10-04-2026, 08:08 PM
Chapter 72: The First Night
The new villa was quiet under the soft glow of night lights. Rahul had been given the large master bedroom on the first floor — the same spacious room with a king-sized bed that Suriya had once shared with Anandhi. Tonight, Rohan and Riya insisted on sleeping with their father. Rahul didn’t argue. He changed into comfortable night clothes and lay down in the middle of the huge bed, one child tucked under each arm.
As the kids slowly drifted off, their small bodies warm against his sides, Rahul stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above. A quiet, self-mocking laugh escaped his lips in the darkness.
How childish… how cinematic, he thought. Pretending to have lost his memory like some soap opera hero. Yet here he was — back in his house, back with his children, and soon, hopefully, back with his wife.
He had laughed at himself many times during the planning with Dr. Madhavan, but the ache in his chest had left him no other choice.
The door creaked open softly. Anandhi stepped in wearing a simple cotton nighty that reached just below her knees. The soft fabric clung gently to her curves, her hair loose and falling over one shoulder. She looked tired, beautiful, and visibly nervous.
“Mummy!” Rohan suddenly shouted, half-asleep. “Sleep here today!”
Rahul turned his head slowly, maintaining the slightly dazed, innocent expression he had practiced. “Why won’t Mummy sleep here?” he asked, his voice deliberately slow and childlike.
Rohan yawned. “She tells us stories, makes us sleep, then goes out…”
Anandhi froze at the doorway, panic flashing across her face.
Rahul blinked at her with feigned confusion. “Why do you go out? Where do you sleep?”
Anandhi swallowed hard, forcing a gentle smile as she walked closer to the bed. “I… I sleep alone in the next room nowadays. I get headaches and pressure from college work late at night. I don’t want to disturb you.”
Rahul nodded slowly, as if processing the information with great effort. After a pause, he asked in the same innocent tone, “Who is that Suriya? Why is he staying here?”
Anandhi’s heart skipped a beat. She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, her hand resting lightly on Rahul’s arm.
“He is… my relative,” she said softly. “He stays here for some work. Don’t worry about it now. I will explain everything properly once you get your memory back. Okay?”
Rahul looked at her for a long moment, then gave a small, accepting nod.
Anandhi leaned forward, hugged him gently, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she slipped under the covers and rested her head on his chest, one arm dbangd across his slightly softer belly.
Rahul’s heart swelled with quiet triumph. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. The familiar scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his — it felt like coming home after years of exile.
She’s in my arms again, he thought, a small, satisfied smile touching his lips in the dark. Just like old times.
As Anandhi’s breathing slowly evened out into sleep, Rahul lay awake, replaying everything in his mind.
On the 100th day, nothing dramatic had happened. The earlier test failures were simply due to the carelessness of the lab technicians. The doctors had kept him under observation for an extra month — running every possible test, checking his vitals daily — until they were completely confident he was stable. But the reversal process had taken a heavy toll on his body and mind. When he finally regained full control of himself, the emptiness hit him like a truck.
He couldn’t spend a single day without thinking about his family. The thought of Anandhi and the children living without him had slowly killed him from the inside.
He knew the truth: he had willingly handed them over to Suriya before the experiment. If he simply walked back in and demanded his family, would they accept him? Would Anandhi feel trapped? Would Suriya fight? The fear of rejection had been too much.
So he had come up with this plan with Dr. Madhavan — the “memory loss” act. A sympathy card. A safe way to re-enter their lives without facing immediate confrontation. He had given himself a two-week window. Long enough to rebuild closeness, short enough that he wouldn’t have to pretend forever.
Now, lying here with Anandhi’s head on his chest and his children curled up beside him, Rahul felt a strange mix of happiness and cold calculation.
His plan was simple:
Get Anandhi used to being around him again. Let her care for him, comfort him, slowly fall back into the old rhythm. Then, bit by bit, he would “regain” fragments of his memory. From there, he would decide the next steps — whether to reveal everything or manipulate the situation further.
In the worst case, even if Anandhi chose Suriya, he would at least secure his rights as the biological father of the children. Suriya could never take that away from him.
Rahul gently stroked Anandhi’s hair, his fingers moving through the strands with quiet possessiveness.
She will choose me naturally, he told himself. She always has.
But a small doubt lingered in the back of his mind — what if these past months had made her truly fond of Suriya? What if the patient, steady love Suriya offered had created roots deeper than he expected?
He pushed the thought away and tightened his arm around her.
For now, Anandhi was in his arms. The kids were sleeping peacefully beside him. That was enough.
The real game would begin tomorrow.
The new villa was quiet under the soft glow of night lights. Rahul had been given the large master bedroom on the first floor — the same spacious room with a king-sized bed that Suriya had once shared with Anandhi. Tonight, Rohan and Riya insisted on sleeping with their father. Rahul didn’t argue. He changed into comfortable night clothes and lay down in the middle of the huge bed, one child tucked under each arm.
As the kids slowly drifted off, their small bodies warm against his sides, Rahul stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above. A quiet, self-mocking laugh escaped his lips in the darkness.
How childish… how cinematic, he thought. Pretending to have lost his memory like some soap opera hero. Yet here he was — back in his house, back with his children, and soon, hopefully, back with his wife.
He had laughed at himself many times during the planning with Dr. Madhavan, but the ache in his chest had left him no other choice.
The door creaked open softly. Anandhi stepped in wearing a simple cotton nighty that reached just below her knees. The soft fabric clung gently to her curves, her hair loose and falling over one shoulder. She looked tired, beautiful, and visibly nervous.
“Mummy!” Rohan suddenly shouted, half-asleep. “Sleep here today!”
Rahul turned his head slowly, maintaining the slightly dazed, innocent expression he had practiced. “Why won’t Mummy sleep here?” he asked, his voice deliberately slow and childlike.
Rohan yawned. “She tells us stories, makes us sleep, then goes out…”
Anandhi froze at the doorway, panic flashing across her face.
Rahul blinked at her with feigned confusion. “Why do you go out? Where do you sleep?”
Anandhi swallowed hard, forcing a gentle smile as she walked closer to the bed. “I… I sleep alone in the next room nowadays. I get headaches and pressure from college work late at night. I don’t want to disturb you.”
Rahul nodded slowly, as if processing the information with great effort. After a pause, he asked in the same innocent tone, “Who is that Suriya? Why is he staying here?”
Anandhi’s heart skipped a beat. She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, her hand resting lightly on Rahul’s arm.
“He is… my relative,” she said softly. “He stays here for some work. Don’t worry about it now. I will explain everything properly once you get your memory back. Okay?”
Rahul looked at her for a long moment, then gave a small, accepting nod.
Anandhi leaned forward, hugged him gently, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she slipped under the covers and rested her head on his chest, one arm dbangd across his slightly softer belly.
Rahul’s heart swelled with quiet triumph. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her close. The familiar scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his — it felt like coming home after years of exile.
She’s in my arms again, he thought, a small, satisfied smile touching his lips in the dark. Just like old times.
As Anandhi’s breathing slowly evened out into sleep, Rahul lay awake, replaying everything in his mind.
On the 100th day, nothing dramatic had happened. The earlier test failures were simply due to the carelessness of the lab technicians. The doctors had kept him under observation for an extra month — running every possible test, checking his vitals daily — until they were completely confident he was stable. But the reversal process had taken a heavy toll on his body and mind. When he finally regained full control of himself, the emptiness hit him like a truck.
He couldn’t spend a single day without thinking about his family. The thought of Anandhi and the children living without him had slowly killed him from the inside.
He knew the truth: he had willingly handed them over to Suriya before the experiment. If he simply walked back in and demanded his family, would they accept him? Would Anandhi feel trapped? Would Suriya fight? The fear of rejection had been too much.
So he had come up with this plan with Dr. Madhavan — the “memory loss” act. A sympathy card. A safe way to re-enter their lives without facing immediate confrontation. He had given himself a two-week window. Long enough to rebuild closeness, short enough that he wouldn’t have to pretend forever.
Now, lying here with Anandhi’s head on his chest and his children curled up beside him, Rahul felt a strange mix of happiness and cold calculation.
His plan was simple:
Get Anandhi used to being around him again. Let her care for him, comfort him, slowly fall back into the old rhythm. Then, bit by bit, he would “regain” fragments of his memory. From there, he would decide the next steps — whether to reveal everything or manipulate the situation further.
In the worst case, even if Anandhi chose Suriya, he would at least secure his rights as the biological father of the children. Suriya could never take that away from him.
Rahul gently stroked Anandhi’s hair, his fingers moving through the strands with quiet possessiveness.
She will choose me naturally, he told himself. She always has.
But a small doubt lingered in the back of his mind — what if these past months had made her truly fond of Suriya? What if the patient, steady love Suriya offered had created roots deeper than he expected?
He pushed the thought away and tightened his arm around her.
For now, Anandhi was in his arms. The kids were sleeping peacefully beside him. That was enough.
The real game would begin tomorrow.
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