Do I know you?

The moment her eyes landed on the building, Shreya felt her breath catch.

It was the same old place.

Only now, it looked shinier, quieter, and somehow... lonelier.

The garden had been redone, the nameplate replaced, and the paint was fresh—but the air still carried that same scent of childhood. A mix of wet soil, hibiscus flowers, and the memories of laughter that once echoed here.

Her fingers gripped the folder tighter. She reminded herself it was just work. Another client visit. Another interior project.

But her heart refused to listen.

And then the door opened.

Shaurya.

He hadn’t changed much. Maybe a little taller. A sharper jawline. Broader shoulders. But his eyes — those eyes — still held that calm that once felt like a warm blanket on stormy nights.

He looked at her like she was just another stranger.

“Hi, you must be the designer?” he asked, his voice soft and polite.

She nodded. “Yes. I’m here to check the layout plan.”

He stepped aside to let her in. Shreya walked in carefully, as if her memories were waiting around every corner.

The rooms were bigger than she remembered. Or maybe, back then, they had just felt full — full of silly fights, cartoons, and the endless shouting of “Shreyaaaa, it’s your turn!”

Now, the walls were quiet.

Shaurya watched her as she walked around, making notes. Something about her movements felt oddly familiar — like he had seen her do this before, somewhere in another life.

“You’ve done this for long?” he asked casually, trying to place where he knew her from.

“A few years,” she replied, not looking up.

“I feel like I know you from somewhere,” he said suddenly, brows furrowed.

She turned, slowly.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice calm, almost sad. “Or maybe... you’ve just forgotten.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

He didn’t know what to say.

She moved past him to the next room.

And he stood still, his mind chasing a shadow he couldn’t hold on to.

After the inspection, she collected her things.

“I’ll email you the design suggestions,” she said.

“Sure,” he replied. Then paused. “Wait—what’s your name?”

She turned back.

Their eyes met. For a second, time stopped. The fan above hummed, the wind rustled the curtains, and the walls seemed to hold their breath.

“Shreya,” she said gently.

And just like that—she was gone.

Shaurya stood at the doorway, watching the lift door close.

His heart beat strangely.

Shreya.

He repeated the name in his head. It sounded... important. Like something he'd once whispered under the covers. Like a name that used to mean safety. Or home.

But the memory? It didn’t come.

He stepped back inside and sat on the old armchair.

Somewhere in his chest, a tug. Somewhere in his head, a fog.

He didn’t know who she really was.

But she left behind a feeling.

And sometimes... feelings speak louder than memories.

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