Chapter 3: The Shadow of Neha

Who would’ve thought we’d die on the way to getting divorced?

If our families knew, they’d probably say, “Bachchon ka mazaak, par anjaam toh dekho.” All this drama, and fate had to intervene like this!

The second before the oil tanker smashed into us, I was still cursing him for being a pervert, lurking in the shadows, spying and fantasising!

The AC in the car barely worked; sweat trickled down my back as we screamed at each other. “Tu toh pakka pagal hai, Rohan!” I’d shouted. He just clenched his jaw harder.

Rohan’s face was as dark as the bottom of a pressure cooker, teeth clenched.

Only an Indian would compare anger to a pressure cooker about to whistle. He looked ready to explode, the vein in his forehead pulsing.

"The one I love is Neha! From start to finish, it’s always been Neha! If you didn’t look exactly like her, do you think I’d be with you? Priya, look at yourself—what do you have over Neha?"

My hands gripped the seat, nails digging in. This again! The endless comparison—the thing I hated most, and which never seemed to end, not even now.

What I hated most in this life was always being compared to Neha!

Even after she died, I still had to live in her shadow!

Why?

Every function, every family gathering, people would whisper, “Neha jaise ban, Priya.” Even the pandit at our building’s Ganesh Chaturthi said it once. What was I, invisible?

My hand was already tangled in Rohan’s hair.

His hair felt rough—just like it always did after a long bike ride. I yanked, and he yelled, but I didn’t let go. “Teri toh main…”

"Fine, let’s die together!"

That moment, our anger felt bigger than anything else—bigger than fate itself. The rain was hammering on the windshield, the world dissolving in white.

The next second, there was a screech of brakes—the oil tanker lost control and barreled toward us!

I could taste fear in my mouth. A flash of headlights, and time seemed to crawl. My life didn’t flash before my eyes—just one word: Rohan!

My mind went blank.

Nothing existed except the sound of my own heartbeat, the smell of burning rubber, and Rohan’s wide, terrified eyes.

I saw Rohan’s face go pale as he jerked the steering wheel, throwing himself in the way!

In that split second, he stopped being my enemy—he became something else. I didn’t have words for it. I just stared, helpless.

I stared at him, dumbfounded—

At this man I’d tangled with for ten years!

We could never get along!

Our fights were legendary in our building. Even the security guard had a running tally on who would storm out first.

Quarrelling, fighting, endlessly for ten years!

Neighbours said, “Yehi toh asli jodi hai, fighting like cats and dogs.” But no one really knew what went on behind our closed doors.

Why didn’t we break up?

I asked myself that a hundred times. Why did we keep coming back to this?

People asked him, and people asked me.

Aunty from downstairs would catch me in the lift: “Beta, why do you stay with such a lallu?” My friends would say, “Dump him, Priya!” But I never had an answer.

I said nothing.

He smoked with his head down.

Neither of us could say why.

Maybe the silence was easier than the truth.

Just like that year, when he listlessly held a wilted bouquet and asked me if I wanted to give it a try!

It was a sad little bouquet, blue petals already curling at the edges. Yet, for me, it was the beginning of everything.

How strange!

Just days before, he’d rejected my confession, saying he didn’t want to date, just wanted to focus on his studies!

Back then, he’d sounded so noble—"Beta, main padhai pe dhyaan dena chahta hoon." My friends rolled their eyes, but I believed him. Foolish!

How did he change his mind so fast?

It wasn’t until much later that I learnt—he’d actually gone to confess to Neha first, but she gently turned him down!

Only in hindsight did I see the cracks—how his gaze would drift past me to Neha, how he’d ask about her even when talking to me.

Heartbroken and annoyed, he saw me—

Saw the face that looked just like Neha’s!

And instinctively walked towards me!

Using me as a stand-in!

Recalling Neha through me!

Ten years!

He really deserved to die!

He should have died!

Who needed him to trade his life for mine?

Just so I could live 0.01 seconds longer!

What rotten luck!

Forget it, once you’re dead, everything’s wiped clean!

From now on, all grudges turn to smoke!

Just hope that in the next life, when I open my eyes—

Damn!

When I opened my eyes, I saw the seventeen-year-old Rohan!

His hair was wilder, his eyes still searching, confused but hopeful. The old Rohan, the one I had almost forgotten.

How did I know he was seventeen?

Because he was holding a wilted bouquet of blue aparajita flowers with his deadpan face!

The same flowers I’d never liked, but which he insisted were special. In that moment, I realised with a jolt: Time had truly rewound.

I hate aparajita!

I like roses—red, passionate, romantic, showy!

For me, love was always about big gestures. Red roses, filmi confessions—none of this subtle, understated nonsense.

Rohan looked at me with contempt, saying I had no taste!

He used to tease me, "Priya, tumhara koi sense hi nahi hai. Roses are so cliché!" Typical artsy boy behaviour.

He asked if I knew the meaning of aparajita!

"Don’t you think they look like little birds fluttering? They symbolise freedom, being unrestrained! Isn’t that beautiful?"

I don’t think so!

I wanted to snap back, but my throat was dry. My hands itched to grab the flowers and fling them out of the window.

All I know is that roses mean love!

Lovers always give roses!

That’s what Bollywood taught us, right? Roses at Valentine’s, roses on birthdays—anything else was just an excuse.

But until I was killed by the oil tanker, I never received a single bouquet!

Not a single red rose—ironic, na? For all my drama, life never once gave me what I really wanted.

Reborn to this moment—great, even more unlucky!

Seriously, what were the gods playing at? Agle janam mein bhi yahi script?

And the unluckiest part—Rohan looked up!

The moment our eyes met, we both recognised the look in each other’s eyes!

Ha!

We both saw it: the shock, the memory, the reluctant understanding. Past, present, and future colliding in a single second.

I didn’t even need to think to know—he’d come back too!