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Krithika's POV

The glass walls of my office in the heart of Knowledge City reflect a woman I barely recognize. At thirty, I don't hide behind the tight, nervous plaits of my student days. My hair is a dark, polished curtain-straight, loose, and hitting my shoulders with a precision that matches my tailored charcoal blazer.I am a Senior Biotech Consultant. I deal in gene mapping and clinical trials.I move through these corridors with a swag that silences rooms. People don't see the little girl anymore; they see a woman who can dismantle a multi-million dollar pharmaceutical flaw with a single glance at a spreadsheet.

I live alone in a high-rise apartment that smells like expensive espresso and silence. I've reached the dream I wanted. I am successful, I am powerful, and I am profoundly, safely alone.

Anant's POV

The leather chair in the CEO's office of Mishra Pharmaceuticals fits me perfectly. Ten years and an MBA from a top-tier global school

I don't just walk into rooms; I command them. My physique is no longer that of a lean teenager, but a man who spends his 5:00 AM hours in a private gym, maintaining the kind of "macho" presence that makes competitors hesitate. The attitude? It's still there, but it's polished now-sharpened by high-stakes board meetings and the weight of a legacy.

I have everything-the cars, the power, the looks that grace the covers of business magazines. But my desk is always clear, except for one thing: a vintage fountain pen I never use. It reminds me of a library, a shared textbook, and a girl who told me that "their connection is a mistake." I spend my days making life fair for my company, but my nights are still haunted by the one person I couldn't beat-the one who walked away and never looked back.

Mannu's POV

"Eat your greens, Mr. Khanna. Your glucose levels aren't a joke," I say, flashing a professional, practiced smile as I hand over the nutrition chart.

I am a Clinical Nutritionist. I kind of like my job nevertheless it pays me good as well.

Dhruv's POV

The scrub sink is the only place where I find peace. As a Lead Surgeon, my hands are the most valuable tools I own. I didn't get to be a General in the Army, so I became a General in the Operating Theater.

I am renowned for my steady hands and my "stone-cold" focus under pressure. Patients see a savior; colleagues see a man who lives for the hospital. They don't see the teenage boy who sat on a bedroom floor and realized that dreams can be taken away by a medical chart.

I've moved on-or so I tell Anant. I have a life that is respected and full. But deep down, in the quiet moments between surgeries, I still feel that phantom ache in my inner ear-the one that disqualified me from one life but led me to this one. And deeper still, I crave the chaos of a girl in a yellow jumpsuit. I saved a lot of lives this year, but I'm still waiting for the one person who can save mine from this endless, sterile silence.

Four lives, four cities and a decade. The countdown to a reunion has begun.

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