Before we begin, I would like to clarify some things – inverted commas indicate dialogues while italics indicate Tarika's thoughts to Abhijeet which are not verbally expressed – she is talking to him in her mind.

QUESTIONS

I catch myself twisting my hair, as I wait for him to open the door. On rare occasions, like this one, I am anxious to see him, to talk to him.

I press the doorbell again. What is taking him so long?

I find that I am overcome with worry. Daya called me saying that Abhijeet was hurt during investigation – he lost his memory and had minor bruises.

"Tarika," Daya finally opens the door, "aao."

I smile at him and enter the house. Abhijeet is sitting on the couch – one of his temples is blue, his mouth looks like it just bled and there is a slight bruise on his fist. His coat is particularly dusty around his left elbow – I conclude that he must have a bruise there too.

As I turn to look at Daya, I am a little taken aback. He is still standing at the threshold.

"Mujhe abhi nikalna hoga," he meets my questioning gaze, "kuch kaam hai. Tum sambhalo apni amanat ko."

I feel my cheeks burning up. But all the heat goes away as I register Abhijeet's confused stare at me. I look at Daya, helpless.

He sighs and walks out, closing the door after him, not bothering to wave goodbye to his best friend. I completely know why he doesn't turn around – he can't bear to see Abhijeet like this, especially with me around.

It's not easy when he loses his memory, when he refuses to recognize any of us. And being a doctor only makes it worse. My mind brings up so many likelihoods that it becomes impossible to ignore them.

"Toh aap ek doctor hain."

I nod, wondering how he knew.

It's my Abhijeet's voice, it's my Abhijeet's words, yet it is not my Abhijeet. His tone is perfectly polite yet estranged. He doesn't have that possessiveness, that feeling that I am his own in his speech.

My ears are dying to hear him call my name like I am made just for him, like it is his duty to make me blush and my duty to let him.

"Wo Daya keh rahein the ki mein ek CID officer hu," he says as though he has read my mind.

He then flashes his badge and walks close to me.

"Toh kuch toh detective skills hongi mujh mein."

"Magar ye toh bahot hi easy tha," he adds after a short pause.

He looks down at the left side of my chest. After a few seconds, I feel uneasy, so I look down too.

My nameplate! It clearly said DR. Tarika

Shit.

How did I forget? I had my nameplate on my coat today. I had directly rushed to his house from the conference.

I manage to pull an awkward smile. Trying hard to control my twitching mouth, I look up at him. But he is already gone.

"Abhijeet?"

"Mein idhar left waale room mein hu – aa jayiye please."

Without responding, I walk towards the room, to find him lost in his cupboard.

"Toh…aap…meri - ?"

There comes the question I always dread. He has asked me many questions during the times he lost his memory. But never has he asked me what I was to him. Not that his other questions are easy to handle but this has to be the hardest, especially because he and I do not really have a name.

You and I,

We don't have a name

But love,

We have so much more.

I try my best to not be hurt. My brain tells my heart that everything would be alright but in vain. I bite my lower lip to stop tears from flowing down my cheeks. I don't want to cry in front of him.

"Girlfriend hain," he says, turning around.

"h-haan?"

I am shocked. Seldom does he say this when he is completely alright. Hell, he cannot even say the word "pyaar" – he always stops at "p-p-pp…" I wish he had so much courage during all the times he tried to propose me.

"Girlfriend hain," he says again, rather flatly.

There are no emotions involved – he is just making an observation. He holds my scarlet top in the air which he just pulled out from his cupboard.

"Ye aap hi ka hai na?"

Impressive.

So damn impressive. I am held captive by his eyes – small, brown, almond shaped orbs that clearly reflect his intellect. That shrewd, piercing gaze – I have always loved watching him from a distance. Added to these, a slight tension in his eyebrows when he is thinking makes him look so effortlessly irresistible. As he winks at me, I realize that I have been shamelessly staring at him.

I take my eyes off him, still trying to look at him from the corner of my eyes. He smirks.

Show off.

"Daya toh bureau gaya…aap kaam – "

"Nahi tu-aap chinta mat kijiye…aaj bas ek conference thi – wo attend karke aayi hu."

"Acha acha – toh isliye aapne name plate lagayi hai….umm toh batayiye conference kis baare mein thi?"

"Human emotions…aayiye mein aapko batati hu."

I walk towards the living room. I am excited to tell him all about my day. This is one of my favourite things to do – telling him about how my day went and hearing about his. We do it every day – either over the phone or in person.

He sits on the sofa while I grab a few papers from my bag. I was given those papers during the conference – it has a long list of emotions. I hand him the papers and sit next to him.

Discomfort – the look on his face is unmistakable. I shift a little away from him. He is not comfortable with our bodies being so close. I try my best not to bring any visible changes to my face. He is already feeling guilty for not being able to remember things. He is already feeling miserable – I don't want to make him feel worse.

"Wo mein…" he tries to cover up.

Doesn't he know that he doesn't need to cover things up in front of me? I know that he wouldn't be comfortable being close to any random stranger. And right now, to him, I am a stranger. But of course he doesn't know that I have known him for very long now. And it's not his fault – no one would imagine that people of our age could be in a relationship for 9 years without a marriage proposal.

"Toh aap sabse pehle kis emotion ke baare mein sun'na chahenge?"

"Love," he says, pointing to the index.

That's the first page.

"Love is a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes that ranges from interpersonal affection ("I love my mother") to pleasure ("I loved that meal"). It can refer to an emotion of a strong attraction and personal attachment," I read to him.

But how do I tell him that he doesn't need my explanation to understand love? He knows it better than science ever will. As I read further, he suddenly gets up, rubbing his temples.

He squeezes his eyes shut, his eyebrows knit together. And when he opens them, his eyes are bloodshot. He clenches his teeth together, tears brimming in his eyes. My hands are in the air, not knowing where to place themselves.

"Abhijeet!"

I get up to bring him a pain killer. But before I can leave, he grabs my wrist.

"Aah!" he utters the most painful, spine chilling scream.

His grip on my hand tightens. It hurts me but it hurts more to see him like this – to see him in pain. He mutters something incomprehensible and then collapses into me. We crash into the sofa, with his head buried in my chest and his body half on mine and half on the floor.

"Tarika…" his sound is the weakest I have heard in all these years.

I take both his hands in mine and lock my eyes in his.

"Kuch nahi hoga."

"T-Tarika s..sir chakra – "

I place both my hands on his head and press it close to my chest. His arms go around my back, holding on to me like a child.

"Kuch nahi hoga tumhe Abhijeet."

I make him sit on the sofa. Then I kneel down in front of him and my left hand cups his right cheek. My other hand reaches for the glass of water on the side table. As the glass approaches his mouth, he parts his lips a little. With my left hand, I support his neck, so that his head his still and I pour water into his mouth.

Some of the water goes down his throat but most of it spills out. I immediately remove the stole around my neck to wipe his lower lip and chin. After drinking some more water, he looks better.

"Ab kaisa lag raha hai?"

"Aap saath hain toh sab kuch theek hona hi tha…Tarika ji."

Tarika ji – never has my name sounded so sweet, not even from his mouth. His voice melts in my ears…like cotton candy melts on one's tongue. Mellifluous.

I smile. My Abhijeet is back.

"Kuch khaoge?"

He shakes his head.

"Bhook nahi lagi?"

I ask him again. It couldn't be that he is not hungry. And he never leaves an opportunity to eat the food I cook.

"Kuch nahi…sirf aloo ke parathe khaunga."

We share a laugh as I proceed towards the kitchen. It is good to have him back.

While I peel the potatoes, he hugs me from behind. He loves to hug me from behind whenever I am in the kitchen. And though I pretend to be annoyed, I secretly love it.

"Thank you Tarika ji," he says, placing his chin on my shoulder.

I feel my soul smile in contentment. Though it is painful, I can do it all over again. God forbid but should he lose his memory again, I'd be there again…just like today. No matter how painful it is, no matter how many times I die on the inside, I'd be there.

You probably do not know it Abhijeet – but your love gives me the strength to go on…

Today, tomorrow and always!