."

Ameet shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Anjali... I want to marry you, truly. But I’m not established yet. I don't even have a steady career."

"So what is your plan?" she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

"I want to commit fully to writing. I want to be an author."

Anjali sighed, letting out a faint, disbelieving laugh.

"Is my dream a joke to you?" Ameet asked, defensive.

"Ameet, you have an MBA," Anjali reasoned gentle, trying to keep her tone balanced. "You could build a stable career first and write on the side. Publishing a book requires resources and financial independence. How can you ask your parents to support that risk? You’ve moved between jobs in hotels, schools, and newspapers over the last two years. I know you have talent, but you lack consistency."

Defeated and humiliated, Ameet left the tea shop shortly after. That evening, in a fit of frustration, he threw his manuscript notebook into the trash. He lay awake all night, torn between his artistic ambition and his devotion to Anjali.

V

Six months passed. Ameet secured a position as a financial officer at a major international NGO, stabilizing his income and earning a strong salary.

Sitting together in a quiet coffee shop, Anjali looked at him proudly. "Six months in the same role, and doing so well. I'm really proud of you."

"I'm sorry about before," Ameet said softly. "You were right to push me toward stability."

Anjali placed her hand over his. "So... what do you think about setting a date?"

Ameet smiled warmly. "Whenever you and your family are ready, so am I."

Overjoyed, Anjali hugged him. "I'll speak to my parents tonight."

VI

December 2016 | Wedding Day

The morning of the wedding was overcast. By 10:00 AM, the venue was bustling as guests began to arrive for the 11:00 AM ceremony.

At home, Ameet was adjusting his traditional attire when his father knocked on the door. "Ameet, hurry up! The driver is waiting, and we cannot be late to the mandap."

"Dad, go ahead with the family," Ameet insisted. "I want to drive myself over. It calms my nerves."

"On your wedding day? Let someone else drive!"

"Please, Dad. I'll be right behind you."

Sighing, his father left.

By 11:30 AM, heavy torrential rain began to flood the streets of Kathmandu. Guests huddled inside the venue banquet hall, waiting. But by 12:00 PM, the groom had still not arrived.

Ameet's father dialed his son's phone repeatedly, only to hear a automated message stating the device was powered off. Panicking, Anjali’s father approached him, his face dark with concern.

"Where is your son?"

"He must be caught in the rain or heavy traffic," Ameet's father replied anxiously.

"His phone is completely off! Did he change his mind?" Anjali's father raised his voice. "I had my doubts about his employment record, but I trusted my daughter's judgment. If he has humiliated us today, I will not forgive this!"

By evening, the venue cleared out in silence. The wedding was ruined.

Anjali locked herself in her bedroom at home, overwhelmed by grief and embarrassment. Calls to Ameet went unanswered day after day. Heartbroken, she felt deeply betrayed by the man she had trusted completely.

Meanwhile, Ameet’s parents filed a missing persons report with the Nepal Police, but weeks passed without a single lead.

VII

A month after the vanishing, Priya Sharma walked into Anjali’s bedroom. Priya had been Anjali's closest friend since childhood, though due to her studies abroad, she had never personally met Ameet during the period he and Anjali were dating.

Seeing her friend withdrawn and deeply depressed, Priya sat beside her on the bed. "I am so sorry, Anjali. We are all here for you."

"Why would he just vanish?" Anjali sobbed. "If he didn't want to marry me, he could have just said so. Why destroy everything?"

As the months turned into a year, Anjali struggled through profound grief. Priya remained by her side throughout, harbouring a quiet anger toward the man who had shattered her best friend’s life.

VIII

A month after the scheduled wedding, in a remote hospital room outside the main city, a young man opened his eyes to a sterile white ceiling.

A attending nurse noticed him moving and hurried over to assist as he tried to sit up.

"Where... where am I?" he asked, his voice rasping.

"You are in the hospital," the nurse explained softly. "A passerby brought you to the emergency ward a month ago after a severe vehicle crash during a storm. You suffered head trauma and were in a coma. We searched your belongings, but you carried no identification or phone, and no one has come forward."

The man stared blankly at her. "Who am I?"

The nurse’s expression softened with concern. She quickly summoned the attending physician, Dr. Smrik.

After conducting a neurological assessment, Dr. Smrik sat at the bedside. "You have suffered severe retrograde amnesia brought on by traumatic brain injury. Your long-term memory retrieval is severely compromised."

"Will I get my memory back?" the man asked, panic creeping into his tone.

"It is impossible to predict," Dr. Smrik said gently. "Some patients recover memories over time; others must rebuild their lives from scratch."

IX

Without a name or identity, the man took the name Ameet—the only word written inside a small, battered notebook recovered from his ruined vehicle.

Dr. Smrik, a compassionate physician, offered Ameet temporary lodging in his home and helped him secure a simple job at a local pharmacy. To cope with his disorientation, Ameet turned to creative writing during his off-hours.

His first two manuscripts were flawed and failed to find a market, leaving him disheartened. Dr. Smrik encouraged him to persevere. Over four painstaking months, Ameet channeled his inner mystery and isolation into his third manuscript: A Different Love Story.

When the book hit bookstores in mid-2018, its success was immediate.

When Priya Sharma came across an article covering the book launch of the bestselling author "Ameet Shrestha," she recognized the face from the photograph Anjali had kept. Furious that the man who broke her best friend's heart was now enjoying national fame, Priya resolved to approach him under the guise of an admirer to investigate his motives and confront him.

X

Present Day

Early one morning, the doorbell rang at Dr. Smrik's residence. Dr. Smrik answered the door to find a young woman standing on the porch.

"Hello. I'm looking for Ameet," she said. "My name is Priya Sharma."

Dr. Smrik gestured inside. "Ameet is still resting, but please come in. I can prepare some coffee."

"Milk coffee, please," Priya said, taking a seat in the living area.

As he handed her a cup, Dr. Smrik looked at her thoughtfully. "How long have you known Ameet, Priya?"

"A couple of months," she replied carefully. "We met around his book release."

"I see. So you know nothing of his life prior to his career as a writer?"

Priya froze slightly. "What do you mean?"

Dr. Smrik sighed softly. "Ameet has lived with me for over a year. In December 2016, he was brought into my hospital following a catastrophic car accident. He was unidentified, in a coma, and suffered total amnesia. He has no recollection of his life, his family, or his past before that night."

Priya felt her chest tighten as the timeline snapped into place. December 2016. The storm. The missed wedding.

Without waiting for Ameet to wake up, Priya quietly excused herself and left the house, overwhelmed by guilt over her initial assumptions.

XI

Later that afternoon, Priya visited Dr. Smrik at his hospital office to explain everything.

"Doctor, I need to apologize for not being fully honest earlier," she confessed, her voice trembling. "Ameet didn't abandon anyone intentionally. On the day of his accident, he was on his way to his own wedding. The woman he was supposed to marry is my closest friend, Anjali."

Dr. Smrik listened intently as Priya detailed the missing months, the ruined ceremony, and the heartache both families had endured.

"He spent a month in a coma while his family searched everywhere for him," Dr. Smrik explained gently. "When he woke up, he was a blank slate. His mind couldn't retrieve his past identities. I must advise you: pushing him too aggressively to remember could cause severe neurological distress. Any reunion must be handled with great care."

Priya immediately contacted Ameet’s parents and brought them together with Anjali and her father. When the truth of the accident was revealed, the bitter misunderstandings evaporated. Anjali's father embraced Ameet’s father, offering a tearful apology for his years of resentment.

The next day, accompanied by Dr. Smrik, the families arrived at the house.

When the door opened, Ameet stood in the doorway, looking at the assembled group. He saw his parents weeping, and beside them, Anjali—her eyes filled with tears.

Though his mind could not yet recall their names or the moments they had shared, a deep, familiar warmth stirred within him as he looked at Anjali.

"I don't remember yet," Ameet said quietly, stepping forward. "But I want to try."

Anjali smiled through her tears and took his hand. "We have all the time in the world."