I still remember the first time I saw her—Dr. Sushma Malhotra—leaning over me in that hospital bed, her voice soft like monsoon rain. I didn’t know my name. I didn’t know anything. But she called me Krishna. Said I was safe now.

She visited every day. Brought me books. Laughed at my clumsy jokes. Taught me how to hold a spoon, how to say 'thank you' in English. I fell in love with her kindness, her warmth, the way her eyes lit up when I remembered a word.

We got married in a quiet ceremony. No fanfare. Just us, the priest, and the scent of jasmine in the air. I thought I was the luckiest man alive.

Then Inspector Ranjeet came. Told me I was Rajeev. That I was sent to kill her. That the man I thought I was… wasn’t real.

I didn’t believe him.

Until tonight.

I was taking pictures of her on the rooftop—her smile, the wind in her hair—when I slipped. Hit my head on the railing.

And suddenly, I remembered.

My sister. The letter. The photo. Her hanging from the ceiling.

Sushma did it. She framed me. She destroyed my family.

I grab her wrist, my voice shaking with rage: 'You killed her!'

She stares at me, tears streaming: 'Krishna, please—'

'I’m not Krishna!' I shout. 'I’m Rajeev! And you ruined everything!'

Ranjeet bursts in, gun drawn: 'Stop! Monty lied to you! He killed your sister!'

I freeze. The truth crashes over me like thunder.

What do I do?

Kill her for what she did?

Or hold her, knowing she gave me a second life?